Thanksgiving 2025

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this. Maybe because I’ve been feeling emotionally burned out. But now I’m sure that God/the universe has been testing me, making sure I haven’t lost my empathy.

I was in New York for Thanksgiving. When I was younger, I remember watching the Thanksgiving parade on TV and wondering what it would feel like to be there. Now that I have my son, I wanted to give him and myself that experience. Especially because lately he’s been talking about 9/11 and the Survival Tree. So we went.

On our last full day, we went to see the Statue of Liberty. Axel said he really wanted to see it, so we took the Staten Island Ferry. Which, did you know, is free? I didn’t until someone told us that if you really want the New York experience, that’s the way to do it. And since your girl is on a budget, “free” sounded perfect.

It was a cold night, and we sat out on the deck with hundreds of others doing the same thing just trying to feel the New Yorker energy. At some point, I looked inside and saw a little boy, maybe 3 or 4 years old, definitely no older than 5. He was walking bench to bench selling candy bars. I thought to myself, If I see him again, I’ll buy one. But I didn’t think much more of it. We got our photo of the Statue of Liberty and arrived at our stop.

We boarded the ferry back this time sitting inside because the air was colder. And then I saw that child again. He went person to person, with broken English, saying “candy bar.” And every single person either ignored him or turned him away.

I looked down to see if I had any change, and when I looked up, he had stepped away just a few feet to the middle of the ferry near the Dunkin’ Donuts. He had a few coins in his hands and was staring at the worker, like he was trying to figure out how far those coins would get him.

I don’t know what came over me, but if I didn’t have money for a candy bar, I could at least get him something warm to eat or drink. So I walked over and asked if he needed anything in English first, because I didn’t want to assume. Then in Spanish. And he said, “Un café.” A coffee.

A coffee. From a child this small.

I told him he could get something else if he wanted, but he said no. So while we ordered, I asked again, “Are you sure? Do you want a hot chocolate instead?” Again, “No, I just want a coffee.”

The mom in me went into overdrive. I asked where his mom was, and he pointed outside. And a wave of anger and worry hit me. I said, “No andás tú solo, ¿verdad?” You’re not here alone, right? He said no.

His coffee was ready, they added sugar, and I handed it to him along with the only cash I had: “No te puedo comprar una barra de chocolate, pero ten… es todo lo que tengo.” I can’t buy you a candy bar, but here this is all I have. The first thing he did was unfold the bill to see how much it was. And his eyes lit up. He gave me the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long time. There was so much hope in that smile. Then he ran off with his coffee in hand.

I went back to my seat. Axel had been watching the whole thing, and when I sat down he hugged me. I couldn’t hold back anymore I started crying. He told me it was going to be okay, but I said, “It’s not okay.” A child shouldn’t have to do that. That’s something I saw growing up in El Salvador, not here… not in the “land of the free,” right? I told Axel that if we didn’t see the child’s mom with him when we got off, we would speak to an officer because fear gripped me. What if he was being trafficked? What if he didn’t have a safe place to sleep? I was ready to do whatever I needed to make sure he was safe.

About ten minutes later, I saw him again this time with his mother, who was heavily pregnant. And this part still gets me: his innocence. He was so happy, holding his coffee, walking next to her. Axel said, “See mommy, he’s safe.”

Who have we become?

When I came to this country, it wasn’t my choice. That decision was made for me. And I have done everything I can to make something of myself to make sure my son never lives through the things I lived through. I started doing community work because I wanted this place to be better for him. Not just for him, but for every child in this community to give them a fair chance to thrive.

And lately… I have been disappointed. Deeply.

Why work so hard for a world that doesn’t seem to care? We’ve traded humanity for privilege. If it’s not happening to us or someone we know… why should we care, right?

We’ve lost the essence of being human.

In this moment, I pray for that child and his mother. I pray that they are safe. I pray that every immigrant who comes to this country searching for a better life is able to find it.

And I will keep using my voice for those who don’t have one.