Kindness

When was the last time a stranger was kind to you? When was the last time you were kind to a stranger?

Today I was running an errand and a guy who was leaving the shop that I was entering held the door open for me rather than letting it slam. I thanked him. It wasn’t a matter of “chivalry” or thinking I wasn’t capable of opening a door, it was a matter of two seconds of not letting it close in my face.  It was a good thing. A tiny thing that made the world just a teeny bit kinder.

That got me to thinking about random acts of kindness. At first I thought about things that happened when I was 19, living abroad and being basically broke, and there were many kind people. Then I realized that there have been many, many more.

Most of the kind acts from recent years have been from people I knew fairly well: colleagues, friends, neighbors. Still kind, still wonderful. I could tell hundreds of stories.  But kindness from strangers …. It’s not that “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” like Blanche DuBois in “Streetcar Named Desire,” but there is something about the kindness of strangers that is particularly memorable.

When I was 19:

Some kids my age (19-ish) that I met at the youth hostel in Paris took me to their house in the Netherlands and I asked if I could do laundry in their washing machine, after a couple of months of only washing clothes in sinks with a bar of soap and hanging them to dry. They said, sure, so I put everything I owned in the washing machine before we all went to bed. By the next morning, it was dried, folded – and the socks had been expertly darned by their mother. I thanked her profusely, although I didn’t speak her language, but her kids translated: I hope someone would do the same for my children. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

When I was 30:

I worked a late shift that meant I was taking the metro to my temporary lodging in D.C. at around midnight. It was only a couple of blocks to walk, but I heard footsteps behind me and gaining on me. Ugh. I kept walking, chin up and with a purposeful stride but ready. Then the footsteps crossed the street and the young man continued to walk on the other side of the street, faster than I was walking. When he got to the cross street, by now 20 yards or more in front of me, he crossed back to “my” side of the sidewalk and took a right. He clearly did that detour on purpose to avoid freaking out a woman who was walking alone. I thought, he must have sisters or something, but it was truly a kind act.

When I was 48:

I was traveling in England and the arthritis that would lead to hip replacement was getting pretty bad. I was lugging a suitcase and encountered an unexpected staircase at a train station – no escalator or elevator in sight. A guy grabbed my suitcase, which temporarily alarmed me, but he actually was only helping me get it up the stairs. He put it down at the top until I got there and walked away before I could say anything more than “Thank you.”

So. When I can, I try to pay it forward.

 

 

 Thrice cooked chicken (really)

Now that I have an air fryer function on my toaster oven, I have been experimenting. This one turned out great.

I accidentally discovered that rice flour is better than wheat flour if you want crispy fried chicken.

Then I discovered that, although it isn't a great idea to try to cook "breaded" items from scratch in the air fryer, it makes breaded things really crispy.

And I have always known that undercooked chicken is inedible, but overcooked chicken is nasty, too. Dry and stringy.

And I have also learned over the years that marinating chicken for an hour or two before cooking it really does help keep it moist and juicy.

Then a friend reminded me of an old trick for breading the chicken, which is to put the flour in a paper bag, with seasonings of your choice, and shake it. It's much less messy than using the tray system. And if you have marinated the chicken, it is already moist on the outside, so no egg wash is needed to get the flour to stick.

So I combined all of these things.

This was about 1.7 pounds of boneless, skinless chicken thighs, about two cups of rice flour, and assorted condiments.

1. In a container that has a lid and is big enough to hold the chicken and about an equal amount of liquid, put water, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, a couple of teaspoons of sugar and maybe a little salt, some freshly ground pepper and whatever else floats your boat. Put the lid on and shake it up. Add the chicken and refrigerate for an hour or two.(I eyeballed this. You could put the chicken in first, mix condiments in a separate container, then add them and enough water to just cover the chicken. )

2. Put about two cups of rice flour in a brown paper bag, add salt, pepper and whatever else you like. I like ancho chili powder. Shake it up.

3. Put about two inches of canola oil in a cast iron chicken fryer or Dutch oven and heat it up. Again, I just guess at this, but if you sprinkle a few drops of water, carefully, and it spits, it's hot enough. Be careful. 

4. While the oil is heating, put the chicken into the bag, one or two or three pieces at a time, depending on the size of the bag, and shake 'em up. If any part isn't coated, stick your hand in and roll the chicken pieces around. 

5. Turn on the oven to 350.

6. Fry the chicken in the oil, in batches so they aren't touching. I could get three thighs in at the same time, so two batches. Be sure to put the chicken in from front to back, so that if any oil splashes, it splashes away from you, not onto you!

7. After a few minutes, turn the pieces over. They will be a light golden brown.

8. After a few minutes on the other side, transfer to an ungreased ovenproof pan. I have a cast iron one that is a griddle/Dutch oven lid. Put in oven and bake for 20 minutes, or until interior temp is 150-160 on an instant-read thermometer.

