“Mom, why aren’t we doing anything to help the people in Haiti who had that big earthquake?” I asked my mom out of the blue one afternoon, sitting on the elementary school benches.
My mom processed my question for a moment, astounded I even knew about such a thing since I was only in first grade.
Then she answered, “There’s not much we can do. They’re already getting lots of help from other people.”
“But I want to help!” I whined.
“You’ll find a way. You always do,” my mom said, referring to how I could easily resolve problems.

The earthquake in Haiti had no effect in my life, until I saw a news report on it. I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch and rich chocolate milk, when I noticed a depressing interview on the television. There was a young boy, no older than me, who had lost his family to the earthquake. To make it worse, he didn't realize that they were dead. It made me think about what would happen if I lost my family to an earthquake. That thought kept me distracted all day.

“We could give money,” I suggested.
“Anna, we don’t have a lot of money right now,” my mom replied.
“Not our family!” I rolled my eyes. “My class!”
My mom smiled. “That’s actually a pretty good idea. We would need to ask Ms. Daniels first, since it is her classroom.”
“Then let’s ask her!” I exclaimed.
At that moment, Ms. Daniels walked out of her classroom and into the commons. Being a very shy child, I didn’t say anything. Lucky for me, my mom made up for that with her outgoing personality.
“Ms. Daniels!” my mom called out.
“Yes?” Ms. Daniels hummed.
“Anna just had an amazing idea,” my mom bubbled.
Ms. Daniels sat down next to us, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m listening.”
“Well,” I blushed, “this morning I heard about that big earthquake in Haiti. They’re so far away that we can’t do much to help and Mom says we’re poor right now. I was thinking maybe our class could collect money?”
“That is a good idea! Are you going to make a collection tray so we can keep track of all the money?” Ms. Daniels inquired.
I giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this all figured out.”

The car ride home was anything but quiet; something unusual since I was a pretty timid kid who refused to talk to anyone but my best friend or when required. Half of the problem was Mom blasting her new Jason Mraz album. The other half was that I wouldn’t stop gabbing on and on about the unrealistic amounts of money we were going to raise and house plans for when my best friend and I finally married. Six years later, every car ride was like that.

At home, I got to work. There was so much to do and so little time. I had to make a container for money, ransack the house for extra money to get a headstart, eat dinner, take a bath, complain to my mom about not being allowed to read George R. R. Martin (something that still happens every night), finish my Magic Treehouse book, and finally go to bed.
Making a container seemed easy enough, and actually was. Since my mom was an avid coffee drinker, using an empty Folgers can seemed like the easiest approach. My dad took an X-Acto knife and made a slit on the lid just big enough for coins and paper money. If my parents thought that was all the container needed, boy were they wrong! I was a weird kid with an even weirder imagination, so I pasted cut outs of the Fruit of the Loom girls with speech bubbles encouraging people to donate money over top of the label. A green can with girls from underwear packages was good enough for me, so I moved onto the next task, finding money.
In my house, money was something that was cherished, so it was hard to find lying around. I was a sneaky kid, so I knew just the places to go. The laundry room was the first place I hit up. If there was ever any money in pockets, it was put on the top of the dryer so it wouldn’t be washed. There were three pennies and two quarters, which wasn’t much but seemed like a decent amount to a first grader.
“Anna! Dinner’s ready!” my mom called down the stairs.
I groaned, I was just getting started on finding money! Food was more important than money for me, so I quickly stuffed the change in my collection jar and bounded up the stairs.
Dinner that night was something gross that I refused to eat, so I took a bath while still hungry. No food and a cold, bubble-less bath put me in a bad mood, only making me more prepared for the upcoming conflict with my mother.

“You’re always telling me to expand my reading horizons!” I argued.
“Those books are all about death, sex, food, and more death,” my mom stated.
I frowned. “I can handle those things! Plus I love food!”
“You’re not mature enough to watch Spongebob,” she responded. “There is no way you could read A Game of Thrones without it ruining your childhood.”
“Come on, Mom!” I whined. “We watch Spongebob all the time at Jadyn’s house! I am mature enough!”
“No you’re not, and that’s the end of it!” my mom fumed.
I grumbled, “Then when can I read them?”
“When you’re in high school,” my mom replied.
I pulled my covers up to my neck. “I’m going to finish my book, so if you would kindly leave…”
My mom smiled slightly, still a little frustrated from the argument, and walked out of my room, leaving the door open. Too pumped up about my fundraiser, I didn’t actually read that night. Instead, I fell asleep and dreamed of winning the Nobel Peace Prize for raising so much money.

