Why I Support the Red Cross

Yesterday was the third time I heard something good about the Red Cross. The first time was during a church service. At that service, one of the ministers shared a testimony about how the Red Cross saved his father's life. The minister's father was a pilot in the Air Force, and after his plane was shot down in battle, it was the Red Cross that rushed to the scene.

Yesterday, my grandmother called the house, informing me that my Aunt Fern's house burned down. How? I don't know. Aunt Fern was the only one in the house at the time, but what's most important is that she's doing fine: alive and well. Neighbors called for help, and the Red Cross showed up in no time.

Last weekend, I took a trip to my old neighborhood in Queens, NY. My first stop was the barbershop. While waiting in line for a haircut, a young dark-skinned woman sitting across from me struck up a conversation. She told me the Red Cross assisted her mother when her house was ablaze. (Mind you, she's telling me this on Saturday -- and I learned about Auntie Fern's house yesterday!) Granted, the details of her story are mostly a blur. Still, I grasped the gist of our conversation.

"If you ever send your money to charity," she said, "donate to the Red Cross."