The Dregs…

Flo is a character. I met her when I started helping with a women’s group on Wednesday mornings at the south food pantry.

The Women of the Food Pantry (as they are called) have been meeting together for nearly five years as a result of the Daily Bread food pantry (run by the Children’s Rescue Center). They receive food each month, and many of them help distribute goods at one of the DB food pantries in Springfield. I’m not sure if Flo has ever helped, but she certainly doesn’t miss out on her monthly allotment. She has also come on Wednesday mornings since they started.

Flo greeted me this week with a hug and wouldn’t let go for quite some time. Her smile was that of a young child, the delightfully innocent kind that most adults are incapable of producing. She hung on my arm for a bit longer until I had to go in a direction that she was not going. Later, during our break, Flo sought me out again and said in hushed tones:

I need to talk to you. [Wow! That was fast! She’s already going to pour out secrets to me, and I’ve only met her twice before.] [Even more quiet] I don’t want anyone to hear. [Pause; look around to see if anyone might be listening] I need a clothes brush. Can you get me a clothes brush?

Me: I don’t have one I can give you, and I’m not sure where I could get you one right now. [Usually when people from the food pantry want to talk to me in hushed tones it’s because either something traumatic has happened or because they are embarrassed about an urgent need.] Flo, let’s talk about this after our group is done. We need to get started again.

Flo: Okay.

After our group was finished, she found me again. I walked into the room where the food was kept, and she followed me. To my surprise and her great delight, the woman working in the clothes pantry that day walked over and handed her… a clothes brush! Apparently, I wasn’t the only one Flo had spoken to in a whisper. Then in her Flo-like way she sidled over to me again and resumed her confidential voice:

I needed it because I have cat hair on my black pants. They’re nice ones, and I want to wear them. But I can’t because they’re covered with cat hair.

Me: I’m glad you got a clothes brush.

Methinks Flo might be missing some marbles.

Later, when I talked to Liz, one of the two women who run the food pantries, she told me that sometimes Flo gets on the nerves of other group members. She said Flo doesn’t like people knowing about her personal needs and that she is rather paranoid.

Well, golly! Who would have guessed?

But Flo’s beautiful smile could light up a building. Even though she is nearly toothless.

Jeanine doesn’t like to be called Pudgy. And she is anything but. It took a while to discover her real name. We only knew her as Pudgy for quite a few weeks. Her sister told us that she was pudgy as a baby, so the family nicknamed her Pudgy. It stuck. But at the age of five, Jeanine no longer likes to be called anything but her true name. Her sister, Mary, also called Alexis or Lexi (based upon her name Mary Alexis), was the one who told us to call her Pudgy. Sometimes siblings can be cruel.

It’s hard to keep track of the neighborhood kids at church with all of their names and nicknames, especially the African-American kids. I remember from working in foster care in D.C. that many of the African-American families nicknamed their kids, sometimes fairly harmless things such as Bunny or Buddy. But sometimes they could be a little more cutting, like Stinky. It probably wasn’t so bad when they were toddlers and barely aware of the meaning of words. But as they grew older they no doubt felt the impact of these negative labels placed on them, in addition to Abandoned, Worthless, and Futureless. The deck was already stacked against them being in foster care. I imagine it is much the same growing up fatherless in the urban underclass.

Jeanine and Mary (or Alexis, or Lexi) were at church last night. Jeanine came into the sanctuary right before church started and began reveling in all of the attention she receives because she is five, cute, and demands it sweetly but persistently. She spotted Josh and his girlfriend, Rachel. They are both students from CU. I think this was only Josh’s second or third time coming to Midtown, and I’m pretty sure it was Rachel’s first.

But Jeanine spotted them, thought them worthy of her five-year-old attentions, and threw herself face down in their laps, giggling, squirming, and squealing with delight. As far as I am aware, she didn’t know them beforehand. But after a while, all of the kids become at least a little bit like Jeanine with us. They know we are safe, that we like to play, and that we care about them beyond their ability to sit still during church. And sometimes it doesn’t matter if they know the adult or not, they trust all of us because we’ve earned a good label. Maybe it’s Trustworthy or Safe or Fun. Or maybe it is all of these. I’m not certain yet.

Josh and Rachel came through beautifully. They responded in a way that gratified Jeanine, and she decided to sit with them through the service. She clapped enthusiastically after both of the songs the congregation sang. Her happiness over being loved, cuddled, and accepted was infectious and emphasized all the more the kind of community and fellowship that Midtown has become.

I half want another child to launch herself into an unknown person’s lap again next week so we might repeat the same experience. But then again, things seldom work the same way twice when the human element is at work. Oh well, there will probably be something equally outrageous in store for next week that will amuse and gladden us in the following days. There usually is. I wonder what it will be.