It’s Sunday, 2:30 in the afternoon and I am exhausted, sitting on my couch with so much dog hair that I almost want to jump up and clean it, but of course I resist. I’m sitting there with my feet up thinking “Oh God, I just don’t want to do anything or talk to anyone for maybe like a month,” and the doorbell rings.
Now, I’ve got this lovely little thing on my door that says: We kindly ask that you skip this house as you represent your cause in the neighborhood. We welcome local children, local school sales, and Scouts.
The doorbell rings and I do not want to get up. I wish whoever they are will just go away. But, if you tiptoe up onto my porch stairs you can see me sitting right there on my fat ass. So, that’s not good. I get up. I’m going to “lean in.” I open the door and there are females there, about eight of them. I raised boys, so I’m not sure about the ages, but I’d guess about 10-years-old. And they’re the rainbow of colors, African-American, Hispanic, Asian. I did notice there were no cute little white girls.
There’s a woman in her sixties, leaning forward, she’s wrinkly like me, and looking tired, like I feel. She says, “Oh, sorry to bother you but we’re playing a game called Bigger or Better. And we’re working with these girls from the Blossom Program for Girls in crisis.” She goes on to explain the rules of the game. They’re collecting objects to win a prize. If they get the biggest or best item donated, they win.
The volunteer goes on to explain, “What we have is this blue suitcase, and you’re the last stop.” She starts to hem and haw, and says she understands if I can’t think of anything to donate. She starts giving me these outs. “I know it’s hard to think of anything, and you’re the last one, and…”
The girls do not appear interested, yawning, rolling their eyes. If this is a game, it doesn’t appear to be a fun one. This lady’s doing all the work and they’re doing nothing. A second woman, Hispanic, maybe 30 years old, clearly either a sponsor or an adult mentor stands there not saying much, but she’s not rolling her eyes or yawning or acting disengaged.
I address her, “Wait a minute… are you guys really playing this or looking for me to participate?”
She says, “Absolutely!”
“Okay, because this one’s trying to let me off the hook, so is that what you want to do?”
“No,” she says.
“Okay,” I look at the girls. “Are you up for this? Hello? Are you awake? Do you want me to play or not?”
“Yeah,” a weak chorus of voices.
“Okay,” I say, suddenly not so tired myself. “Because I got something, but I can’t give it to you. And it’s bigger than the suitcase.”
Kiley, my Cavalier Spaniel, barks from inside the house, and one of the girls asks, “Oh! A dog?”
“I’m not giving you my dog!” That’s just how I say it. “Are you nuts?” I go get Kylie, and anyway she’s not bigger than the suitcase.
“Can we put her in the suitcase?” Very funny.
“No, we’re not putting my dog in the suitcase.” I laugh and look at the motley group. The volunteer says, “I understand, and by the way, the game is ending at 3pm, so we have only 10 minutes to get to the finish line. So whatever you say after this, we’re done.”
In my head, I know what I’m about to do, but they have no idea. “Well, I have something bigger but I cannot give it to you.” The group perks up a bit. “What happens if I let you use it for the game, but I can’t give it to you?”
The mentors reply, “Well if we win, you can have it back.”
“IF we win?” Oh my God, oh my God. They don’t know, but what I’m about to do is give them my car! I haven’t worked out the logistics. This is an impulse. I have a 1998 Chevy Blazer, but I have no spare keys. My son has them all and he’s out of state.
“Alright here’s the deal, I’m going to give you my car.”
The girls wake up at this point. “Your car?”
I look at the other woman and I say, “Yeah, but I need it back.”
She says, “That’s so cool. I’ll get it back to you. Our finish line is just up the street. I’ll take it there, and I’m sure we’ll win.”
“Well we don’t know if you’ll win.”
She says, “No, I’m pretty sure we’ll win, but we’ve got to go now!”
I run to get the car, a little sick to my stomach like this might not be smart. I’m not sure this is a good idea. I have a history, so to speak, of situations like these. I am a sucker for these things. My kids love the story of the guy who came to move the rock. There was this guy who knocked on my door and said, “There’s this big stone blocking your alley, and I bet it’s really heavy. If you can give me $50, I’ll move.”
I’m excited, “That would be so great!” I give him the $50 and of course he leaves. My kids are aghast, “What were you thinking?”
“No, no, really, there was this big rock,” I explain to them.
“Of course, there’s a big rock,” they say. “That’s what makes it a scam!” And that’s just the latest episode of “Mom’s an Easy Mark.”
