StoriesBlog At dinner, we went around the table sharing what we were grateful for.
“I’m grateful for Mr. Anderson teaching me long division,” Charlie said.
“I’m grateful for second chances,” Mom said. “And for my husband’s stubborn compassion.”
“I’m grateful for teachers who see potential in kids,” Dad said. “And for being able to pay that forward.”
“I’m grateful for a family that saw me when I was invisible,” Mr. Anderson said. “That gave me a place at their table. That reminded me I still have something to offer this world.”
Then it was my turn. “I’m grateful for being wrong. For learning that compassion isn’t convenient. It’s necessary. And I’m grateful for Mr. Anderson. For teaching my dad thirty years ago. And for teaching me last year.”
Everyone was crying. We held hands. And I realized. That doorbell ringing last Thanksgiving didn’t just change Mr. Anderson’s life. It changed mine.