The old man that gave me candy

This week, Alabama held its primary elections, and my town relocated some of our polling places. Two of the new polling locations shared a parking lot, so there was a good deal of confusion as to where to go vote. As I walked in to where I thought I should be, I saw several other voters that looked as unsure as I was about whether we were in the right place. One couple stood out.

They were an older couple, walking slowly down the long hall, following the signs pointing us in the direction we needed to go. I made eye contact with the wife, as she patiently waited for her husband to make his way down the long hall, using his cane. We exchanged smiles as I walked past, and then, she spoke up, “Excuse me. Do you know if they have a wheelchair around here that he could use? This is a long way for him to walk.” I didn’t, but told her that I would go find out and rushed down the hall to find a volunteer.

The volunteer came to meet them and it was determined that we were all, in fact, in the wrong place, and needed to go across the parking lot. The wife looked a little defeated, so I offered to go find someone else to try to get a wheelchair. She explained to her husband what was happening, and he just turned around and resolutely started making slow progress back towards the door.

It was time for a new plan: I offered to stay walking with him so she could get her car and pull up to the front of the building. She agreed and hustled to go get the car.

I wanted to make conversation, so I asked, “Is that your sweetheart?”

His face brightened, and he said, “She sure is. Been married for 73 years!”

I was blown away. “”73 years? That’s amazing.”

He smiled and paused his slow progress towards the door. I could tell that he was excited to talk about her. “No, she’s amazing. We are both veterans. We both served in the Navy in World War II. I was over there when they dropped the bomb and she was a nurse. When we came home, we got married right away. After what we saw, we didn’t want to waste any time. The funny thing is that when we came home, we couldn’t even vote because we were too young.”

Again, I was blown away. “Wait – you couldn’t vote, even after you had served?” (Note to self: brush up on history…)

“The law didn’t change until many years later. So, I waited until I turned 21, and I haven’t missed a vote since.” I could tell by the way he was moving that he wasn’t going to miss the chance today, either. He was making determined progress towards the door. I could see that his wife had pulled up to the front and was craning to see him.

“Well, let’s make sure you get there today.” I escorted him towards the door, and right before we passed through, he paused and reached into his pocket. He smiled, winked and handed me a Bit O’Honey candy. “Since you’ve been so sweet…”

I thanked him, put the candy in my pocket, helped him get in the car and watched as his wife drove him across the parking lot to the other polling place. As I walked to my own car, I pulled the candy out of my pocket and smiled. I love the idea that he carried around candy in his pocket, and that he decided to share it with me that day. I loved even more getting to hear about their time in the service and getting to witness a love that spanned over seven decades.

I don’t think I’ll eat that candy. Instead, I will keep it as a reminder of getting to meet that sweet couple that day, of their love story, of their service and of what happens when I take a few minutes to make connections with the people around me.

She was right to be nervous, but I wish she didn't have to be

An interaction happened at my daughter's soccer practice last month that has stayed with me ever since. A cluster of parents were sitting on the sidelines, and an African-American woman approached us with her hand extended, holding a set of car keys. She showed them to the few of us seated together and asked "Are these yours? Did anyone drop a set of keys?"

I looked long enough to realize they weren't mine, smiled and said, "No, but thanks for asking." The other parents did the same and all shook their heads. 

She frowned, sighed and said under her breath, "I wish I had never picked these things up."

Trying to be helpful, one of the dads offered a suggestion. "Why don't you go to the parking lot and hit the alarm button. That'll tell you which car it is, and the alarm will get the attention of the car owner. You can hand them off that way." He smiled and sat back in his seat, proud of himself for coming up with such a simple solution. 

She shook her head and said, "Thanks, but I can't do that." 

He offered a different tactic. "Or maybe don't hit the alarm, but see which car unlocks and just leave the keys on the windshield."

She shook her head and started to walk away, "Thanks, but I can't do that either. I'll just keep making the rounds."

