This morning I find myself watching the
snow fall from the window in the warmth of my home. The sound of my kids
rivalrous bickering has to be broken up every once in a while and the fragrance
of the pies that we made last night still lingers in the air. My feet are warm
from the wool socks that I pulled on and the coffee is strong and warm. I can't
help but be brought back to a moment that lasted but 15 seconds on an auto
rickshaw in Jodpur, India last December. My sister and I were in the back of
the rickshaw that is inherently permeated with the smells of gasoline, exhaust,
the smoke from burning trash, with an occasional whiff of curry that sweeps in
as we pass a market. Our little tuk-tuk comes to an abrupt stop because of
traffic and a little brown eyed toddler emerges in the midst of the exhaust
stricken insanity with an outstretched hand. A torn t-shirt hangs off his starving
structure and I notice he is shoeless. As his eyes look up at me for compassion
I can't help but take notice that he is sick. His nose is running. All I could
think in that moment was “where is his mom.” Many children in India are
orphaned because their parents have died from AIDS. Many of these children are
HIV positive as well. As I began to reach in my purse to grab some candy and
toys that I had been carting around India to give to the street children, the
tuk-tuk began to take off. I began to weep. I will never forget that little
boy, for all I wanted to do was to sweep him up in my arms like I do my own
children when they are sick. Give him a warm bath, feed his growling belly, and
tuck him into a warm bed. He has nothing. He was born on the streets and will
eventually die on the streets. He doesn't have a right to an education, health
care, a home, or even food. The country that he lives in is overwhelmed by
population expansion, pollution, and poverty. There isn't a soup kitchen,
homeless shelter, or orphanage that is going to save him. He can't apply for
food stamps, Medicaid, or section 8 housing. I didn’t understand desperation or
hopelessness until that point in my life…. I thought I did. Just by the
ownership of a United States birth certificate we are entitled to so much. We
did nothing for it. It was simply sheer luck to be born in the land of the
free. I am so incredibly thankful for every shred of prosperity that I have in
my life, both earned and by luck. Happy Thanksgiving! Love, April
