Everyone Needs Compassion

Everyone Needs Compassion

“They’re not that different from us,” I whisper to my middle child, the girl on my lap whose ponytail’s tickling my nose.

But she’s not so sure, so I introduce her to Lena, who likes art and wears a bright beaded necklace she handcrafted herself, and Ruth, who loves her tabby cat and can’t wait for Christmas.

The band starts to play, and soon everyone is on their feet. But my girl, she sits close to me. She’s still wearing her coat.

I feel at home here, surrounded by people who just want to be loved. And maybe it’s because my mom spent so much time taking care of the Lenas and the Ruths of the world, and people like Stanley, who hopes the Giants win today, and Juan, who shows me a tattered picture of his niece and nephew a few dozen times.

Or maybe it’s because I just want to be loved, too.

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