This man looked at all of us, and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I tried. I don't know why that wouldn't work."

The woman turned back around, chagrined and said, "I would love to be able to do that, but it's just not an option for me. You don't think it would cause some drama if a black woman was wandering around a parking lot randomly trying to unlock a car? Or making the alarm go off, holding keys that aren't hers? Thanks, but I can't risk someone calling the cops on me. I need to be able to take my son home tonight." Then, she turned to go approach the next cluster of parents on the soccer field to our right. 

We all resumed watching our kids play, and after a heavy pause, the dad commented, "Does she really think that someone might call the cops? She's just trying to be helpful. Man, that's crazy." 

But is it? 

In the month since that happened, the news has reported on a series of incidents much like the one she was afraid of. Whether it was a student falling asleep in a college library or a real estate investor checking out a new property, over and over, a white person has called the police to report "suspicious activity" by a black person, when there was really no suspicious activity at all. 

So, this woman did have a right to be nervous. Her instinct to do a nice thing by picking up lost keys  turned into something that she legitimately worried may prevent her from being able to drive her son home from soccer practice for fear of having the police called on her. 

It has stuck with me ever since. I know that all of us seated together that night learned a memorable lesson about privilege. I also know that unless we all keep talking about it with each other, things will never change - and I want them to change. I want those kids playing out on the soccer field that night to grow up in a culture that doesn't assume bad intentions based on the color of their skin. I want those kids to have the true freedom to walk around in the world, without fear of being interrogated or questioned. 

And you know what? I want it for their parents, too. 

Crying in front of strangers

A few weeks ago, I was at one of my many doctors' appointments - this time, the endocrinologist, and he said that he was going to recommend some additional blood work to see what is going on my thyroid gland. (Spoiler alert: it's fine.) It had been a long week at work, a long week at home, and a long few weeks of feeling like I was getting lots of tests and no answers. So, to learn that I had to have MORE tests was not what I wanted to hear.

It was the end of the day for the lab where he sent me to have my blood drawn too. The helpful nurse in his office recommended I scurry over before they closed for the afternoon. So, I ran (literally ran) down the hallway to the lab, and sure enough, they were closed. I tucked my tail and went back to the doctor's office to report my failure, and the helpful nurse offered to escort me down the hallway to the lab to see if she would have better luck than I did.

When we got to the door, she knocked, and a very frustrated woman came to the door. "Can I help you?" The helpful nurse explained what I needed, and the lab technician told her that it was too late because she was already shut down for the night. As the helpful nurse tried to plead on my behalf, I felt the end of my nose start to tingle and my cheeks get hot, and I knew that I was going to cry.

Embarrassed, I scurried towards the elevator and mumbled that I would just come back another day. Helpful Nurse insisted, "No, we can work this out." Lab Lady wasn't feeling it, but saw that I was crying and said I could come on in. Helpful Nurse came over to the elevator, took me by the hand, and led me back to the lab and told me to call her the next day for a follow up appointment.

Lab Lady went about getting everything set up to get what the doctor had ordered, and I just sat there and cried, silently. I was worn out, exhausted, frustrated, scared - and hitting the road block of the lab being closed (which would have meant taking more time off of work, delayed results, etc.) was the straw that broke this camel's back. I am not a huge fan of crying to begin with, much less in front of strangers, so I was mortified on top of everything else.

I apologized, trying to explain why I was so upset and thanked her for reopening the lab after she had already closed down for the day (a few minutes early, but who's counting?). She simply said, "We all have days like that. Don't worry about it." Then, she took the blood efficiently and sent me on my way.

Fast forward to my follow up appointment where the doctor says that since my thyroid has turned out to be fine that he wants to check my pituitary gland, and wants to get more lab work done. (Another spoiler alert: it's fine, too.) Imagine my dread when I was sent back to see Lab Lady for the follow up tests. I walked in to the lab, signed in and sat down to wait. No more than 20 seconds later, she called me back.

