A friend who has been helping me work on my Spanish skills invited me to assist in giving out food "baskets" at her church last Saturday morning. "They need Spanish speakers," she told me. "You can practice your Spanish."
"Will you be there?" I asked her. My Spanish is functional at best.
She laughed. "Yes, I'll be there. If it gets too uncomfortable for you, just let me know. It's no big deal and you don't have to stay if it doesn't work out."
Saturday morning was chilly and damp, but I was glad it wasn't raining. At 8:00 a.m., dressed in warm layers, I met my friend at the enormous, newly renovated, mission style church. I followed her to a squat, narrow building separated from the church by a parking lot. Inside was a room with six long tables, each lined with dozens of cardboard boxes packed with food and toiletries. Taped to the end of each table was a sheet of paper with a large number written on it. Families had signed up earlier in the month, and the boxes were prepared according to the size of each family. People who were receiving the food would show up at their prescribed time, drive through the parking lot and down the alley stopping next to double doors, where their name was checked off a list as a box of food was loaded into their car.
My friend and I were in charge of the cars entering the parking lot. We talked to the drivers, putting yellow half sheets of paper on car windshields and asking them to unlock trunks or back car doors, wherever they wanted the food to be placed. If they didn't have the yellow paper, we asked them to have some form of identification ready. Then we directed them to drive, a few at a time around the corner and down the alley for their box of food.
As it turned out there weren't many Spanish speaking families but still it was fun chatting with people as they drove up in their vehicles. Almost all of the people were friendly and upbeat. Some were picking up boxes for more than one family and many of those cars were packed with adults and kids. The people thanked us and most said, "Merry Christmas" or "God bless you." A half an hour had gone by when my friend pointed to a young couple standing with a blanket covered baby stroller, next to the building. "There you go, Nancy," she said. "Time to practice."
I walked over to them and said, "Hello." They were both not much more than five feet tall. The woman's plain round face was pale and her eyes were round and dark. Strands of her dark hair peeked out from under a blue scarf. She was wearing a yellow and pink flowered polyester dress under a brown sweater and she had on lime green pants. She smiled briefly but was quiet. She rested her hands on the metal bar of the old stroller. The worn fleece blanket covered whatever was inside. The man's broad face was smooth and tan, and he had black hair and small dark eyes. He was wearing jeans and work boots and he kept his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his navy blue Nike hoodie. He smiled a little. "¿Habla español?" he asked in a barely audible voice.
"Un poco," I said. They stood very still as they responded to my questions with either, "sí" or "no". In my elementary Spanish I asked if they were there to get a box of food and wanted to know if they had their yellow paper, pointing to the sample I had pinned to my day-glo orange safety vest. No, they didn't have the yellow paper but yes, they had identification. They didn't have a car. I pointed to the side of the building and showed them where they could stand on the sidewalk to join the line of vehicles in the alley waiting to get food.
As my friend and I continued to greet people and talk to each other I kept glancing at the young family as they inched along the sidewalk next to the cars in the alley, keeping their place in line. I wondered how long they had lived in the area and how they had found out about the food boxes. I wondered if they'd had to walk very far that morning. I wondered about the child who must be sleeping in the stroller. The church provided one service in Spanish each Sunday so I thought maybe they attended each week. I felt good that there were places like this where families could get some help and I was glad I was there to be a small part of it.
More cars arrived and we were kept busy talking to drivers, asking for yellow papers and directing them to the line that curved around the building. Eventually I noticed the young couple slowly pushing the stroller back through the parking lot toward the street. They didn't have a box of food with them. "What happened?" I asked my friend.
"They hadn't signed up. Their name wasn't on the list."
"Oh no," I said.
"There might be some food left over when we're finished at noon," my friend said. "Maybe they'll come back."
I watched the couple walk through the parking lot to the sidewalk. They stopped and the man sat down on the small stone wall that edged the lawn of the church. The woman stood facing him, her back straight with her hands on stroller, showing her round sillouette. For the next twenty minutes or so I kept an eye on the young family. They stayed there at the end of the driveway; the man sitting and the woman standing, with the stroller between them. Maybe they were waiting to see if there would be extra food. Eventually I saw the man stand up and follow the woman as she pushed the stroller off of the grass and onto the sidewalk. I watched them walk together along the sidewalk until my view was blocked by the huge church. "There they go," I said to my friend.
"Maybe they'll come back," she said.
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