offering

“Let’s see it,” I said the day after my student got his first tattoo.

It was a nice grisly tattoo, suggesting to the viewer that death was not to be feared, though when I looked at it, lo, I felt fearful.

“It hurt right here,” he said. “This part didn’t hurt. Look how it’s shaded.”

“Yeah, that’s nice. It looks good.”

“The tattoo artist is so good.”

“I know there’s a lot of artistry in that,” I said.

With a group of friends, I threw a party. My dad played some harmonica, my uncle was mesmerized by our guitarist, and I circulated continuously, looking for strays to hook into the herd. A lot like I do at school. But tipsy.

I just want to set up this ideal environment where people feel so comfortable that they.. I don’t know. That they open up? That they receive? That they relax? For my students, it’s that they feel safe, since feeling safe can lead to learning something.

Not so safe that you fall asleep, though. Do you need a peppermint? A walk? At the alternative school, we don’t always fight the sleeping. Sometimes that’s just where kids are at.

I went to Aldi in the hood. I love Aldi in the hood. On one of Kansas City’s most frequently cited murder streets, Aldi stands a beacon of efficiency, kindness, and order. They sell me my apples and tofu for desperately reasonable prices. They sell me my chocolate-covered almonds, and my greens, and my special treats from the special treat Aldi aisle.

I was walking up to Aldi, ruefully realizing I had again come without a quarter.

“Do you need a cart?” the security guard said. At hood Aldi, there is always a security guard near the entrance. I’ve never seen any trouble, though.

“Oh, I don’t have a quarter,” I said.

He pointed around the corner of the building, to a cart that was already freed.

“Thanks!” I said.

“You know you can always go in and just ask for a quarter, and they’ll give you one.”

WHAT

“Wow, okay, I’ve been suffering for no reason!” I said. “Thank you!”

“Suffering” meaning shopping like a New Yorker: what you want to buy, you better be able to carry, cause aint nobody else hauling that home.

I shopped my shopping, paid in record time due to the extreme skill of an Aldi checker, and on my way out, the same guard said, “Keep that quarter so you’ll have one next time!”

“Okay!” I said.

Really? Was I allowed to take a quarter that wasn’t mine?

I spend a lot of time thinking about how I am a white woman in the United States, with advanced education, healthy parents who parented quite well, a large, functional extended family, a very healthy body, and health insurance. Lots of privilege.

That’s legit.

But maybe it doesn’t mean that sometimes I need a quarter, and it would be okay to take one.

I spend so much time worried about others having enough (and that is right to do), but also, this dude thought it was okay for me to take a quarter and keep it.

After another day of offering students granola bars and applesauce and walks and choices and deadlines and sheets to write down their emotions and compliments and encouragement, out of nowhere I felt cared for.