Photo by Carlos Aristizabal
It was December 2004 when my five-year-old daughter caught the end of an unsettling newscast while whizzing from one part of the house to another. The child who was always in constant motion came to a dead stop. It was a report on the Indian Ocean earthquake and resulting tsunami, an unprecedented tragedy the world would eventually learn took the lives of over 230,000 people in Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, Thailand and nine other countries.
My daughter’s single dimple, a by-product of her gregarious smile, disappeared and was replaced by a deep and troubled frown much too severe for her young face.
“We have to do something,” she commanded, oblivious to the almost ten thousand miles that separated us from the devastation. “Right now,” she added, impatient with my 2-second hesitation.
We settled on cupcakes: in part because she adored the sweet treat, in part because she’d be able to actively participate. And while I knew what that would mean (after all, she didn’t earn the nickname “Hurricane Daniela” without reason), I was prepared to tackle the aftermath of a baking session in order to nourish her compassion.
We baked two dozen cupcakes. Upon her suggestion, half were chocolate and half were vanilla, each crowned with generous amounts of homemade buttercream frosting. With each cupcake made, tough questions followed: Where would people sleep? How would kids go to school? What about their pets? I tried my best to satiate her inquiries, hoping to ease the worry marked on her furrowed brow.
We made a sign announcing her cupcake sale, explaining it was to help those affected by the tsunami, then set up a stand in the front driveway. I stood back and watched as multiple cars in my neighborhood stopped. My daughter bounded fearlessly toward each one, bearing sticky, slightly melted cupcakes in hand. Her dimple was back as she explained her cause with the conviction of someone addressing the General Assembly. People listened. People praised. And while not everyone purchased the baked good, everyone handed her money – many times well beyond the price of the cupcakes.
The afternoon ended with more money than I ever imagined along with leftover cupcakes for us to enjoy. My daughter skipped to the front door cupping a jar crammed with crumpled bills and change, insisting we donate it to the Red Cross right away. I carried the remaining cupcakes inside and promised we would, feeling grateful for her enormous heart and determination as well as the extraordinary response reciprocated by our neighbors.
In the end, we counted $94, a miniscule amount in the face of unimaginable tragedy. Yet, witnessing my daughter’s instinctive desire to help being embraced by so many strangers was a priceless reminder that kindness begets kindness, especially in life’s darkest moments.
Happy Reading,
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com