We have a new friend at our house, she shares a name with a popular store, so she introduces herself by saying, “My name is [let’s call her Kohls] but I don’t shop at Kohls I shop at JC Penny’s." Holly was looking for work all summer and had lots of free time at home, she got to know Kohls and many of our neighbor kids, it’s an incredibly diverse group of kids: Somali, Lao, African American, and Mexican, boys and girls, all younger than ten. Several times each day the doorbell rings, “is Holly there?” The rest of us were starting to feel like second class neighbors since no one ever asked for Leah, Wanda or Katie.
Last week as I was in a total rush to pack up my textbooks and laptop before school on Monday night the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. (we’ve gone over some rules for visiting the house: no playing on the porch if you don’t have an adult from the house out there; ask before you open any door or drawer; say please; say thank you – but somehow “please don’t ring the doorbell 79 times,” hasn’t sunk into the collective consciousness of our neighbors.
“Hi Kohls. What’s up?”
“Is Holly home?”
“No she’s not, can I leave a message for her?”
“Yes, um, can you tell her that Kohls stopped by?”
“I will. Have a good day Kohls.” (shutting door)
“Wait, Katie can you play with me?”
“Nope, sorry, I have to go to school now.”
“Oh, you go to school?”
“Yep.”
“High School?”
“Nope, Seminary, it’s college for Pastors after college.”
“Oh.”
“Bye Kohls.”
“Ok, bye.”
It’s reading week, so Richard and I don’t have class tonight. At 5:15 the doorbell rang, and rang, and rang, and rang, and rang, and rang.
“Hi Kohls. What’s up?”
“Is Holly home?”
“No she’s not, can I leave a message for her?”
“Yes, um, can you tell her that Kohls stopped by?”
“I will. Have a good day Kohls.”
“Katie, you have class tonight don’t you?”
“No actually, my class was cancelled tonight.”
“Oh, well then can you play with me?”
“ummm… No, I need to take a shower and do homework, and I have a dinner date and… actually why don’t you come back in a half hour and we can play a game of uno together Kohls?”
“I don’t know how long is a half hour.”
“5:45, come over at 5:45, and we can play a game of Uno, after I take a shower.”
Sure enough at 5:45 on the dot Kohls was rang the bell, she had 4 of her trick or treating candies in her hand. She had picked out 4 candies specifically for the four women living in this house. “This one,” she said handing me a dark chocolate kit kat, “is for you, it’s a black kit kat. I’m going to put everyone elses candies in their mailboxes.”
Richard happened to come over just as we were starting the Uno game so we dealt him in. We only had time for one quick game but we got to play a game, laugh and share the kit kat.
There were two things that left me a little unsettled.
One, this eight year old remembered a brief rushed and stressed out conversation that I had with her a week ago. She knew that my schedule meant that I had to go to school at night on Mondays. I’m so self centered I have a hard time remembering the schedule of my best friends, roommates and family who I have known for ages, Kohls remembered a neighbors school schedule. I feel like I’m the one who is supposed to care about her, not vice versa. The flip was heartwarming for sure, but also slightly unsettling.
Two, this eight year old brought presents for us. Not just for Holly, who is clearly everyone’s favorite roommate, or for me who had offered to play Uno with her after I took the time to shower, but for each and every roommate, and she picked out candies that she thought that we would like. Holly and Leah got plain kit kats, Wanda got a hersheys cookies and cream bar and I got the dark kit kat. Kohls wanted to bless us and share some of her trick or treat bounty with us.
There’s a quote from Jean Vanier that I learned when I was living in St. Louis. “People may come to our communities because they want to serve the poor; they will only stay once they have discovered that they themselves are poor.”
It’s hard to escape the white savior, colonialist, patriarchal frame of mind. I’ve lived in the house for more than five years now, worked at an urban church, am majoring in Community Ministry Leadership in seminary. I know, intellectually and practically that viewing the haves as the rescuers of the have nots is never going to lead to a meaningful harvest. I need Kohls and her family, the Somali families that ring our doorbell, “pipe-smoking-cat-walking man” and even “Eight dollar man” more than they need me.
PS- Richard reminded me about this classic Sesame Street video a couple of weeks ago when I started whining about the number of times that the doorbell rings. Enjoy
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