I debated whether I should acknowledge that I was "The Crier" from a few weeks earlier, but decided to let sleeping dogs lie and stay silent while she went about getting everything ready for my blood draw. I was looking out the window trying to avoid eye contact, when I heard her sniff and turned to face her.

Her eyes were brimmed with tears, and her lips were pursed tightly. She was doing everything she could not to cry. I asked, "Are you okay?" and she quickly apologized. I waved it off and asked her again, "Please don't apologize. You seem upset. Are you okay?" This time, she didn't hold back. She told me about how her mom had passed away a year prior, and that today, on the anniversary, she was missing her even more than she expected. She'd had an extremely vivid dream about her the night before and when she woke up and realized that it was only a dream, she was feeling the loss all over again.

I asked her if it was alright if I hugged her, and she nodded. So, I stood there and hugged Lab Lady as she cried for a solid five minutes. When she ran out of steam, she pulled back and apologized again. I said, "Please don't apologize. I don't know if you remember me or not, but I was in here crying just last week! Now, we are even!" Then, I asked her to tell me about her mom and what she loved most about her. She brightened and started telling me about some of the many wonderful memories of her mom while she started to take my blood again.

After she was finished and I was getting ready to head out the door, I asked her if she was going to be alright. She assured me she would and thanked me for being there when she needed some comfort. I thanked her for allowing me to fall apart the week prior and said, "I guess our paths were destined to cross for just that reason!"

We will probably never see each other again (no offense, but I hope not because I am all done with getting blood drawn, thankyouverymuch!), but I am so glad that we were able to come full circle and see each other just one more time. After feeling so embarrassed about my own crying, I didn't want to even make eye contact with her - and it turned out that I was in the perfect position to be there for her because of the very fact that I had cried in the first place. It always amazes me how God can line that up, if we are paying attention.

Me too.

About fifteen years ago, I had a #metoo experience, while working as the Assistant Program Director of a radio station in Connecticut. My station was part of a four-station cluster, and we shared a large break room/cafeteria space. That space was right across the hall from my office, which meant that I had a high volume of visitors as people from all of the stations came and went to eat their breakfast or lunch. Usually, as an extrovert, I loved all of the activity, but some days, when I was under a deadline, I longed for some quiet.

One day, after I had been working there about a year and a half, I was heating up my lunch during a rare quiet moment in the break room, planning on scurrying back to my office to eat at my desk. The morning show host from one of the other stations came in to get a cup of coffee. He was a large, stocky man, twice my age, with a big ego, and usually, a bad attitude. I never really had much reason to talk to him, but I wanted to be polite. So, we made chit chat, and he drank his coffee while my food heated up. The microwave dinged to let me know my food was ready, and I grabbed it and headed towards my office. He tossed his coffee cup in the trash and continued to make conversation as he followed closely behind me.

I remember that he changed the topic to the upcoming Christmas party, as I put my lunch down on my desk and turned around to try to politely dismiss him so I could eat and get back to work. As I turned around, he was already in my personal space, and before I knew what was happening, he had reached both arms around me, with his hands on my backside and pulled me forcefully against him, asking if I was going to dance with him at the Christmas party. His voice was hot and low in my ear, and a shiver of disgust ran through my entire body. I pushed him away with both hands, and said, as clearly as I could, "I don't think so."

He chuckled, and said, "We'll see." Then, he smirked and backed out of the room, hands up in mock innocence.

I slumped down in my desk chair to collect myself, and immediately, started wondering what I had done to make him think I would welcome an advance like that. I questioned what signals I may have been putting out unintentionally or what I may have said that would make him think I would be receptive to him. For the rest of the entire day, I was distracted, sullen and quiet.

The next day didn't feel any better. Neither did the day after that, or the one that followed. I was anxious every time I heard his voice in the hallway, and I didn't want to go into the break room for fear of running into him again. I could have sworn that he was purposely hanging outside of my doorway having conversations with our co-workers to try to make me uncomfortable.

