How it started...
I am a first generation American from my dad's side of the family. So I grew up going to Mexico on a regular basis. I have pictures of me when I was little but honestly i dont really remember it that much. My first real memory was when I was 10 or 11. I had went with my dad to visit family. I remember going to the flea market and being amazed by sight, smells and things. There were people there asking for money or food but that didnt brother me. I was just in awe be how big it was. I also remember going to the pyramids ruins and taking pictures with the mummy's. But for me it was one night that my dad took me to el centro (center of town) that sticks out in my mind.
You see it had been a long day and we would be going home in 2 days. So my dad took me to get a fruit cup. He knew that I loved them and had to have at least one everyday. We sat there and watch the people talk and some dance to the music in the background. My dad asked me if I was having fun with my cousins and if I liked it there. Before I could reply, this little girl came to us. She was about 4 years old. Her hair was down but had tangles in it, she had a dress that was brown from the dirt. She didnt have shoes and she looked like she hadnt taken a shower in weeks. She asked my dad in the sweetest voice if he had any pesos. My dad looked at me and then gave her 5.00 worth of them. She was so excited, she ran to her mom and showed her and she told my father gracias. I asked my father why that little girl looked liked she did. He told me that, there are people here that are less fortunate then us and it was our responsibility to help them when we can. That we are blessed and shouldnt take that for granted.
I knew right there and then that I wanted to help people. I wanted to help that little girl. How I was going to do that i didnt know but I felt as though God had placed that desire to help those who need it.
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