(OK, yes. I know D.C. isn’t a state. I also know that including it technically makes this series 51 Memories. Whatever).
In addition to forays into Pennsylvania, the daycare center I attended in Northern Virginia would also frequently take us into D.C. to visit the Smithsonian Museums.
One day, in the summer of 1990, while sitting on the grass of the Mall post-museum eating the granola bars that had been brought for our snack, we kids made a discovery: the daycare center had packed us an extra box of bars!
AN EXTRA BOX!
We began to chatter about who was going to get these extra treats. The oldest kids? The kids who finished their first granola bars the fastest? The kids Mr Steve, our chaperone, liked the best?
Without a word, Mr Steve came over, plucked the box from our sticky hands, and walked over to a bench where two men who appeared to be homeless were sitting. He offered them the granola bars. They accepted. As Mr Steve came to rejoin the group, I saw one of the men call over a third man to share their box.
That day, I learned what it meant to feel humbled.