I get my keys anyway, but I’m having doubts. Inside I keep thinking, “Uh oh, uh oh.” But there’s not much time to over think it.
I go to the back of my house to the garage, and I get in this 22 year old car. The worst case is somebody’s going to get this car. I drive it around. It’s a big car, and as I pull around to the front of the house, I roll down the window and shout, “Yoo hoo! Look at this!” And They. Are. Into. It.
“I can’t believe this!” “We’re going to win! We’re going to win!
I yell back, “Well you BETTER win. It’s my CAR!”
“I can’t believe it,” says the older woman.
The younger mentor is all business at this point, “Okay, okay, I’ll drive.”
And now I have to hand over my keys. There are no extra keys. I can’t believe it either.
We’re down to maybe four minutes. It’s not a lot of time. I say, “I need one thing. One thing. We need a picture of everyone, you know, in case I have to call the FBI.” There’s some nervous laughter, and everyone lines up against the car.
“Ok, can everyone give me a little attitude here, girls? This is a big deal. I want some Swagger!” And then they’re gone. With my car. I feel sick. So, I did that. And I’m going to call my son, Jonah. And then I decide to wait to see how it all pans out. It’s ok. It’s an old car. One of the women did think to text me her name. She must have sensed my apprehension. It’s small, but it’s something. Before then, I’m thinking they just drove away with my car, and I got nothing.
Fifteen minutes late, I get another text, “We won!”
They come back, with the car, and not just their team, but all the other mentors. As they stream down the block, it’s just a rainbow of colors. They stop in front of my house, and I’m still a little anxious. “So glad you won!”
They’re all giddy with choruses of “can’t believe you did that!” Then they hand me the ugly blue suitcase.
“I don’t want this,” I say, relieved to have my car back, and not have to explain another “sucker” episode to my kids.
“You have to take it. That’s the game. Bigger or better,” they say.
Car for a suitcase hardly seems to be an even exchange, but the exchange is complete. It seems unceremonious to just go back inside to my couch. I gather everyone in a circle and ask them to hold hands.
“I want to review the lessons we all just learned together.” Lessons? I have no idea what I’m going to tell them. And then the first lesson pops into my head.
“Number one: We don’t do anything big by ourselves. Ever.” I make eye contact with each girl in the circle. “You better be using the women and girls around you, because we’re here.”
If there’s a number one, there has to be a number two. I pause, hoping they think it’s just for effect. And then the second lesson arrives.
“Number two: You don’t always know what’s going to happen.” I’ve got their attention, so I continue. “You didn’t know what was going to happen when you rang my bell. You didn’t know I was going to answer. I didn’t know you were there. And we sure as hell didn’t know that I was going to give you my car!” Laughter around the circle. “So you have to ring the bells.”
“Number three: You’ve got to fucking play to win sometimes!” I’m pretty sure I remember using the F-word. I hope I did.
They all hugged me, and I finally went back to my couch with Kiley. But the lesson that stayed with me, and the lesson I hope stays with you, the grown-ups, the probably privileged, is this: Stop waiting. Stop waiting for some formal fucking Mentor program to make some kind of difference.
Your job is not to “lean in,” because leaning in is all about your role and your contribution. Yawn, yawn. At some point, lean out. At some point you have to be ready and willing and able to spot people just as they are, in a moment that occurs randomly and say “I see you. You’re awesome. We need you.”
Then, you’ve got to exceed expectations in that interaction. You have to take a risk every once in a while, I don’t know, maybe daily. Take a big risk. All of this “I’m too busy. I don’t have time,” is bullshit. Make it about them, not you.
See them. Tell them, “I’m backing you,” and then exceed their dreams. There’s a ton of invisible people out there just trying to do the next thing, and we’ve got to get them to dream bigger. It’s our job, because we got it by people helping us. Enough of the advice and hard truths about working hard. Shut up. Instead, say something inspiring and motivating that just lifts them up. That is the point of these moments, and you need to be ready. Start now, not later. Seek these moments out.
Eventually, I did confess to both my sons in a group text.
“What? You GAVE them the Blazer?”
“Yeah, but wait, I got it back.”
“Mom, you have got to stop this.”
“By the way, where are the extra keys for the car now that I got it back?”
Jonah texted a picture of three keys side-by-side, having packed them by mistake when he moved.
His brother replies, “I guess those are for the girls now.”
I don’t always break the rules. I kept the ugly blue suitcase, and used it on my recent trip to Paris.