I think every family has morals. Be honest, be polite, be kind. You know, the usual stuff your parents want you to be. Although my parents raised my brother and me to be all of those things, one of the most important morals they taught us was being compassionate. Standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, and being the voice for those who don’t have one. Sometimes as an elementary student I would see someone getting picked on and get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach if I didn’t defend them. I believe in being the voice for the voiceless.

One specific time I can remember my parents teaching me this was a long time ago. I remember driving with my parents one night. We were back headed from a family dinner downtown.  As night fell we crossed a big bridge over a highway near a gas station. My mom happened to look out the window to see a man standing on the outside of the bridge on the ledge, ready to jump. At the time, I didn’t understand why my parents were calling the police and worrying after such a nice night, but I knew something was wrong. An hour later there were police officers surrounding the man coaxing him down along with my father who had been trying since we saw him. Below the bridge traffic was discontinued. My mom and dad didn’t have to do any of this. They could have kept driving because it didn’t affect them at all. But they did stop the car and save a life because they saw someone in need and couldn’t ignore it. Going into the situation they knew they wouldn’t benefit at all from it, but they knew he was someone who needed a voice, a reason, and some hope. Which is what my parents provided and taught me to provide.

Flash forward six or seven years, and ever since that experience I have lived by my family’s  belief. My brother and I even stand up for each other when we argue with our parents as each other’s voice of reason. Anyways, one day my brother, mother, and I was walking into the grocery store and outside was a mom and her little daughter, who couldn’t be older than eight. They were homeless and holding a sign that explained their story. I don’t remember much, but I do remember that it said they were not from America. Across the parking lot was a man yelling offense things at them such as, “Go back to your country!” and “Nobody wants you here!” I could feel the hatred in his voice, and see how much these words embarrassed the mother, and scared the daughter and it made me feel sick. While watching all of this go down, I knew I had to use my voice for someone who couldn’t, so I told my mom we needed to get security, and walked into the store looking until I found them. Relief flooded through the mother and daughter’s eyes as he left, but in the end they were still left with nothing. I had come to the store to buy something with the $20 I earned babysitting but found myself handing the women all of my money instead. Seeing the smile on her eyes, and most importantly, the hope in her eyes made it so much more fulfilling than buying anything for myself at the store. Thinking back to the memory I still smile, and wouldn’t do anything differently.

In both of the stories, there is someone in need, who in someway can’t or won’t express how they truly feel. I think everyone has a voice. Sometimes it’s stifled by those who choose not to listen. Other’s voices are too loud to hear their own damage they are doing. I believe in standing up when I see an injustice. I believe in being the voice for the voiceless.