Small Moment: A Tribute to Those Who Buy the Smashed Tomatoes
Our lives are filled with teachers. While some lead a classroom, others teach through small moments. Our parents, friends, neighbors, and even our children teach us things, if we are willing to listen. I offer this small-moment story as a tribute for all of the teachers we encounter in our lives-you may never know the impact you truly have.
“It sure has gotten quiet down there,” Stephanie said.
“Shhh, don’t jinx it,” I laughed. The two of us finally had a moment to ourselves to enjoy one another’s company. Our friendship had grown from the age of fifteen, and now both of us were in our early thirties, in the “elementary-school teacher recovery phase” that is the entire month of June. Our combined four boys were finally playing in the basement playroom, and I had no intention of letting this rare moment of quiet go to waste. But, as if in response to Stephanie's comment, her two-year-old had just ambled upstairs to get her attention.
“Landon, what’s on your shirt?” Stephanie grimaced, plucking something off of the back of her two-year olds shoulder. She brought it closer to examine it. “It looks like a…tomato seed?”
As soon as I processed what she said, my heart sank. I got cold all over, then immediately broke out into a sweat. “No-no-no-no.” I muttered under my breath. Stephanie’s eyes locked with mine, and without another word we immediately raced downstairs.
The boys’ laughter stopped the second they saw the disgust on our faces. Our mouths hung open, eyes darting from one wall to the other. Tomato innards slowly oozed downward, pooling into puddles of pulp on the blue-painted concrete floor.
Connor, the seven-year-old ringleader of this wild group of boys, knelt on top of his loft bed, tucked in the back of the basement, He held a large, yellow tomato in his hand, ready and waiting to launch it at the younger ones below. When he saw us, his face froze in shock, eyes wide, a half-smile still playing across his face. Slowly, the realization set in that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Both Stephanie’s son Ayden and my boy Jace stood on the ground in front of him, where I imagine their three-year-old selves were dancing just moments earlier, trying to dodge the flying tomatoes from above. Both of them were now completely still, covered in tomato juice, seeds clinging to their clothes, in their hair, and on their bare arms and legs.
“What did you guys do?!” It really wasn’t a question, but it was the only thing that I could come up with that did not contain words that should not be spoken in front of small children.
“Connor started it,” Jace and Ayden agreed, trying to save themselves.
“No-no-no-no.” I climbed up the ladder to the loft bed, and sure enough, the cardboard flats that had once held twenty-five pounds of my husband's Heirloom tomatoes, were now empty.
It had seemed like a nice, cool location to keep the tomatoes safe.
It was Eric’s second year growing tomatoes. He spent hours working the six, sixty-foot-long, four-foot-wide rows each day. Laboring to till the land and fertilize the soil. He started the tomato plants from seeds under grow lights in the dining room. The crop was planted at the perfect time in Spring, thankfully dodging the last freeze. Day after day he watered them, steaked them, strung them up, and protected them from insects. The tomatoes had ripened at the perfect time. Twenty-five pounds of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, already promised to the local fine-dining restaurant, Motor Supply Company.
This was a huge celebration for his small farm, as well as money we desperately needed. At the time, we were seriously struggling. As a family of four with debt, my master’s degree in teaching and Eric’s culinary degree afforded us a combined income that still held us below the poverty line. There were times I can remember stretching out pasta dinners just so we could make the electric bill. The money those tomatoes were supposed to bring in was going to help. Now I stood in the middle of it all smashed to pieces.
“I am not going to tell Eric” I said with my hands on my head. “I can’t tell him,” I shrugged. “How in the world could I tell him?”
“I’m so sorry,” Stephanie managed, “I knew it was too quiet.” She wrangled the boys upstairs to the bathroom to clean them up while I continued to panic in the basement, talking to myself while picking up dripping chunks of tomato, and wiping sticky juice off of the surfaces.
Stephanie joined me back in the basement, helping me scrub every last bit of tomato from the room. Once we finished cleaning, we headed outside to take the mangled remains of Eric’s harvest to the trash can. It was a near hundred-yard walk-of shame down our long gravel driveway.
When we reached the top, we were met by my neighbor Stacey, who just happened to be out for a walk. She could tell I was heartbroken, and listened intently as I relayed the story of the basement tomato brawl. As I finished explaining the mess we just cleaned up, she burst into laughter. A full-body laughter that brought tears to her eyes.
I have to admit her laughter took me aback for a moment. I’m sure she knew how strapped for cash we were, and she could tell how terrified I was to tell Eric.
“I would pay to see that tomato fight.” She continued-near doubled over now. “In fact, I will buy those tomatoes.”
Now tears formed in my eyes. “Are you serious?” I asked.
“Absolutely, how much was he going to sell them for?”
“Two-hundred and fifty dollars.” I said.
“Done. I am going back to the house now and will put the money in your mailbox.” She took a deep breath and smiled, shaking her head. “I just wish you hadn’t cleaned it up yet, I sure would have liked to see that basement.” I stood shocked as she continued to laugh her way back towards her house. It wasn’t until then that I was struck by the humor of the situation. The fact that four young boys had the time of their life in a free-for-all tomato fight, as well as the fact that Stephanie stood alongside me, helping me scrub away the mess. It is a memory that will last a lifetime.
In that moment Stacey taught me so much. We all have times when we need someone to come beside us to help us shoulder the mess.
In each point of conflict, every problem we are presented with, there are people in our lives who step up to “buy the smashed tomatoes.” People who help us clean up the messes and lift the burden of fear and judgement to allow us to see the humor, the love, and the truth in the difficult moments. People who help us for no other reason than the fact that we need help.
Thank you-to each and every one of you!
Now, as a wife, mother, teacher, friend, neighbor, and human, I strive to do the same.
