Two Kindnesses

This week I was beautifully reminded of the power of kindness. 

Twice.

The Gum-ball

We went out to dinner with my husband's entire family. At the front of the restaurant, right near the register, was a large, swirly gum-ball machine. My son is 4; not a pandemic baby by any means, but his life experiences out in the world at restaurants and stores with strangers is very limited. He is also a MOVER, so sitting at the table while waiting for drink and food is a little beyond his capacity at this point.

Immediately upon entering the restaurant, he saw this gum-ball machine. Once settled and ordered he said, "Mommy, can we go see the gum-balls?" I happily obliged. He marched right up to it, walking through the entire restaurant like he owned the place. We made lots of small talk around the size of the machine, the colors of the gum-balls, how they come out, etc. At one point he said, "I want an orange one."

We made several trips to "see the gum-balls." I sensed it was about time to return to the table to get settled to eat. As soon as we got back to the table I heard a voice behind me, "Ma'am. Ma'am!" I turned around to see the elderly, soft-faced gentlemen that had been manning the registering through all of our gum-ball trips. He motioned for us to follow him back up to the front of the restaurant.

He led us to the gum-ball machine and said, "One of the waiters wanted a gum-ball. Once it came down I asked him what color it was and he said orange. I told him not to touch it and to leave it in the machine because a little boy in the back wanted an orange one. It's still in the machine. He can have it."

I was so touched by this small act of kindness. The young waiter was standing nearby, and we all watched my little boy open the metal flap and marvel at the orange gum-ball awaiting him. I thanked both men for their kindness and generosity.

We went back to our table where we shared the story with our family. My son placed the gum-ball on a napkin, a new dinner companion and shiny reminder that small acts can make a big impact.

The Wrong Side

My daughter is in 6th grade beginning orchestra. She plays the violin. They had their first concert this week, Concert in the Courtyard. Caregivers were encouraged to attend and bring a lawn chair.

We arrived, and she peeled off to the orchestra room, aflutter with jitters. I ambled towards the courtyard with all the other beginner parents, red-white-and-blue popsicle-patterned folding chair slung over my shoulder. 

Once we all got to the courtyard, the subtle and polite yet intentional claiming of the front row commenced. I got an excellent seat, and settled in with my new David Sedaris book. (The Best of Me)

The introduction and one and a half essays later, the beginning orchestra entered the courtyard and started filing into their seats. Beaming with pride, I started taking pictures, naturally. I very soon realized that I picked the wrong side to sit on; my great seat turned out to be not so great because I could only see my girl's back.

After everyone was settled yet before the concert started, I took my phone over to the other side to get a good picture of her from the front. To another mom sitting in the front row on the other side I said, "I'm so sorry. Excuse me. I picked the wrong side to sit on and just want to get a picture of my kid's face." She gasped and said, "Me too! We should trade seats!" I said, "I'm right in the front, too. Let's do it!"

I scurried back to my lawn chair, folded it up, and awkwardly carried it to the other side. On the way back, the switching mom and I passed each other and we both enthusiastically said, "Thank you!"

Her kind offering allowed me to fully enjoy my daughter's first concert as a violinist - and get pictures of her face and hands and arms plucking and bowing, not just hair cascading down her back.