School the next day was just as magical as I had dreamed of. As soon as I arrived, I set my jar on the back table and took a seat. No one else was at school yet, so I had plenty of time to finally finish my book.
“Oh Annie, you’re so smart” I sighed dreamily as I shut my book. Was it normal to have crushes on book characters with such a similar name to your own? I sure hoped so.
“While you were reading your book, I gave the morning announcements,” Ms. Daniels said to me. “It’s nothing you didn’t already know. Would you like to tell the rest of the class about your project?”
I felt my heart beating faster. Talking to the whole class all at once? No way! I looked down and shook my head no.
Ms. Daniels walked back to the center of the classroom and explained to the class what I was starting. Or at least I assume that’s what she did. It’s not that I was a bad kid, I just zoned out on occasion. Especially if it was something that would embarrass me.
All at once, the kids in my class turned to look at me. I blushed and covered my face with my book. This was a nightmare inside of a dream.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I muttered.
That’s not how I actually felt. I wanted it to be a big deal, to get recognition for doing something great. If people knew that, they’d think less of me. You can’t admit you want to be in the spotlight, especially if you were me. I was just that girl who loves to read and can maybe write more numbers that Jared (which I did, mind you). My life had so much more meaning than writing silly numbers! I was destined for something bigger! I was basically the child of Beyoncé and Ellen! No one could stop me from changing the world!
“Actually, I do have something to say,” I stood up, my knees wobbly. “Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we can’t make a difference. We can and will raise a lot of money and help those people in Haiti.”
Everyone continued to stare at me, so I just plopped back down into my chair. What I did was so out of character, it was the start of me breaking out of my shell.

I continued to encourage classmates to bring in money, and they definitely provided. By the end of our fundraiser, we had raised around two hundred dollars. How long was this fundraiser? I believe it was anywhere from two weeks to a month, but don’t hold me to it. Raising money for charity made it okay for us to have a field trip or something, so that’s how we celebrated.
“Before we go to the bank, we should try counting the money for ourselves,” Ms. Daniels stated. “Anna, you can pick some friends to help you count.”
Most of the hands in the classroom shot up, but I chose Emma, Jared, and Cheyenne. Those three were the closest things to friends I had in my class.
At recess that day, the four of us stayed inside to count money. First all of us together counted the paper money. I put the pennies in piles of one hundred, Cheyenne put the nickels in piles of twenty, Emma put the dimes in piles of ten, and Jared put the quarters in piles of four. Everyone counted a pile as a dollar, and we totalled it up.
“Well, guys, looks like we have a decent amount of money,” I noted excitedly.
“Will two hundred dollars be enough to help these people?” Jared inquired. “I mean, it seems like a lot, but how much is it really?”
“That’s enough money for a month’s worth of groceries at least,” Emma replied.
Cheyenne piped up, “Maybe it could give them a start at rebuilding their houses or stores.”
“Whatever it goes to will surely help,” Ms. Daniels reminded us.

A few days later we all walked to the bank. It was cold and the walk seemed to take forever, but it was a very big deal to me at the time. I got to walk in the front next to Ms. Daniels and carry my jar proudly.
After what felt like a three mile long walk, we arrived at the bank. Ms. Daniels held the door open, and I led the class inside. While at the bank, they counted our money and gave us a tour of the bank, explaining to us how each and every thing works. We’d gone on a field trip to the bank in previous years, so it really wasn’t anything new.
I don’t know how we got that money to Haiti. I assume it was through a program of some sort, they would make the most sense. Or maybe they just sent it to Haiti with no return address. I guess I just try not to think too hard about two hundred dollars possibly lost.

These days I am still involved in charity work (and still not allowed to read A Game of Thrones). I avidly volunteer at the humane society and I like to think of myself as an LGBT+ activist. When I tell people about all the things I aspire to do, I usually bring back my first grade fundraiser along with all my other nonprofit work. Even people who were in my class don’t seem to remember raising money for the earthquake in Haiti, but I do. And my mom does. So does my best friend, Jadyn. I guess even that doesn’t matter. People can remember, people can forget, but knowing that I made a difference is all the recognition I need.