I wish I could tell you this story started with hope, but it didn’t. It started with the worst phone call of our lives. Losing someone we loved to drugs and violence – that phone call changed everything. But sometimes, when life breaks your heart wide open, that’s exactly when the light gets in.

The Choice We Had to Make

Robert and I sat in our living room for weeks, just crying. We could stay there, drowning in our grief, or we could do something – anything – to make sure no other family goes through what we did. We chose to fight. Not with anger, but with love.

We started with just us and a folding table at the local park. “Hey, can we talk to you for a minute?” That’s all we said. And you know what? These kids – they wanted to talk. They had so much to say, so many dreams. They just needed someone to really listen.

What We Really Do

Our “Saying No To Drugs Is Cool” movement? It’s really just us showing up. Every week. Every event. Every time a kid needs someone to call. We don’t have fancy programs – we have kitchen tables, front porches, and open hearts. And somehow, that’s been enough.

Every time I see a kid choose hope over hurt, choose dreams over drugs – that’s when I know our loved one’s life meant something. We’re healing too, one conversation at a time.

You should have seen this old Dairy Queen when we first walked in. Broken windows, weeds growing through the parking lot – most people drove right past. But Robert grabbed my hand and said, “Baby, I can see it.” And you know what? So could I.

Our Big, Crazy Dream

We didn’t want just another restaurant. We wanted a place where the kid who gets picked on at school feels safe. Where the elderly lady who lives alone knows she can come for Sunday dinner. Where families who are struggling can afford to celebrate birthdays. Sounds impossible, right? Well, we’re stubborn like that.

We pay our people what they’re worth – not the minimum, but what they deserve to feed their families. We cook real food with love. And when someone comes in and can’t afford their meal? Well, that’s between us and God. Nobody goes hungry here.

The Hard Work Nobody Sees

Let me tell you, renovating that place nearly broke us. Robert and I painted until 2 AM so many nights. Our kids learned to use power tools. But every blister, every sore muscle – it was worth it. Because now we have a place where magic happens every single day.

Here’s the thing about my birthday – I stopped caring about presents a long time ago. What I want is to see my community family fed, loved, and reminded that they matter. So every May 5th, we turn our whole place into one big birthday party for everyone.

How It All Started

The first year, I just wanted to cook dinner for a few neighbors. “Come on over,” I said. “Let’s eat cake and be grateful.” Word got around, and by dinner time, we had 60 people in our little house. I ran out of chairs, ran out of plates, but somehow, there was enough food for everyone. That’s when I knew this was bigger than just my birthday.

I looked around that night at all these beautiful faces – kids playing together, grandparents sharing stories, people who had never met before laughing like old friends. I started crying right there in my own kitchen. This is what love looks like, I thought. This is what community feels like.

What I Really Want

People ask me what I want for my birthday every year. Honey, I want to see Ms. Johnson from down the street get a plate of food that reminds her she’s not forgotten. I want to see little Marcus get a piece of birthday cake when his mama can’t afford one. I want to remind every single person who walks through that door that they are loved, valued, and they belong here. That’s the only gift I need.