Dear Maureen,
Help! Your expertise could prove invaluable in maintaining civility at our Easter dinner table. My brother is taking his two high school age children to hear Ann Coulter in New York in March. I know I have no chance of reforming my brother’s decidedly insular perspective as a New Hampshire Libertarian, but I hold out some hope that I can offer his progeny a glimpse of an alternative perspective.
I am consistently unable to calmly counter my brother’s high volume, articulate, right wing debating points. I have learned to steer the conversation to safer territory like kids playing sports, oh oops, just ran into the special needs funding debate, in an attempt to avoid all-out conflict with the salad tongs. Along with salad tongs, I come equipped with logic, an understanding of how I need to debate with him and a supportive sister who can keep the emotional distress at bay. But I am decidedly lacking in facts to counter the points he will come with having just heard a stream of vitriol from Ann Coulter.
No doubt the Easter conversation will quickly skip from the benefits of being a locavore to the financial crisis, circling closer and closer to the drain of disastrous dinner table debate. I do not intend to be religiously exclusive in neglecting to mention how you could calm the hunt for the Afikomen, but in my experience with my in-laws we haven’t had divisive debates over the tax system after closing our Haggadahs.
Now I don’t want to paint my brother as an ogre. He is intelligent, can be counted on in a crisis and is an outstanding parent other than providing a limited political perspective to his offspring. So I want to work through this obstacle in our relationship, not to change his mind, but to give him pause and let in a chink of light that one of his children may see as they head out to change the world.
If you could write an opinion piece in the New York Times that counters each of the points Ann Coulter makes in her current East coast city tour, you would provide those of us with strong convictions and a ready sparring partner the facts we require to watch our brothers or mothers or uncles conclude their Easter dinner with a slice of humble pie.
Sincerely,
Mid-Winter Car Wash Thaw
This has been one of those winters when I didn’t expect a mid-winter thaw to ever appear. And now that it’s here I keep thinking maybe this is an early spring despite the fact that the snow banks remain 2 feet high and encrusted with dirt intent on insulating them from ever melting.
Apparently I had ample company with this breath of spring as I waited behind a dozen cars at the car wash. Mid-way through the car wash with soap pouring down my windshield and my mind on spring, the car wash actually stopped—I don’t mean slowed down or even paused. I had time enough to say out loud (all be it to myself) “Oh my God, I’m stopped” and then to consider and act upon the most prudent course of action. Fortunately I determined that doing nothing would be ideal and at the moment of decision the conveyor restarted and transported me back to the smell of spring.
Coming out on the other side, the sun continued to shine. I even rolled down my window to let in the balmy 60 degree air. This was a moment to hold onto—especially as it was only early February and in the northeast that is a long ways before the equinox tips the balance in favor of sun light and heat over the darkness of night. I still have weeks to wait until the snowdrops poke through my garden soil.
So today I am content to smell spring, go out without a winter jacket and maybe chip away at the ice pack on my front steps without wearing gloves!
Apparently I had ample company with this breath of spring as I waited behind a dozen cars at the car wash. Mid-way through the car wash with soap pouring down my windshield and my mind on spring, the car wash actually stopped—I don’t mean slowed down or even paused. I had time enough to say out loud (all be it to myself) “Oh my God, I’m stopped” and then to consider and act upon the most prudent course of action. Fortunately I determined that doing nothing would be ideal and at the moment of decision the conveyor restarted and transported me back to the smell of spring.
Coming out on the other side, the sun continued to shine. I even rolled down my window to let in the balmy 60 degree air. This was a moment to hold onto—especially as it was only early February and in the northeast that is a long ways before the equinox tips the balance in favor of sun light and heat over the darkness of night. I still have weeks to wait until the snowdrops poke through my garden soil.
So today I am content to smell spring, go out without a winter jacket and maybe chip away at the ice pack on my front steps without wearing gloves!
Snowy Innoncence
Being early in the month and a snowy night, the soup kitchen where I was serving anticipated a low turnout. The kitchen managers are clearly experienced, as their predictions were indeed correct, we served only 100 dinners or so Tuesday night.
Cutting lasagna, dishing up salad, serving plates, refilling butter, ladling soup, wrapping silverware, drying dishes unfortunately left little time for interacting with the variety of folks who came in for a meal.
A small, brown, pigtailed face peaked over the counter as she stirred sugar into her coffee cup. I was caught between reaching out to the child and allowing her the dignity of personal space. Then she asked if there was more milk.
“Certainly,” I responded as I refilled the milk pitcher, “do you enjoy coffee?”
“No, it’s for my mom”, then “Thank you,” she offered politely as I gave her the milk.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Yes please!” and a smile brightened her beautiful face.
She took the hot chocolate and coffee back to her table and looking over I noticed that there was a second child at the table.
I requested two child-size dinner portions and one regular and took the plates over to the family. When I place the full plates in front of the family the girls offered their thank yous even as their mom was reminding them to be polite. I tarried just long enough for a brief exchange, learning that the girls were 9 year old twins and both loved hot chocolate.
The roomed teemed with adults— only 2 other children came in on that snowy evening. Most of the adults were fairly reserved and kept to themselves. One had clearly been drinking and as he loudly used inappropriate language both girls turned to stare at him. He was quickly admonished not only by the manager, but also by several of the other guests. One reminded him that there were ‘children and ladies’ present.
So it was not only those of us serving who were cognizant of protecting the young girls from, from what? From profane language when they needed to come to a soup kitchen to receive a free meal on a very cold and snowy night? Somehow by upholding the quality of the haven for children, did the guests in fact uphold their own dignity? Did each of us want to hold onto our own childlike innocence even in the midst of the harsh reality of poverty and hunger and cold?
Despite the moderate pace of the evening, I wasn’t aware of one of the girl’s departure until I took the dessert to their table—cookie packages—and asked where the child had gone.
“She went home,” her sister responded.
I looked outside. How close could home have been? As a suburban mom I wouldn’t have let even my 9 year old cross the slippery, dimly lit street with her sister let alone by herself. Was the child’s silent departure a sign of hoped-for innocence or recognition of hardened street smarts?
It was very cold. It was very dark. Yet the gently falling snow had for now softened the edges of dirt encrusted snow bank.
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