9. Transfer to air fryer basket and "fry" at 450 for 8-10 minutes. 

These came out crispy on the outside and fully cooked but succulent on the inside. I will make them this way again.

 

 Civil disobedience starts with Civics class

My first act of civil disobedience

In 1969, I was a senior in high school, taking a required course in Civics. It was taught by a football coach. In Indiana at that time, at least, public schools were not allowed to hire coaches who weren’t teachers. So the coaches they hired taught the courses that kids were required to take, like Civics. Health. Yeah. I was mostly in the “Honors” classes, so I mostly had better teachers, except when I had to take the required courses like, yeah, Civics and Health.

Anyway, one day in Civics, the Coach picked on a kid in the class, who was obviously a kid who just wanted to get his high school diploma even if it was barely a passing grade, by saying that his sideburns were too long. Yeah, that was a thing in 1969: Sideburns could only come to the middle of your ear (if you were a boy). This kid’s sideburns were longer. So Coach kicked him out of class and sent him to the principal’s office. Because, control, I guess.

With the confidence of an A student, I raised my hand and asked something to the effect of wasn’t it ironic to kick a kid out of Civics class for expressing himself. Coach responded by snarkily saying, well, if you want to join your “boyfriend” at the principal’s office, go ahead. Calling him my “boyfriend” was particularly cruel, as I didn’t have a boyfriend.

So I picked up my books and left the classroom.

Coach chased me down the hall and said, No, really, don’t go to the principal’s office. Just hang out until the bell rings. Implying, “Forget this ever happened.”

But when he went back to the classroom, other students had taken up the banner. Why did you kick him out for such a minor infraction? Why did you kick her out, too, just for asking a question? Isn’t this Civics class? Isn’t this what America is about?

I was so proud of them.

I do not know what happened to the guy. I don’t remember his name. I think I checked at the time and he did at least graduate.

So, as much as I admire most teachers, I will always harbor doubts. Not all teachers are saints, especially if they care more about rules than about the students.

P.S. One of the rules for girls was that we had to wear dresses or skirts. Even on cold, snowy days; we could wear long pants under our dresses to walk to school, but had to take the trousers off once we were inside. (This was before leggings were invented.) And then mini-skirts became the fashion and there were new rules about those! They should have just let us wear pants.

 

 

 

 

College shouldn't be free, but ...

One day when I was in high school – either sophomore or junior year, I’m not sure – Mom and I were going through a box of her “memorabilia.” I’m not even sure what we were looking  for, if anything. But in that box, from a top shelf in her closet, were some of her mementos from high school, including a fancy embroidered, script letter “J.”  She had graduated from Jefferson High School, the same school and building that I was attending.  I asked, “What’s this?” She said, “Oh, that’s my letter for getting all A’s.” Wait, what? I knew my mom was smart, but seriously, all A’s? And not for just three years, but four, because back then 9th grade was part of high school. Also, the jocks got block letter J’s, but the academic people got script J’s, which I thought was peculiar. So I asked, “Well, Mom, why didn’t you go to college?” Because I knew that both of her brothers did, and my dad did. And I knew that her mom had been a teacher, and had at least gone to two years of college for teacher training. But, no, in 1938, there was no money to send a girl to college, even though there was a state college within bus/walking distance (at which she ended up working). Her oldest brother went, but partly with an ROTC kind of funding, I think. Her younger brother and my dad went later, after WWII, with the GI bill, or otherwise they wouldn’t likely have been able to afford it. They both became engineers, by the way.

Somehow, that day, I knew that I was going to be able to go to college but that I shouldn’t ever forget that it wasn’t an opportunity to be wasted. I studied. I read the assignments. I took it seriously, when some other students, mostly males, were more focused on having a good time. Because I couldn’t forget Mom and a lot of women like her.

I don’t think that’s why she shared that box of memorabilia that day, but you never know. Mom was pretty smart. She had that “j” to prove it.

By the way, I do know that it was even more difficult for men and women of color, especially in 1938 but also in 1969. I think that it is mostly better now, but we need to be vigilant.

Do I believe that college should be free? No. It should be affordable. There should be scholarships for people who don't have financial assets but have shown that they take their studies seriously. "A" students should get scholarships as easily as athletes do. Students might need to work in the summer instead of going to Europe (although I'm in favor of study abroad, but that's different). They maybe shouldn't go on expensive spring breaks. They maybe should have some skin in the game. I fear that making college completely free would devalue it, making it like free high school, less respected, less serious. It is, in fact, ridiculous that there are lists of "party schools," some of which are at least in part publicly funded. It's also ridiculous that some students emerge with crippling debt, but there may be multiple reasons for that and multiple solutions, including good financial counseling from the get-go.

But should any child growing up in America resign themselves to the fact that, no matter what their abilities and dedication are, they can't afford to go to college? No. Not because of gender, not because of race, not because of their parents' finances. We need those young men and women to achieve their potential. All of them.