Like a slice of yellow cake, little moments fuel us - The Dallas Morning News

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When I was in fourth grade, I ate a cafeteria lunch every day. I don’t remember much about the entree or sides — I assume there were mashed potatoes and green beans involved — but I will never forget the dessert.

My reduced-price lunch ticket didn’t allow for extras, actually, but at least once a week, the cashier at the end of the line would slide a slice of cake onto my tray. It was yellow cake layered with dark chocolate frosting. It was heaven.

What was her name? I have no idea. Did I thank her properly? I don’t recall. But I’ve carried that weekly gift with me these four decades since.

We all carry such treasures, tiny moments that stick with us, that push us to be better, to act with more kindness. My list is long, and there’s comfort in celebrating the gifts that spark joy.

When I was a student at the University of North Texas, I came up about $200 short for tuition one semester. The registrar’s office was about to drop my classes. I visited the journalism office, explained my plight and asked for advice. Could they hold my seat in classes while I worked to earn the money?

No, but they could write a check to cover the shortfall. I paid back the loan — maybe not a huge amount to the department but a lifesaver for me — before the end of the semester.

When my beloved grandmother passed away from Alzheimer’s disease in 2005, I was a few months pregnant with my second child, working in a new department in the newsroom. My editor and friend Sharon was there when I learned the news.

“Your grandmother is so proud of you,” she said in those early moments when my grief for Gramma’s illness spilled into raw heartbreak over her death.

I’ll never forget those words and the comfort they provided, and it’s a sentiment I’ve shared with friends in mourning ever since.

When my alleyway neighbor and best friend for almost two decades runs errands or orders takeout, she often texts me.

“Want in on some Thai food?”

“Need anything from Target?”

These little Julie notes remind me of the power of community, of the importance of helping one another, of friendship that requires few words.

This year my classroom is in a portable building — or learning cottage, if you prefer — on the back side of campus. My teaching partner, Grace, is everything you’d want in a next-door neighbor. (We can access each other’s room through a shared interior door.) She listens, helps to solve problems and offers gentle life advice.

And on cold winter mornings, when she arrives before me (which is almost always the case), she turns off the security alarm and turns on the heater in my room. When I walk up from the parking lot, I can hear the hum of the HVAC unit on my side of the building, signaling that Grace has arrived and that my morning is at least two steps simpler.

We all love a grand gesture — a surprise party or an extravagant gift. We’re mesmerized by videos of elaborate marriage proposals and unexpected homecomings. But those don’t happen often, and they don’t sustain us. Instead, we are fueled by little moments — treats we’d never ask for, words that comfort just in time, favors lavished with no expectations in return.

On a recent trip into Dallas, I drove across the Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge with hopes of scoring a slice of cake from the Cake Bar. I’d read that the Trinity Groves bakery serves an old-fashioned cake — yellow with dark chocolate frosting. Could it hold up to my fourth-grade memories?

This slice wasn’t free, but it was worth every cent — layer upon layer that tasted just like generosity, kindness and gratitude.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

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Like a slice of yellow cake, little moments fuel us - The Dallas Morning News
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