Everyone has a story

The new doughnut shop in town is usually busy, so I've never stood around and talked with the man who works there. My grandparents, Mom and I were the only customers this morning. We struck up a conversation and learned that he came to America from Cambodia in 1982 . He said," I was 25 years old, the same age as you (pointing to me). We asked if his family came with him. His face turned serious and he made a slashing motion across his neck, saying, "No, they were killed by the communists. Pol Pot killed one million of my people. The communists killed six million more by starvation. They promise good things at first, but then they kill you. When my people figured them out, it was too late. But you know, even the bad people eventually die. You must pray to God that you live a good life." I was speechless. I froze with an apple fritter (he makes the best apple fritters in town) halfway up to my mouth. That is not something you hear every day. Everyone has a story. I never knew that the friendly man in the doughnut shop had lost his entire family to the slaughter in Cambodia over 30 years ago. He went on to say, "We must tell the younger generation so they will know."