It was an early Saturday morning, about 5:30 am. My mom called to me, “Austin, get up! Time to go and serve the homeless!” I dragged myself out of bed.

I started serving the homeless when I was eight years old. I didn’t know these people would make such a big difference in my life.

Two Saturdays a month I go to the church and help get things ready for breakfast. When the gate is opened, people come rushing in to get coffee, juice or milk. They take their seats while breakfast is prepared, and then we begin to serve. We each grab two plates and carry them down the line as the plates are filled. Each person receives two pancakes, a scoop of eggs, hashbrowns, and two sausages. I walk to the tables where the people are sitting and set the plates before them. I always make sure that I smile. After I’ve served them, I ask if they need anything else and bring them whatever they ask for. Some say thank you, some don’t, but I don’t care. I’m there to serve them.

When I first started serving, I was a little scared. Some of the people were wearing clothes with patches on them and shoes with holes in them. They were not that clean and their teeth were yellow or missing. At first I stayed close to my mom most of the time, but after I got to know these strangers I realized that they were nice, friendly people. And the inside of them was often nicer than the outside. I started talking to my new friends and realized that there was no reason to be scared. After serving for a few months, I started to look forward to seeing the same people each week.

Take Cowboy. He always puts me in a good mood. When I see him, he always says, “Austin! How are you?” I’ve often heard him say that I am a really hard worker. This makes me feel really good inside because I know I’m making a difference in someone’s life.

Then there’s Curtis. He’s a really big guy.

All of these people make my day much better.

Robbie loved swimming in the sea. When he was a little boy, he had always dreamed of becoming a professional swimmer. And he moved well on his career journey when he grew up. But one day, unfortunately, he got badly injured while he was training for a swimming competition.

After months of treatment, his condition got better. But the doctor strongly advised him never to go swimming again, or else his life would be in danger. This broke his heart.

Despite the fact that he had to give up swimming, his love for swimming never died. So he rented a beach house, which would allow him the comfort of being close to the seawater. And to make ends meet, he tried to sell souvenirs to tourists who visited the beach.

One early summer evening, Robbie was making his way home from the beach when he heard a cry. It was reported that it might rain that day, so most people had left the beach early. But Robbie believed he had heard something. The cry came again, and he had a quick look around. He found the beach was empty. Suddenly, he heard a shout from the sea.

“Help!” a frightened and tired kid shouted. He learned later that the kid was 12 years old, called Nicole, and lived in an orphanage (孤儿院). She lost her parents when she was a baby. Her parents were professional swimmers and she dreamed about becoming a good swimmer like them. That early summer evening, after dinner, she left the orphanage alone and went to the beach, hoping to learn to swim on her own. The girl almost drowned. When she was calling for help that evening, Robbie happened to hear it.

He immediately called the police. “But waiting for help might be too late,” Robbie thought. He thought of how life-threatening it was for him to swim. “The kid is drowning!” but he thought as he fought his fear. “I must help.”

Then, he jumped in.

Feeling pity for Nicole, Robbie decided to teach her how to swim.

“Go back, Mom! Go back!” shouted my six-year-old daughter, June. I quickly turned around to cast my doubtful eyes on the back seat, worried I had forgotten her younger sister. I was relieved to see the girls safe and sit in their car seats, but June’s expression was one of pure anxiety. “Mom, we have to go back,” she insisted. “Someone needs our help!”

As I looked back from the driver’s seat, I spotted a young man in rags playing his guitar. His skinny, poor-looking dog rested next to his feet near an old, worn cardboard sign that read, “Homeless, please help.”

We’d come across homeless people before and had talked about their needs and struggles. I should seize the chance to set a good example for my daughters to give a helping hand. So I searched for some cash, only to find I had nothing but credit cards. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have any cash,” I said. “I have some, Mom!” June replied. She opened her little pink purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Oh, good. I’ll pay you back when we get home,” I responded with a sigh of relief. “No. Mom.” she insisted, “I want to help him. I don’t want you to pay me back. I want to give him my money.”

As we drove down the crowded rows of the parking lot, I reassured her that we would get to him.

When we got there. I called out, “Excuse me, sir!” He cautiously walked toward our car and answered, “Yes, ma’am?” “Here you go, sir.” June stretched out her entire body to hand him her five-dollar bill through the window and explained, “I want you to have this.” He smiled and hesitatingly asked, “This was your money?” “Yes! I want you to have it,” she proudly answered. “Thank you,” he said, touched by her thoughtfulness.

We exchanged a smile, and as we drove away, my younger daughter Scarlett began to cry. I hadn’t noticed that she had emptied her purse and was holding two quarters in her tiny hands.

“Mom, I wanted to help, too,” she sobbed.

Now with tears in his eyes, he said in disbelief, “You want to help me?”