The importance of gathering (part 1)
Gather /verb/
Come together; assemble or accumulate
Bring together and take in from scattered places or sources
Some words carry more weight than their definitions allow. Gather is one of them. Stripped down to its roots, it's about something fundamental: bringing what's scattered into one place.
This is the first of a three-part series exploring the importance of gathering through the lens of its definition. We start with assemble — the simplest and most human form of gathering: showing up and choosing presence over distance. For me, that starts in South Central Los Angeles.
Part 1: Assemble
I come from "palettes" constructed of blankets and sheets sprawled across the coarse green carpet of my great-grandmother Hassie's living room floor, with cousins and siblings piling in as we watched cartoons, laughed, joked, and wrestled until we got in trouble.
This was Grandma Hassie's house. Mildly unhinged, strictly respected, completely overloaded, and lovingly regarded. Me, my brothers, our cousins, and friends descended on Grandma's house like kids released to recess. It was a place of connection, refuge, and nourishment. Grandma welcomed all with open arms and in her house you were fed. No matter how much or how little she had, she always somehow made sure everyone got a little something. But more important than filling our bellies, Grandma's house filled us with lessons, stories, values, and belonging. It was a place of gathering for the entire community: young and old, church members, family, and friends alike.
It had a formal dining area with a heavy, dark wood oval table that always had a tablecloth on it. And when we sat around Grandma's table, we learned. We learned proper table etiquette. We heard adults discussing current world events. We were interrogated about our grades and reminded of the importance of getting a "good education so you can get a good job." We were corrected when we were wrong. We were acknowledged for what we were doing right. We looked one another in the eye, passed dishes around after taking our share, disconnected from the outside world, and locked in. That table taught us how to hold space for others while taking up space for ourselves.
Now, as an adult, I miss Grandma Hassie and the space she created. It was a space where people took off their masks, released their burdens, and were simply themselves. I think about how rare that feels now, how often the performance of connection has replaced the thing itself.
And so, when I think about the importance of gathering, I go back to South Central Los Angeles. I go back to that three-bedroom, one-bathroom home filled well beyond capacity and people sitting with plates of food in their laps because the table was already full. That space, humble and unassuming, nourished several generations and an entire community. That space gave people the reminder that they weren't alone and that they were seen.
We all need that space. We all need a table that holds more than food. One that holds stories, honesty, laughter, and the quiet comfort of being known.
That's what DC Urban Oasis is building. A reimagining of what Grandma understood instinctively: that when you bring people together around a table, with intention, with care, something shifts. Walls come down. Strangers become familiar. And for a few hours, in a world that seems hellbent on stoking division and rarely allows us to sit still, people get to just be.
Grandma Hassie didn't call it an experience. She didn't brand it. She just opened her door, set the table, and made sure everybody ate. That's the blueprint. We're just adding a few more courses.
This is part 1 of a 3-part series on the importance of gathering.