When the Martinez family decided to homeschool their two boys, they weren’t just rethinking math lessons and reading lists. As a former teacher, Zul knew curriculum inside and out. But sitting at her kitchen table in Tampa, planning out what her sons’ education would look like, she kept coming back to one thing that wasn’t in any textbook.
Compassion.
Gabriel was seven. Christian was five. And Zul was certain that whatever else they learned during their school years, they were going to learn how to serve other people. Not as an extracurricular. Not as a “nice to have.” It was going to be non-negotiable, woven into their week the same way spelling and arithmetic were.
Having lived in Tampa for more than thirty years, and with friends who had volunteered over the years, Zul already knew where she wanted to start: Meals On Wheels of Tampa. The flexibility was perfect for a homeschool family. The mission was clear. And the commitment was the kind of steady, unglamorous work that would build something in her boys over time.
So they started a route in Town and Country, every other week. Twice a month. With a seven-year-old and a five-year-old riding along.
It became part of who they were.
“Do You Want to Eat Lunch Today?”
Zul will be the first to tell you it wasn’t always easy. There were several mornings when one of the boys would groan and ask the question every parent has heard in some form:
Do we have to do MOW today?
Zul had a standard answer.
“Do you want to eat lunch today?”
“Yes.”
“So do they. Get in the car.”
That was the whole lesson, right there in the driveway. Our culture is built around rewards, around convenience, around doing what feels good in the moment. But serving isn’t convenient. Serving shouldn’t be convenient. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, and you push through it anyway, because someone on the other end of that route is waiting for a warm meal and a familiar face.
Zul, who had grown up active in church and mission work, understood something fundamental: compassion has to be taught. It doesn’t just appear in a child the day they turn eighteen. It’s built one route at a time, one delivery at a time.
A Second Route, A Deeper Commitment
For nine years, the family ran their Town and Country route faithfully. When Gabriel started high school and schedules started to vary, they switched to a route in Lutz, once a month.
Still committed. Still driving. Still delivering meals. Still people counting on seeing them.
And along the way, the boys started to notice things only longtime volunteers notice. A client seeming a little off, not quite themselves. A small change in routine that didn’t feel right. They’d call the Meals On Wheels of Tampa office to flag it, and sometimes they’d learn later that the person had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Other times, they’d arrive at a house and find that the person they had been visiting for years was no longer there. Gone. And they’d carry that with them too.
Because that’s what happens when you serve a community that’s hurting. You become part of people’s stories. And they become part of yours.
Lessons Learned
Both boys are now in college, Gabriel graduating this month. But this isn’t something the Martinez family is walking away from. When Zul reflects on what those years have taught her sons, what they’ve taught all of them, it isn’t a tidy lesson with a bow on top.
It’s something more like this:
Serving becomes part of you. And the relationship becomes symbiotic. You stop showing up because you have to and start showing up because you want to, because you find yourself looking forward to a particular smile at a particular door. You weren’t doing it for a reward, but somewhere along the way, the reward arrived anyway, quietly, in the form of relationships that mattered.
The people on that route needed the Martinez family. But the Martinez family, it turns out, needed them just as much.
“They need you as much as you need them. You become part of their story. And they, of yours.” – Zul Martinez, Meals On Wheels of Tampa volunteer
The Curriculum That Couldn’t Be Graded
There is no transcript that captures what Gabriel and Christian learned riding shotgun in their mom’s car for over a decade. No GPA reflects the weight of noticing when an elderly neighbor isn’t quite right. No diploma certifies what it means to deliver a warm meal to someone who may not be there next month.
But Zul taught it anyway, the same way she taught everything else: patiently, consistently, and without compromise. And the Martinez family will keep showing up, because that’s what serving looks like when it’s woven into who you are.
A warm meal. A familiar smile. A family that keeps showing up.
That was the lesson. And it’s still being taught.
Meals On Wheels of Tampa is grateful to the Martinez family, and to all the volunteers whose quiet, faithful service makes our mission possible. If you’d like to learn more about volunteering, visit mowtampa.org/volunteer/ or call (813) 238-8410. There’s a route, and a neighbor is waiting.
