On our way to California, my husband Lee and I stopped at a restaurant to have lunch and stretch our legs a bit with our kids Jack and Jenny.

As we walked toward the entrance, an ugly looking doorman jumped up from a nearby bench and opened the door for us. “Good afternoon and welcome to Denny’s,” he said in a very joyful voice. In his hand he held a cup full of steaming coffee—which was inviting on such a cold day—but from the looks of the rest of him, it appeared that he hadn’t had a good meal or a shower in a long time. Obviously he was homeless. But regardless of his appearance, he greeted us as if we were his best friends, adding as we entered, “Today’s soup and sandwich special is a great deal.”

Once inside, my kids whispered to me, “Mom, he smells.” After we ordered our lunch, Lee and I explained the best we could, telling the kids to look beyond the dirt to the person underneath and within. As we explained, the four of us watched other customers approach the restaurant. They appeared unsure of the homeless man and many ignored him.

Seeing this rudeness truly frustrated me. When we were almost finished, I excused myself from the meal and went to the truck for my purse.

As I neared the front door, the doorman was opening it for a couple and welcoming them to the restaurant. They rushed past him and didn’t even acknowledge his presence. I let the couple come through first and then said a loud, and polite “thank you” to the doorman as I exited.

When I came back, we talked a lot. The doorman told me that the restaurant’s manager wouldn’t let him inside unless he purchased food. All l he could afford was coffee which, he said, didn’t count as “food” according to the manager, so he had to stay outside.

Seated myself, I signaled the waiter to come and decided to do something before leaving.

Hearing the waiter’s words, the doorman approached me excitedly and thanked me for the hot meal.

Growing up in a coastal town in San Francisco, Christian had a special love for the ocean and its creatures. He had always found joy in the rhythmic tides and the ocean waves against the shore. The salty wind and the cries of the seagulls (海鸥) had been like a comforting song to him during his childhood.

However, all these changed over the years. Every time he wandered along the familiar stretch of sand, his heart sank. The once charming beach was now littered with plastic bags, bottles and other wastes, a distinctive contrast to the natural beauty that had always absorbed him.

The sight was a painful reminder of the harm the locals were bringing to the very land where he was growing up. Christian felt a deep sense of loss and responsibility. Previously, he had seen the news reports about the severe effects of plastic pollution on the oceans, and the images of sea creatures stuck in plastic wastes haunted (萦绕于脑际) him.

Determined to make a change, Christian decided to take action. He knew he couldn’t solve this problem alone, but he could start something that might grow into a powerful movement. With the passion and belief of a young man who loved his ocean and his land deeply, he founded an organization called Waves of Change. The early days presented challenges in calling on volunteers.

He began by reaching out to the students in his school. He shared the shocking reality of the polluted beaches and the urgent need to reduce plastic litter. To his delight, gradually more and more schoolmates started showing interest in the organization and many were eager to join in the cause. They were all too familiar with the beauty of the ocean and were equally saddened by the damage they had witnessed. As high school students, Christian and other members properly allocates (分配) time to balance the cause and their academic work.

Together, Christian and other members did a lot of things in their free time.

Their efforts finally paid off.

At first, Surrell didn’t see the black smoke or flames shooting from the windows of his neighbors’ home. He and his wife were just having a dinner in their own house in Allentown, Pennsylvania, when they heard someone screaming: “The house is on fire!” He went to investigate. That’s when he saw two women and a girl crazily at a loss on their porch (走廊). It was his neighbour’s house.

“The baby’s inside there!” one of the women cried. Though the fire department had been called, Surrell, then 64, instinctively (本能地) ran inside. “The baby” was 8-year-old Tiara Roberts, who always called him Uncle Surrell. She was the woman’s granddaughter and a playmate of Surrell’s three youngest kids, 8, 10, and 12. The other two on the porch were Tiara’s aunt and cousin.

Entering the burning house was like running into “a bucket of black paint”. The thick smoke caused Surrell to walk blindly around, burned his eyes, and made it impossible for him to breathe. He felt his throat and lungs burned, and every blink stung (蛰) his eyes. The conditions would have been very dangerous for anyone, but for Surrell, who has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (慢性阻塞性肺病) and was in hospital just half a year ago, they were life-risking.

After a few minutes in the smoke-filled house searching but in vain, he ran outside to catch his breath. “Where is Tiara?” he asked desperately.

“The second floor,” her aunt shouted back.

Surrell knew he couldn’t hold his breath for long. So he uttered a little prayer: “Well, God, this is it. You got to help me, because I’m not coming out without that little girl.”

Taking a deep breath, he went in a second time.

Surrell woke up in the hospital a couple of days later.