As I was walking home from my Russian lesson today, I stopped off at a side shop on the street to buy some bread for dinner. I've been taking a different way home, partly because it's faster and partly because I get to see kids playing on the playground as I cut through the park. Right as I was coming to the park, I saw this dumpster--this grandmother lady was digging through the trash. I went over, and in my broken Russian, asked her if she wanted the bread I just bought. I'll never forget the smile on her face . . . I made it a few feet towards home, turned around as I tried to determine if I could do anything else. . . stood in the middle of the street for a few seconds, tears streaming down my face. What do I do?
Man, she's the age of my grandmothers . . . Mema or Grandmother or Grandma Doris or Granny "B" . . . how do I this? How do I seek to "share my food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter — when I see the naked, to clothe him." I'm struggling with how to seek justice for those within a system I know nothing about, a language I know little of, and a world that lets grandmothers dig through trash cans. How do I do this?
-Makinzie
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