Donuts, Democracy, and the Accordion That Melted a Cynic
When I became principal at Green Trails Elementary in the Parkway School District, I was exited—not just because I would be working with a progressive superintendent, Dr. Jere Hochman, but because I’d also be leading a school that doubled as an ESOL Center. Over 20 languages echoed through our halls, each one a thread in the tapestry of stories that brought families to the U.S. Some tales were heartbreaking and all of them deeply human.
Now, picture this: it’s a presidential election year, and our gymnasium is transformed into a democracy-palooza. One side is decked out with voting booths and volunteers who take their civic duty very seriously (and their lunch preferences even more so). The other side? A cardboard wonderland for our Kids’ Vote project, where students proudly cast mock ballots and earned stickers that screamed, “I’m adorable and politically aware.”
Wanting to be a gracious host, I ordered coffee and donuts for the election workers. Enter the supervisor—a man who clearly missed his calling as a Yelp reviewer for PTA luncheons. He took one look at the spread and said, “Thanks, but the former principals gave us fried chicken and all the trimmings. Is this it?” I blinked. Smiled. And replied, “It’ll just be coffee and donuts this year. You might want to order lunch.” Translation: Welcome to the new regime, Colonel Sanders.
As the day rolled on, our ESOL students arrived—bright-eyed, beautifully dressed in garments that reflected their cultures, and ready to participate. Some gave me high-fives, others hugged me, and all of them radiated courage. That’s when the election supervisor, clearly rattled by the presence of joy and diversity, barked across the gym, “Why in the hell do you have all the foreigners in here?” My inner voice screamed, “What a flaming jackass!” My outer voice calmly explained our ESOL program and the resilience of these children. He grumbled about taxes and stormed off, presumably to sulk over his chicken-less lunch.
Then in walked Erwin. A gifted musician from Serbia who fled his war-torn village with his family, the shirt on his back and his accordion. His violin, heartbreakingly, had to be left behind. I had an idea. I asked his teacher to excuse him so he could play for the election workers during their lunch break. Erwin, beaming with pride, followed me to the break area and performed two hauntingly beautiful pieces. The room fell silent. Forks paused mid-air. Tears welled. Even the supervisor softened, his face briefly unwrinkling from decades of scowling.
Two weeks later, the same man showed up at my office. I braced myself for a fried chicken rant. Instead, with a voice that trembled, he said, “That kid who played the accordion—I can’t stop thinking about him. The wife and I want to buy him a violin.” I nearly hugged him into next week but knew a handshake would be all he could handle. We made a plan. He wanted his wife to hear Erwin play both instruments. I promised we’d make it happen.
Closing Reflection:
Moments like these are why Empathy on the Rocks exists—not just to stir stories with a splash of humor, but to serve them with a twist of humanity. In a gym divided by cardboard booths and cafeteria politics, a boy with an accordion bridged a gap that donuts couldn’t. Empathy doesn’t always arrive dressed in grand gestures. Sometimes, it sneaks in through music, lingers in a tear, and surprises us in the form of a grumpy man offering a violin. And if that’s not worth raising a glass to, I don’t know what is.