The people passing through Patchwork and their stories are two major things that make me excited to come to Patchwork every morning. The story tellers are guests, volunteers, and staff. They’re at Patchwork for a cup of coffee, the food pantry, a bike, a shower, or anything else.
As usually happens, people get to chatting and then to telling stories. Strange stories, unusual stories, two-sentence stories, long and drawn-out stories with dramatic roleplaying to convey the entire scene. Stories that make everyone around break out in laughter, stories that make you angry at the injustices too many people face, and stories that make you hurt for the teller.
You never know what kind of story you’ll hear when you walk into Patchwork’s main office or sit down at a table among the coffee drinkers in our main room. More often than not, you’ll find it interesting. When you take time to listen, the stories connect us as human beings. Stories allow us to share our humanity with one another. They break down stereotypes and add nuance to situations too often painted in black and white.
Take yesterday, for example. As I checked our stock of coffee supplies, Johnny was sitting in the food pantry with Lindsey, one of this semester’s new college interns. He was telling her what first drew him to Patchwork and about other staff and volunteers that she has yet to meet. Johnny stops by Patchwork for coffee and to help out where he can on the days he’s not at work. He’s heard many of our stories and shared many of his own.
As I added some paperwork to a file in the main office, Shawn stopped me and told a man to repeat the story he’d just told her because it was a good one. He said he’d been to Patchwork last week to get food from the food pantry. As he received the food, something made him ask for a bag of cat food even though he didn’t have a cat. Later that day, he was at a gas station when someone found a cat and turned it in to animal control. This week, he’d followed up and discovered that no one had claimed the cat, so he decided to adopt it. He named the cat Station, and he had cat food ready to feed it! He ended the story by saying, “Thank you for the cat food and the people food!”
Walking back to my office, I saw a woman at Patchwork’s east door and invited her in. She was from another agency and had come here because it had been a month since she’d seen a man who had been a regular presence there. She’d started to fear the worst. “Check at Patchwork,” another of her clients had told her. “He goes there, too, and they may know where he is.”
John asked around in the main room, and Arthur had news, “Oh yeah, he got a job. I’ve seen him. He was wearing scrubs like he’s working at one of the hospitals.” We were all glad to know that we hadn’t seen him in a while because things were going well. The woman from the other agency shared her story about family connections with the man that went back decades.
Creating space for stories, for human connections, and for a sense of community is something at which I think Patchwork excels.