“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months,” said the young man as he slid into the chair at our dining table.
If one’s heart can soar and sink simultaneously, my did. And my heart also broke into laughter at the “home-cooked” description. I suppose the dinner could qualify as home-cooked since, technically, it had been cooked inside our home. It was left over ham dumped into a noodle casserole. Only one can had been opened and that was for the green beans. No processed cheese or mushroom soup and been involved. Maybe it could pass for home-cooked.
Giving pleasure to someone starving for a home-cooked meal did make my heart soar. At the same time, I felt sorry for our guest because he had been missing the physical and spiritual nourishment of enjoying good food with family or friends.
This young man had arrived at our home recently to install television service. He was young; Hispanic. He worked hard and accomplished what another had been unable to do.
It was getting late in the evening as he completed his work, and we were about to eat dinner. So we had asked him if he would like to join us.
His story unfolded. He was from South Texas, but he told us—twice—that his mother lived in the West. His work had him staying in one place a few weeks and then moving on to the next one. He was headed to Florida after he completed his tasks here.
He liked the work. The company paid his living expenses, it seemed, so he could make some extra if he didn’t use all that up. But, with a face that was all smiles, he told us he had to get back home before August because his baby girl would be born then.
As we finished eating, I asked if he would like seconds. He declined. Then he said, “Do you have a paper plate?”
It was nice that he felt comfortable enough to ask. I loaded a paper plate with biscuits and casserole–I’m sure he was disappointed no green beans were left over–and added a couple of thick slices of pound cake.
I’ve thought a lot about our unexpected dinner guest. Maybe it’s because he is roughly our son’s age, but there’s more.
I know nothing else about him, nothing about his citizenship status. I do know that in today’s climate his ethnicity, or assumptions about his status, could create difficulty for him. The life he’s building for his family may or may not materialize.
What I do know is that he was working hard and was excited about his baby’s birth. And he liked home-cooked meals.
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