I grew up very poor. When I was 13, I was at a classmate’s house and ended up staying for dinner. My mouth watered at the sight of the golden roast on the table. As everyone began to eat, I took a bite, but her mom’s sharp gaze made me freeze. In front of everyone, she declared, “Did you seriously take that little? That’s not nearly enough!”
Before I could react, she grabbed my plate and heaped it with food. I was stunned but touched—I think she understood just how much that meal meant to me. The food was delicious, and I savored every bite. As I ate, everyone at the table kept staring at me.
The next day, I came home from school and was surprised to find my friend’s mom at our house. It was the first time she and my mom had met. My mom’s face was flushed red.
She turned to me and said, “Mrs. Cooper brought us a Sunday roast because she knew how much you liked it.” I walked into the kitchen and saw our fridge stocked with fresh produce and food. My mom, though shy and clearly a bit embarrassed, couldn’t hide her happiness.
Over time, my mom and Mrs. Cooper became friends. She started visiting us regularly with her family, and what began with a simple meal turned into a beautiful connection that I’ll never forget.
