The year was 2005. It was a typical rainy night in San Jose, like most are in the month of May as the rainy season has begun. My family and I were driving home in our 1988 Subaru wagon. My very pregnant wife was in the front seat with our boys, 7 and 9 at the time, seated in the back. On this “ordinary” night, something “extraordinary” was about to happen.

We came to a stop at a traffic light when a young boy seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He stood on the corner, no umbrella, no raincoat, no poncho, soaking wet with his hand extended toward the cars in the line waiting for the light to turn green. His hand was a sign of his need as his piercing eyes looked toward us.

This was not an unusual scene by any stretch of the imagination, in fact it was all too common. Yet, there was something about this boy on this night that seemed to capture all of my families attention. What I write next may be shocking, we didn’t stop and we didn’t give. You have to understand that we were simply following the orders that we’d been given because of the many abuses behind the children who have been sent out to beg.