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Nodding quickly, I say, “Yes. The youngest out here is four. They will glue Cheerios to their own face, they will glue Cheerios to their friends’ faces, and they will try to glue Cheerios toyourface.” I make direct eye contact with Thorin so he can tell I’m serious. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but you have to remind them constantly that the glue only goes on the paper plate. They stick the Cheerios on after, not glue to the Cheerio.”
“Okay, glue to the plate not to their face. Seems simple enough.” Thorin steps away, letting my arms slide off his shoulders. He winks at me and then goes to talk to Teena who’s holding the tote full of art supplies.
Poor, unfortunate soul has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.
“Do you know what we’re making for dinner?” Whitney asks me as we turn towards the kitchen placed in the back of the room together.
“Spaghetti.” We only do spaghetti the second Wednesday of every month. I don’t know if Teena or another volunteer came up with that, but it’s been happening long before I became active with KKIS.
I guide Whitney over to the kitchen where a bunch of grandmothers are shooting the shit, teasing each other and making inappropriate jokes like they’re not in a church.
Nana Noel is opening jars of marinara sauce when she spies me. “Bex! I didn’t know you were coming today.” Normally I can only swing one or two KKIS events each month and I was here last week.
“I’m showing a new group,” I explain as I walk over and kiss her cheek. Peering into the tall pots beside her I see they were able to spring for marinara sauce and Alfredo sauce for the kids to choose from. The smell of garlic bread is heavy in the air.
Whitney smiles politely beside me, reminding me silently that I’m not here by myself.
“This is Whitney. She’s here with her boyfriend and their friend.” Hopefully Nana Noel doesn’t recognize her since she barely blinks in Whitney’s direction, too focused on opening jars. I turn to Whitney. “This is my Nana Noel.”
“Your actual Nana?” Whitney asks, her confusion evident as her brow puckers together.
“The one and only,” Nana Noel says as she reaches out a hand to shake Whitney’s. Her wispy white hair sits on her head in a puff ball. She’s tall and skinny, with wire glasses that remind me of the statue of Mrs. Claus she displays at Christmas.
“So volunteering is in your blood,” Whitney presumes.
Nana Noel hums. “People volunteer for two reasons: because they’re selfish or they’re selfless. Those who come for their own personal gain to make them feel better are selfish. It’s when they come back again and again and take pride in their community, seeing the difference they’re truly making that it becomes selfless.”
Whitney’s eyes widen in shock. “That seems rather melodramatic.”
“But it’s true,” Nana Noel shrugs. “Isn’t that right, Rita?”
“Absolutely,” another grandma agrees. “There’s nothing wrong with being selfish either. Everyone uses it as a dirty word but sometimes we just need to feel like we’re a part of something.”
Whitney bites her lip, contemplating what they just said. She looks at me next. “What about you? Selfish or selfless?”
Easy. “Both.” My decision seems to shock her, but I don’t bother elaborating. I do this because it’s what I would be doing with my mom if she were still here. I just happen to enjoy it at the same time. For those reasons, it’s both. Nana Noel’s reasons are the same as mine. Rita’s right, it’s okay to be selfish when you’re volunteering, it doesn’t negate the experience you’re providing for someone else. They don’t care why you’re here, just that you are.
“Oh you look like you know your way around a pot,” Rita says while eyeing Whitney’s arms. “Come over here and help us cook the noodles properly.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t waste all the noodles checking to make sure they’re done.”
Rita waves me off with mirth in her eyes. “We hardly had any kids that day and besides, my noodle stuck the longest out of everyone’s. Don’t get your knickers in a twist because you didn’t win.” She loops her arm through Whitney’s as she begins explaining how they throw noodles at the cabinet to check when they’re done cooking.
Whitney laughs before disappearing into the masses towards the stoves. I grab a few jars, helping Nana Noel uncap them and pour them into the large pot to eventually be heated ny Rita.
“You don’t usually show new groups,” she comments now that we’re alone. “What’s the deal there?”
“I can’t really discuss it.”
She nods her head, but it’s clear from the look on her face she doesn’t like my answer. “New friends?”
“Yes and no.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Weren’t you the one that said the best things in life usually are?”
“I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere but who knows.” She smiles at me. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”
