“Ok, let's huddle” uttered Mrs. Green as we walked out of the classroom.

“Hi, my name is Misael and I'm a junior” I mumbled before we jumped on the bus. Then the engine began to roar as it headed towards Watkins Family Center with my heart full of anticipation. In the process, we passed junkyards filled with iron machines colored in a lifeless red coloration, or so it seemed.

At last, the bus came to a halt in the sluggish parts of Phoenix. As I approached the door, my numb legs prevented me from entering, but eventually the passion for service conquered my heart.

Upon sliding through the door, I observed a throng of displaced souls attentively listening to the proctor heading their meeting. A crescendo of laughter and conversations from the Interactors prompted Mrs. Green to take action.

“Be quiet” whispered Mrs. Green in a smooth, yet demanding voice accompanied by a stern face. Subsequently, the Interactor's chattering began to dissipate, transitioning the focus back to the meeting; however, I could not abstain from thinking- wondering what the families were experiencing.

In any case, after the gathering, the Interact team and I began preparing Halloween dinner for our guests. The meatloaf began to be served as an influx of empty stomachs rushed into the cafeteria. Their eyes were fixed on their plates, but their watering mouths didn’t prevent them from enunciating a “thanks” or just simply a gracious smile.

“Hi, would you like some help carrying your plates?” I asked at the end of the line. I was a waiter for our guests, which others might have given their backs to instead of a helping hand.

“ Can you carry this to that table over there” responded a thin, with the exception of the round stomach, blond lady with her rosy cheeks and a stampede of children on her trail. I helped her to her seat and returned to my position where I worked until the sun began to set.

As we began to clean the tables, a sudden thunder filled the room unexpectedly, but there was no doubt that it was the sound of clashing hands. Satisfaction filled my heart, but there was more that awaited us.

Following the brief dinner came what is perhaps most heart-harming- working with the children from the shelter. Napkin ghosts, paper plate masks, and popcorn hands filled the room with the traditional Halloween spirit.

“Hi buddy, would you like some help making your popcorn hand?” I voiced to the boy. He had a stained shirt scattered with holes, short pants , and shoes without a sole, but his face told a more profound story. I looked at his face scorched by the summer sun with face painting made from grime and filth, yet his eyes seemed to hide what his body showed; they were filled with joy and determination which was an indication for me that it was going to be a special night.

I continued my investigation while I sustained the glove and he jammed in the popcorn. “What’s your name,” I asked with a voice filled with curiosity. He answered with: “ My name is Johnny”. Johnny and I continued to work on the glove until it was brimming with popcorn, so we tied a knot to secure the popcorn.

Suddenly, I heard Johnny say, “you're nice” with the laughs and giggles contained in the background.

“Just a little bit” I responded to Johnny as I pinched some imaginary salt. But Johnny promptly took his delicate fingers, placed them between my own and gradually expanded the distance.Without a doubt, it is true. Small acts of kindness can be life changing.