On the drive home from school a couple of weeks ago, my 8-year-old daughter was nearly in tears. She had learned about Haiti and how many of the people live in extreme poverty. Being eight, she doesn’t always get things 100% right. Case in point, she told me that they have slaves and the slaves have to beg for food. Her class wrote letters to be sent to some Haitian children through a charity the school partners with. I still have no idea what my daughter actually wrote, but she told me what she “couldn’t” write about. Apparently she couldn’t tell them about any of our jobs because then they would think that we were slaves. She identifies her dad as being in the Army (despite the fact that he was only enlisted for 8-years, which ended about 9-years before she was born — no acknowledgement of his career for the past 17-years). The Army is too full of death and gore for her to write about. Her older brother works at a golf course, but telling them that he cleaned carts would certainly make them think we were slaves. Apparently I don’t work. I find her logic amusing.
Two days later, we volunteered at Feed My Starving Children. This was planned before her story, but the timing was perfect. This organization sends food to various locations around the world where people don’t have enough to eat. As volunteers, we get to package the food to be shipped. It turns out that the food that we helped to package was going to Haiti!