Royalty in our Midst

Today, on my traffic-ridden drive home from work, grumpy and tired and feeling sorry for myself. I think, I must have the hardest job in the world.

I see a woman standing on the street corner holding a sign with scrawling writing, "Anything Helps". Sitting on the curb next to her is a very young child.

I pull over two blocks later and walk back towards them, Not knowing what to say. I don't have any cash, or a credit card on me. I don't even have a granola bar to offer.

Feeling awkward, I introduce myself and asked their names.

The woman, Tasha, is completely lovely. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful. Gorgeous, chestnut skin, with a colorful scarf wrapped around her head, two strands of dreadlocks poking through the bottom, and wide-rimmed glasses framing her gorgeous, bright eyes. Her 6-year-old daughter's name is Zion.

What a lovely name. 

"No way! I just moved from Zion's national Park area." I smile, and direct my question to the little girl, " Do you know where that is?"

"Do you know, Zion? It's in Utah" says Tasha.
"Oh ya." Zion says dismissively, "Of course I know"
Tasha chuckles. A melodic laugh that makes me want to sing along. Her voice is grounded and rich, colorful and smooth, she could been on the radio. Or a queen.

I want to ask her a hundred questions. Where are you from? How did you land here, at this traffic corner with a cardboard sign? What do you need? What can I do to help you?

But I don't know how to say any of that. I ask Zion, "Would you like a cookie?"

Zion barely looked up from the addition worksheet she was filling out with the help of a calculator and said, "Sure."

Tasha asks in a loving reminder, "What do you say?"

Zion waves a bright, toothy grin at me, "Thank you."

What a lovely child.

I go back the two blocks to my car to get a credit card. Then buy a gift card to Rubio's fish grill, and a cookie, since that's what I'd offered.

I calligraph their names on the gift card sleeve with a BIC pen. Hoping I spelled them right. Maybe they'll think it's nice to see their names written beautifully?

This is stupid. They probably don't care if their names are on the card at all. Let alone written sort of fancy.

I pause after writing their names, and on the other side add my phone number.

When I hand it to Tasha, she flashes a stunning smile, and in a low, smooth, rich voice she thanks me, and like a gracious host, relieves my awkwardness by adding, "Rubio's is Zion's favorite place."

What a lovely woman.  

"Where does Zion go to school?" I ask, not wanting to leave them yet.
"She's homeschooled."
"I'm a teacher." I offer, kind of muttering, "It's impressive that you're doing that. Teaching her yourself. It's hard."

Ugh. That was so dumb

I then mumble, ineloquently, "I...uh...left you my phone number. I'm not really sure why..."

I am afraid she'll feel condescended to. Some snobby, white lady who feels guilt over her own privilege, here to swoop in and save us.


It isn't like that at all. I want to be her best friend. To hear all about the bucket of hardships she has. I want to cry into her shoulders, and have this grounded, soul tell me that we are stronger than we seem. I want to tell her how much I admire her--this beacon of grace, and poise and strength--to stand, even so elegantly, on a traffic corner for her daughter. I want them both to be ok.

to apologize for the sterile, safe, privileged life I lead.

But I can't say any of that.

"I'd...uh... I'd love it if you ever wanted to call. Maybe I could help. With school or whatever. I don't know...Whatever."

She, gracious again, controls the moment like royalty, relieving my awkwardness, and treats the gesture like a cherished gift.

"Thank you so much, Averill. I'll call."

What a lovely thought.

I don't know if she will. I probably wouldn't if I were her.

But I hope she does.

I'd love to help Zion learn addition.