I was at the grocery store with Ada today, picking up a few things for the week. We were standing in the aisle with all of the cleaning supplies when a girl walked by that caught Ada’s attention. Her hair was dyed black and she had gauged ears with hoops that were about the size of Mason jar rings. There was a pin-up girl tattoo peeking from underneath the sleeve of her grocery store uniform.

“Momma! Momma! Look at her ears!” Ada said, loud enough for everyone in the aisle to hear.

The girl glared our way. It was a mix of embarrassment and angsty teenage judgement. I tried to see us through hereyes. Ada was wearing head-to-toe pink. I looked like your typical suburban mom; maxi dress, Birkenstocks and a cart full of gluten-free food. I’m sure we looked like the exact kind of ordinariness she was rebelling against.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they, Sis?” I said. Like my daughter, I said this loud enough for the girl to hear. “Why don’t you go ask her about them?”

At five, Ada is a talker. She barely stops. She even talks in her sleep. I watched her walk down the aisle and stand bravely beside the girl.

“Excuse me?” she said. “I like your earrings!”

The girl looked at me and back down at Ada, a little stunned. “Um, thanks,” she said.

“I like your tattoos, too,” Ada said. “You have nice style!”

The girl looked at me again, unsure of what to say but smiling. Honestly, she seemed…grateful. Grateful for kindness, even from this small girl standing in front of her. “Thank you,” she said finally, nervously tucking hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!” Ada said. Then she skipped back down the aisle to me, pausing only to turn and tell the girl she hoped she had a lovely day.

A lovely day. That kid. She’s some kind of wonderful.

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