07/30/2025
I saw my 9-year-old son sitting at the table, breaking dry ramen into a bowl.
— "I was hungry, so I made food for myself," he said.
But when I offered to cook it, he shook his head.
— "I just wanted to eat something I used to have with my old family."
And just like that, a story spilled out—about being 6 years old, digging for coins under the seats of a van, feeding two baby siblings with dry noodles and powdered sauce... because there was no one else who would.
Even then, he made sure his siblings ate first.
Even then, he tried to mix bottles for the baby.
Tonight, we sat and ate ramen his way—uncooked, salty, crunchy. And for the first time, I truly saw what that little bowl meant: survival, memory, trust.
He looked at me and said:
— "I couldn’t trust you back then."
But now, he knows love. He knows safety. He knows he's home.
And I know this: kids from hard places don’t need fixing.
They need someone to sit with them, as they are.
🍜 The full story is in the comments. It’s one I’ll never forget.
