Two Strangers. Two offers of kindness

Cotton Club

It was to be a Thanksgiving adventure. And, it was. Yet it turned out to be a little different, a little unexpected, and soft as cotton while the evening rolled up and down rail tracks toward dinner and back home.  You see, on the day before Thanksgiving we decided to head up-town on the local “1” train to 125th Street, so we could have a family dinner at Dinosaur Barbeque in Harlem.

As soon as the train stopped at 125th Street we walked out onto the platform and our gaze was immediately struck by the Christmas lights and decorations gracing 125th Street. It made the damp-dark evening bright and the walk west toward Dinosaur Barbeque just that much more hopeful. The lights also radiated off the side of the historic Cotton Club, until it’s glowing exterior seemed to welcome all passing this way, including the four of us.

The greetings offered by the lighted decorations and glowing Cotton Club seemed to be especially wonderful on this particular evening. Perhaps it was because it was Lachlan’s, our newest grandson, first pre-Thanksgiving-adventure. And, even though the weather was drizzling a little, he was held fast and warm, wrapped in his mother’s chest, right up to the time we were drenched in convivial smells of delicious food which enveloped all of our senses as we soaked in the atmosphere and filled our tummies. It seemed to be all we could ask for such an anticipated occasion. Yet, there was more, unanticipated warmth to come.

It continued as Lachlan was gathered up into his wrap and hat in preparation to walk out into the now, more steadily-falling rain, for the stroll east on 125th Street toward the train platform and home. Even then, the Cotton Club’s glow was hardly dimmed as we passed its beaconing presence. It gave us the encouragement needed to pass through the rain and once again board the train, as Lachlan’s eyes drooped.

Upon entering the crowded coach there was not one seat to be found. Until one, unassuming, young woman instantly and quietly stood to offer her seat to my damp daughter and her sleeping lad. There was no question in her eyes and no hesitation in her rise. So, gratefully, my packaged family sat in comfort, until we disembarked at the 96th Street platform pass through the turnstile and walk the final two-blocks home.

No sooner had we four passed through the turnstile when we heard, “excuse me. Excuse me.”

We turned toward the unfamiliar voice to see a man of age leaning over the turnstile, through which he had just passed, offering an umbrella from his left hand.

“Do you have an umbrella to protect your baby from the rain?” He asked as he caught our eyes.

Warmth again drenched my heart as we, in unison, answered, “we have a hat for him, thank you!”

It was a pre-Thanksgiving adventure wrapped in the softness of human kindness, an Incorporeal Cotton Club, giftwrapped the evening as we glided down the final blocks outside, toward home.  You see, on the day before Thanksgiving we decided to head up-town on the local “1” train to 125th Street, so we could have a family dinner at Dinosaur Barbeque, and we were wrapped in the caring softness two strangers, two offers of kindness, members of a Cotton Club.