I shifted my weight from foot to foot and glanced at everyone’s faces, searching for clues as to how they were taking this in. Our group of Interact kids began to set up at their appointed stations and positions at St. Vincent de Paul’s kitchen, where we can serve the poor.

Each of us tried to help set up as much as possible, waiting and anticipating until dinner came around the corner. It was my first time doing something like this, so, naturally, my point of view about these type of people do not leave a good impression. Time flew by sooner than I thought.

A line of people began to form at the entrance. It was time.

One by one, men, women, and children each picked up a plate and headed down the salad bar, the one where I worked at. Many people of all ages passed through as I hastily placed either cottage cheese and diced peaches on their plates. It was all a blur. I tried not to stare as much, but one boy next in line, caught my attention.

“More, please.”

I looked down at the little boy standing in front of me, peering into his sad, brown puppy eyes. He looked about five or six years old. He stood on his toes but could barely reach his plate above the counter. I scooped up another spoonful of diced peaches and shakily placed them on his plate.

As he walked away, I got a glimpse of his skinny, beanstalk-like arms, grasping the plate with all of his might, fearing that someone might snatch it away from him.

I realized that not everyone is as fortunate as me to have a roof over their head and have three meals a day. I used to think that people have become the way that they are because of the choices that they have made. Coming to St. Vinnies has opened my mind to more possibilities and has enabled me to not judge people right away.