When I was young, my parents made a point to be involved within our community. There reasoning behind my siblings and I doing countless hours of “slave labor” was actually their way of teaching us a significant life lesson that I could never quite comprehend. One volunteer opportunity that we endured, involved serving Thanksgiving dinner at the Salvation Army. I begged my parents to leave me home. There was no way that I was going to spend my holiday serving poor people who didn’t make the right decisions and now they had to live with the consequences. When we arrived, the building was already swarmed by the “poor” folks. These people looked dingy and gritty (which only helped my argument from earlier.) Once everything began rolling, and dinner
