Except – the Baby Girl.

I knew there was something I was missing.

So, Thursday. I have the baby outfit in its little bag and my other donations loaded in the car with my kids and I’m headed into the city when I realize that I forgot to look up where the Mission is. I start to tell myself that I can drop it off another time – why the hurry? – but then I realize that this is what I’ve always done. “Oh, I’ll do it later” – and then I never do.

So I tell myself, I will bring my kids to their dad’s. And I will ask him if he knows where it is. And if he can tell me how to get to the Mission, I’ll do it tonight.

And you know, he did, and he gave me general directions. I parked and saw the Mission’s thrift store, but not the actual Mission. I asked someone walking along if he knew where it was, and he offered to walk me there. Actually, he seemed a little alarmed, as if by walking me there he was keeping me safe, which I found funny but sweet. I’m not a babe in the woods – I lived in this city for seven years – but maybe in my bright A- line skirt with a hot pink gift bag swinging in my hands, I looked it.

He offered to bring the donations in for me, and when I hesitated he said he understood, he’s not trusting either. I stumbled all over myself trying to explain about the present for the little girl – it didn’t have a note on it or anything, and I had to send it with an explanation.

I thought about it later, and I wished I’d been able to tell him the whole story – that for me, it’s not about the donation making its way to the person I got it for. That’s ideal, obviously, but the point is that someone knows they’re cared for, and important. Whether that means that a little girl gets a cute outfit, or a man that lives in the Mission knows that someone trusts him to bring in her donations, the final destination of the thing itself is almost moot.

At any rate, he finally managed to get me up to the front desk, to a man who brought me over to Sister _____. She works at the Family Life Center, and knows the little girl in question. I launched into my story for a third time only to be interrupted by Sister _____ correcting my pronunciation. This was one of my favorite moments; she doesn’t care that I came here with a donation in my hand, that baby girl deserves to have her name pronounced right just like anybody else, and Sister _____ will make sure of it personally if she’s got to.

So I explained myself, and gave her the bag, and it turns out her first birthday is really soon. Happy birthday to her! I shouted on my way down the sidewalk. I was shy and awkward and ready to make a break for it. And boy did I.