Let the little children come

Let the little children come… is the thought which continually buzzed through my head as Jane and I grilled food on the corners of Huntington and Main, then offered it to anyone who wanted a free hotdog.

As we made our way from the Gray House to that parking lot we probably looked a little odd. We had borrowed a rather large cart from the food pantry. I covered the top of it with heavy aluminum foil which made it quite shiny. On the top of this I placed our well used gas grill. On the lower shelf was a milk crate holding the ketchup, mustard, napkins, an extra gas canister and the few other things needed for the breaking of the bread with our neighbors. In a white postal carrier’s box left from the food drive a few weeks ago were packages holding 48 fresh hotdog rolls. All this we pushed down Sheldon Street on to Main being aware that we didn’t want to interfere with any of the small businesses that have stands dotting Main Street these days. I had originally thought about this undertaking the day before with a ripple of “neighbor with neighbor” in our North End growing like the circles from a stone dropped into still water.

After picking our spot I started grilling the dogs. There were two men in the parking lot. I asked them if they’d like some once they were cooked assuring them they were free. They didn’t turn down the offer. One man even made a call to someone else telling them of these two women with the hotdogs. Jane translated his call as it was in Spanish; we then wondered who he was calling and whether or not someone might come to tell us we were doing something illegal. Since we were offering it to anyone who was hungry with no cost or strings attached we didn’t figure there could be too much of a problem.

The first two had their meal. We offered more to a few people walking on the other side of the street, they didn’t want to believe it was free. They would smile and keep walking. I thought maybe that we might be eating a lot of hot dogs if we couldn’t give find someone to give them to. As I offered them to people walking by Jane walked over to a house where children were on the porch. BINGO! Soon we had about six small children all waiting for hot dogs. Seeing this brought more children as well as a few mothers. In the midst of serving all the children, a woman who seemed a little out of place in our neighborhood started by. I made our offer to her, to which she replied, “I don’t have any money.” I reiterated our “it’s free” with a smile. With that she came over. She had been in the hospital. She showed me the bus token the hospital staff had given her; she was trying to find her way to the bus station. To get home she had to get to Belmont which is quite a distance from where we were. She thanked us. With hotdog in hand she made her way toward the bus station.

The line of children increased. Jane was getting really good with those ketchup and mustard bottles. We were introduced to brothers, sisters, cousins and Mimi the dog. A child dropped part of his hot dog so even little Mimi shared in the feast. The children waited patiently to be served, no pushing or negative language which is common among those who often have to fight to get simple things others of us often take for granted. Their eyes bright with anticipation and each responded with a gentle thank-you. Our first group of children began asking for seconds. Sharing became the concept of the afternoon by splitting one dog for two with the children choosing with whom they wanted to share. One little girl asked if we were the sisters from the Gray House? It was nice to be identified by our neighbors. Jane and I weren’t just some strange women who happened to have stopped in this parking lot giving food away. We talked a little about summer camp and encouraged Moms to register their children. Though the offer was made, very few men stopped today it was truly about the children. A young mother with five children ranging from an infant to a boy of perhaps 8 years of age apprehensive at first accepted our invitation. Then she and her children returned to the side walk a distance from the group we had gathered. After they ate the mother with her limited English came over to thank us. I thanked her, wishing her a good afternoon as they continued their journey. Her son had a smile and a glimmer in his eyes that I won’t forget.

A little over an hour later we had served the dear neighbors of our block 48 hotdogs. We had the little children come to us. We turned off the grill, packed up, headed back around the block with the odd looking cart just as it was trying to start to rain. The sky could drop all the water it wanted; at that moment nothing could have dampened our hearts or our spirits.