Written By
Kenna McHugh
“The love of family and the admiration of friends is much
more important than wealth and privilege.” Charles Kuralt
When I was nine years old, my Girl Scout troop organized a
Thanksgiving project sharing home cooked meals from four different
nationalities. The project not only taught me about ethnic foods but it taught
me you can’t always judge a person by their neighborhood.
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We had Japanese, Chinese, Russian, and Mexican families who
agreed to share their traditional meals. The troop leader organized a chart, so
everyone knew where to go on which night during the month of November.
Teresa’s family was sponsoring the Mexican dinner. They lived
in a neighborhood with low rise houses, the driveways overflowing with rusting
pickup trucks and low riding cars. Truthfully, I was afraid to go to her home.
I thought, her family and neighborhood were too dangerous.
The irony of my fear came from a project my mother arranged
with my brother’s scout troop. She drove the scouts and me through the same
neighborhood where Teresa lived.
I sat in the front seat and looked out the passenger window
as my mother slowly drove past abandon buildings with broken glass and crude
graffiti “Kill Whites”, “Cop Killers” and “Bring destruction on your head!”
There were other dirty words and swear words. Piles of litter sat against the
buildings.
My mother said nothing and just drove. We viewed dilapidated
houses, homeless people with shopping carts, adults passed out on benches and
women in scanty outfits. I was terrified because I had never seen a
poverty-stricken neighborhood.
When I found out Teresa was from the same neighborhood, I
was afraid of her. I stayed away from her during the Girl Scout meetings.
Knowing I was to have Mexican food with her family petrified
me. I worried for two weeks. I couldn’t beg out of it either because it was
part of our troop’s badge project.
Two hours before I was to arrive at Teresa’s home for the
Mexican dinner, I had a meltdown and called her. I told her I was sick and
couldn’t make it. My mom came home. “I
am not going,” I cried. My mom asked what was wrong, I told her my dilemma. “My life
is in danger! They might poison me!”
My mom looked pensive and explained that even though Teresa
lived in that poor neighborhood her family and home were safe. “Not all the
streets and homes are like the ones we saw.”
Teresa’s family lived in a small, old house on a beautiful
street with lots of trees. Their home was clean and comfortable. Teresa greeted
me, and I apologized. She smiled and said she understood. She and her family
were nice and friendly, and the meal was delicious. Not a Thanksgiving goes by
where I don’t remember having that meal with Teresa’s family and what I
learned. Don’t judge a person by their neighborhood. Feel thankful for friends;
feel grateful for experiences; feel grateful for family.
