The Hundred Dollar Lesson in Kindness

My family is white. Surrounded by other mostly white people in our community. My boys’ friends are typically the same, and we are usually the majority in most situations. And this concerns me. I desperately seek activities to diversify interactions my boys will have. Longing for them to see the beauty in others, to change their lens, and to approach people with open arms and an open heart.  

And I thought I had it all figured out. Welcoming to all. Never judging a book by its cover. Little did I know, I had work to do.  

It’s no accident I bring my toddler and 11-year-old to volunteer with a local refugee family from Africa. They interact with the children and help when we tutor. The kids play together and learn from one another. Deep down inside, I am hopeful this is also helping my sons be better humans.  

After one evening of taking the family to a local park, we landed at the Dairy Queen. Full of white people. In we walk to an ice-cream store, with seven people from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. People stared. People looked at us and chattered. My husband and I immediately felt protective. I stood in front of the family and he stood behind, later saying he felt as if we needed to create a barrier for them. To protect them.  

I assumed patrons were talking about the family. Making Judgments. Being unkind. I rehearsed in my head what I would say when somebody in that restaurant said something out of line. I was ready to react. Ready to respond to this perceived racism.  

Eating our ice-cream at a table outside, I ran to the car to grab something. A woman approached me and asked, “Where is the family from?” In my mind, I thought, “Oh, here we go.” Then she handed me an old, weathered envelope and walked away as quickly as she approached. I said, “Thank you, I will definitely pay this forward,” not knowing what was inside.  

After we dropped the family off, I was finally able to open the envelope. Inside was $100.  Five twenty dollar bills fell out of the sweetest written card.  A card that explained she had been waiting to be, “led to someone in need…with struggles and pain.”  She wasn’t a monster at all.  She was the one approaching people with open arms and an open heart, not me.  Shame on me. 

My son put it simply and perfectly, “That was so generous.”  He witnessed the selfless act of somebody we didn’t even know.  A person we had never met, but who was in a group of people I assumed I knew.    

Teaching my boys about inclusiveness won’t exclusively be discovered “out there,” through watching diverse shows, or exposing them to people different than us. Those steps may help. But it starts at home. With how they see us interact and approach every situation with all people.  And to always find the beauty in others – because you just might be pleasantly surprised.  Lesson learned.