My husband and I rushed home from work every day, but lunch at 12pm was a mission impossible for a long time. My mother, in her nineties, was happy to help, but cooking was too much for her. The children were too young to take on anything. I looked for a solution and soon found it; a nearby school that taught children with special needs was preparing lunches. The food was home-cooked and good, and above all, within easy reach.
One particularly cold day, when the temperature dropped below freezing, I went out for lunch. I walked across the schoolyard, frozen snow crystals crunching underfoot. Just then, children came running out of the classroom - small, playful, with their hats sticking to their eyes. My gaze landed on a little boy. He was tiny, with hair that was a little too long, and despite the crowd I spotted him immediately. His trousers were too short, worn and already a little frayed at the edges. His shoes, which were almost falling apart, had holes peeping through his bare toes. The skin around his ankles showed red rings - a trace of the cold. Even the jacket he wore was old and too thin for such a winter, and his hands were red as peppers, icy, without gloves.
It made my heart sink. It would have been hard to find anything in my boys at that time, because they were too big. But I knew I could not ignore this boy's plight. The next day at work, I told the story to my colleagues Boža Černec and Renata Klančnik. They both happily promised to help and the next morning there were two big bags on my desk with thick trousers, warm jumpers, boots, gloves, a jacket, caps and even warm socks. Everything was beautifully preserved, almost new.
The boy was not at school that day. I knew his teacher, as we were both from the same town. She told me that the school had tried to help several times, but the family was in a difficult situation. The parents were out of work and often under the influence of alcohol. She did not say this in an accusatory tone, just with sadness in her eyes. She gave me their address.
I went there in the afternoon. The house was run down, the windows dirty and a pile of empty bottles outside the door. When I knocked, my mother answered. She was cold and suspicious. She said the boy was not at home, but I did not give in. I explained that I had some things for him. Her eyes narrowed, and then she asked, "Are you from the social work centre?" When I answered no, I noticed a change in the tone of her voice. It became softer and a little kinder. She called my son.
When the boy got to the door, his eyes lit up. When I started to take the clothes out of the bags, he kept grabbing them in his hands, looking at them, smelling them, trying them on. That little face just shone. I knew in that moment that it was worth it.
Coming home, I felt warm despite the icy cold. It was as if a large, heavy stone had rolled away from my heart. We may not be able to change the world, but we can change one moment in someone else's life.
Justina Strašek, 30. 4. 2025
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