Two days ago, I got a call from a Latina social worker friend asking if I could help a family of mom and 5 kids that had a need for some food.
Since I have a church key, (yeah, I have both kinds of church keys), I can get a few bags of food from the church food pantry from time to time to help.
My friend asked me to call the family and indicated the mom does not speak English but her oldest will help interpret.
I arranged with the oldest to meet them in a nearby pharmacy parking lot after I picked up some food from the church pantry for them. After I described what kind of car I drive and what I look like, the daughter indicated that the family drives an SUV with a rare Native American decal on the rear window.
The same decal that I have often seen when I pick up two little boys who often come to our house to play with my grandson. I have chatted briefly with the mom in the past in my very broken Spanish. But I did not know the extent of their poverty since the dad moved out as a result of a bitter divorce.
Poverty in plain sight.
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