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.
2 comments :
thank you, those refections are good to hear.
This was at Bread and Roses, right? I really don't know what to say.
Post a Comment