Spreading Kindness

I had just sat down in the kitchen to eat lunch when someone knocked on the front door. “Ugh,” I said out loud, thinking I’d have to send away a salesperson. As I approached the door, I could see two giggling teenage girls, who looked to be about the same age as my 14-year-old granddaughter.

“Hi, what’s up?” I said after opening the door. They both spoke, over and around each other, asking if I had any eggs they could borrow. I told them yes, I do, then asked, “Where do you live?”

“Oh, we’re hanging out with Harper across the street, in the tan house. We’re making a cake and don’t have enough eggs.”

“Okay, wait just a minute.” I had one full carton, and another with one egg left, so I put three eggs in one and handed it over to them.

“It’s your lucky day,” I told them. “I made deviled eggs for a July 4^th party, so I have extra.”

“Thank you! Can we give you some money?” The shorter of the two held out a five-dollar bill.

“Oh gosh, no,” I replied. “This is what neighbors used to do all the time, borrow eggs or sugar or whatever. I’m happy to share.”

“Yay! That’s so nice!” More giggling ensued.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Maisy,” said the tall girl with long hair. “And I’m Kaitlyn,” said the other.

“Well, my name is Elaine, and please tell Harper if she ever needs anything, I’m here.”

“We will!” And off they went. I watched as they crossed the street.

I left my house to run errands, first to therapy, then the grocery story, and finally, stopped to fill my car’s gas tank. When I got home, I entered the back door to the kitchen, which is our habit, and saw a blue paper plate on the countertop, holding two cake pops and two foil-wrapped chocolates. The girls had brought me a gift! My husband said he heard knocking and found all three, including Harper, holding the plate. They were very disappointed to have missed me and so excited to share with me the things they had made.

What a sweet treat, in every way! I haven’t had anything like this happen in a long time. Our neighbors seem nice, but we only see each other coming and going or doing yard work. The people in the tan house are foster parents, says the sign in front of their house. I’ve seen some kids living there, but I’ve not met any of them. I may never get to know Harper, but I hope all the girls remember the friendly lady who gave them eggs, and I’ll always remember the sweet girls who brought me cake pops.