Toledo

I walked West past the stone statue of the 10 commandments on the corner of the courthouse grounds in Toledo. The shade from an ominous bureaucratic government building on the southern side of the street left the pathway cool and pleasant. Looking out on the gold-green leaves of a summer-bloomed tree in the courthouse park was a woman in a cherry hat. She giggled to herself at an unknown joke as I approached and asked for a moment of her time. 

Tinika Lloyd is a Toledo native. Born and raised in the small Midwestern city, and happy to give a moment of her time even to a stranger. As I sat down on the shaded bench beside her, she squared up to me, sitting up straight and looking attentively into my eyes. She giggled again. My first instinct, trained from past year in New York, was to break eye contact. The first question on the list: “What makes a person respected?” I tweaked the language after my conversation with Randy.

Tinika answered both my question and my curiosity about her posture and approach. 

“Communication is really what gains respect. How a person communicates, you know? Are they making eye contact, are they turned to you, are they giving you a welcome with their body language? And you can tell someone respects you by they way they talk back and hold themselves back out to you.”

On dignity, she had a simple distillation:

“It really comes down to having standards, and not settling for less than those standards. The choice not to date someone of a certain type. Or not be pressured into doing something by friends or a spouse. Standards are very important. It you can’t have your standards, then you feel broken.”

She spoke of relationships but I couldn’t help my mind drifting to the migrant camps at the border. Where the people being held are denied the basics of soap and toothbrushes. "It is easy to feel broken if you can’t have your standards.” We know this to be true.

“I’m a bible reader. Psalms 23:1. That’s my favorite verse. The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want. I have enough with that. For me what makes a good life then, is whether I’m giving. Whether I’m stopping with someone on the street. Maybe they’re poor right now. Stopping and giving them money when they don’t have it. That lets them have a better life. Maybe it helps them remember too. When one day they’re better off, they’ll remember and pass it along to someone else. They’ll give too. The giving is what makes the world a better place, what makes people’s lives better, what makes my life better.”

I wondered with a simple criteria like that for a good life, what she could possibly want for. I asked.

“Money! I never have enough money. That’s really the only thing I’m missing. It’d always be nice to have more money. For fun things like shopping, or decorating. But even more for giving to people. I never have enough to give to the people I see that need some.”

A breeze rustled across the street and she smiled contentedly. She said she had been sitting enjoying this bench for hours. My city-hurry was still in the process of leaking from my psyche and I heard myself sign an involuntary “wow, really?” 

I was out of questions on my short list as she offered one last thing.

“You know, it’s important to just enjoy slow like this. You’ve gotta be mediocre. You don’t want a life with so much hurrying. Because then you wake up one day and realize it’s all gone. But you don’t want to be turtle-ish either. You need to be present and contribute to others. Just that simple middle. That’s important for a good life. For a happy life.”

I nodded, and hurried back to my car. Forgetting even to take her picture. I had to go back. We hugged and went on our way.