At the end of the week, I finally decided to say something to one of my fellow female managers that worked in a different department. She listened as I laid out the details, and I asked her, after I recounted them all, "What did I do to bring this on?" She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Absolutely nothing" and encouraged me to report him to our General Manager.

I was nervous about going to our General Manager - not because of how I worried that she would respond, but because I didn't want to be perceived as a troublemaker or a tattletale. Working in the radio industry came with certain expectations of big personalities, people that pushed the envelope, actions that were meant to get a reaction or be perceived as funny. As the manager of one of our stations, I was worried that by talking to our General Manager, that I would be seen as someone that couldn't take a joke or was too uptight. We had a very fun, light-hearted environment at work, and I didn't want to do anything that changed that.

After a few days to weigh the pros and cons, I ultimately decided that I needed to speak up, if for no other reason, in case he would do something similar to one of the women that worked for me. The GM could not have been kinder when I did. She listened, took notes, and promised to get to the bottom of it.

True to her word, she conducted an investigation, but the end result was a case of "he said, she said". He claimed complete innocence, saying it never happened, that he wasn't even in my office at all that day. There were no witnesses that happened to walk by to corroborate either of our accounts of the events of that day. There were no security cameras to capture any of our movements that day either.

Our final discussion on the matter was when she told me that there was really nothing that she could do. She said she believed me, but that without any definitive proof, there was too much liability to take any action against him. She had advised him to steer clear of my office and the space outside, and advised me to keep a "buddy" around to avoid any future incidents. That was the best solution to the problem: avoid being alone.

Every day until the day his contract wasn't renewed and left the company, I walked around on edge. Thankfully, it was only a few months after our incident that his contract expired.

In the scope of workplace harassment incidents, mine is very minor. I know that. But I am telling it because I have heard a lot of backlash with questions about "Why did it take so long for them to speak up?" or "Why didn't she report it at the time?" or "What part did she play in encouraging it?" I think stories like mine are a large part of the reason that so many women didn't come forward until now. Even though I did come forward, the burden of proof was really on me to establish that it was a credible story and I wasn't able to do so. So, he was able to skate free, with no consequences.

This guy was not in a position of power over me and had no say in my employment, but I can imagine that if he were, it would be even more difficult to feel comfortable coming forward. I know, for a fact, that I did nothing to encourage this man, either. The women that I reported the incident to could not have been more supportive or responsive, and yet, I still had trepidation about coming forward. I can only imagine what it would be like to have to go report to a manager that didn't have the same reputation for being kind and open.

It's not cut and dry. This is a tricky conversation because we do want to presume someone is innocent until proven guilty, and we do have a statute of limitations on these types of activities. This is also tricky because we don't want men and women to think they can't interact at all without opening the door to being harassed or being accused of being a harasser.

At the time of my incident, the best solution was just not to be alone. I think we can do better today. If the solution to this issue is teaching women how to defend themselves or avoid being harassed, then, we are looking at the problem from the wrong perspective. The answer must lie with teaching everyone how to treat each other with respect, regardless of gender or other differences. If the solution proposed is a system that makes it simpler to report an incident, than we are acquiescing to a culture that allows for these incidents to continue to occur. If we are relying on the victims to start "feeling brave enough" to come forward, then, we aren't taking enough responsibility for our behavior in looking out for those that may be vulnerable and correcting those that show signs of the aggressive behavior. Any solution that involves getting the victims to take different actions is really just clearing away the cobwebs when what we should really be focused on is eliminating the spider that is creating them.

I don't have an answer that will solve all of this, but I do know that part of the solution has to be for anyone who has had an experience to be able to speak up and be heard. Recently, I heard a male colleague say that he wished that we could just get to a place where this wasn't an issue and we all just treated each other respectfully, as the human beings we all are.

Me too.