As a child, ice cream was a privilege. I was very poor and to be able to get an ice cream cone was not easy when your parents are raising 15 kids. At 19, I came to the United States from the Dominican Republic. Not only was the environment different but also the people were to. They were happy; they didn’t look like they were struggling. Not the site of the struggle in their face. Did that make me different? Was I weird? As I struggled with my 36-pound luggage, I happened to see this ice cream shop across the street. While just staring at the shop, I kept hearing the voice of my parents telling me that we didn’t have money, and that the little money we did have wasn’t enough to provide ice cream for everyone in the house. While still staring at the shop, I checked my pocket and noticed I had $1.50 enough to grab an ice cream. I was so happy; I ran into the shop and asked them to give me their most popular ice cream (you know struggling with the little English I knew). When they passed me the ice cream, I knew everything was going to be ok. The United States was my new home. Still to this day, I pass by where the shop was (no longer there) and smile knowing that at that moment I knew my life was going to change.