Helping a Poor Person With My Own Money.

I still remember when mama and I was in the car to go to church early on Sunday morning.
6: 35, rode empty. I couldn't see a single ant moving, only our car tearing down the street. The sky was the color of peach, the sun rising up the mountains. The music low, a book on my hands. Suddenly a knock interrupts the peace.
A man- the one who has crutches, the one who is wearing ripped clothes- stands beside the car window, holding out a can. Mama scavenges for pennies and nickels, says she can't find any.
I clutch my 1 dollar bill in my pocket, my heart racing. Shall I give him this money? Shall I?
Mama looks at the man, her face pale.
"Mom, take this dollar!" I say, finally making a decision. She smiles, as she takes the money. Mama scrolls down the window, not all, but just enough to squeeze the dollar.
The man's face lights up, as if the dollar was gold, as if he never saw such a thing.
" Gracias, gracias" Is all he said, the smile of his, never fading away.
" Yeji, it was really nice of you to give him a dollar with your own money!" Mama cried.
I've never felt that way. A way you feel as if you helped more than a thousand people. A man so happy for a dollar . My heart feels like the clouds up above my head, and the next thing I realize is that I have helped a poor person with my own money.