Flowers for Algernon
Token Tales — Reflections on invisibility, presence, kindness, and what it means to be noticed through small handmade notes.
When Marcos came to get me for my chest X-ray, I handed him a small watercolor token I’d painted while waiting.
“This is for you.”
He smiled. “Thanks… cool, a bookmark!”
As we walked toward the X-ray room, we passed Isabel. The week before, she’d helped me with my TB test, and I’d left a handmade token for her with a coworker.
“Did Jennifer give you your blue token?” I asked. Her whole face lit up.
“It’s right here. Thank you!” She pointed to the spot beside her computer where she’d placed it.
Marcos looked at me. “Oh… so you know everybody here?” I laughed.
“Not everybody. This is just my third visit.”
He showed me into the X-ray room, explained what I needed to do, and stepped out while I changed. When he came back a few minutes later, he was holding the little watercolor token.
“So it’s not really just a bookmark.”
I smiled.
“Well, you can use it as one. Some people hang it in their cars. Others keep it in their wallets or on their desk. Just a reminder that you’re making a difference.”
He smiled and told me he’d been doing X-rays for years, floating between clinics wherever he was needed, training new techs. He gave me advice I’ll remember the next time someone asks me to get a TB skin test for volunteering with compromised populations.
“I’m not a doctor,” he said, “but I’ve done this long enough. You got a BCG vaccine so your test will always be positive and the skin reaction will only get worse. I don’t want you to keep putting yourself through that.” Then he told me about his daughter. She’s 22 and studying to become a physician assistant in Los Angeles. When she first went away to college, they listened to “Flowers for Algernon” together on the drive. Chapter by chapter, they stretched out the goodbye. She loved the story so much that she later bought him the physical book.
“I will use this token in that book,” he said, holding up the little watercolor painting. My eyes welled up.
I took out a Ziploc filled with mixed-media tokens I’d made at home for my Ripple Station. I’d brought them with me because I thought I’d have time to add the thank-you stickers while I waited.
“Would you like to take one for your daughter’s birthday?” I asked.
He looked through them as I flipped. Then he stopped. Bright yellows. Oranges. Bits of blue and green. A leaf motif.
“She will love this one.”
As we walked out, he showed me a side door that led straight to my car. One small act of kindness rippling into another.
People often ask me about these little handmade tokens. They think I’m handing out art. But in reality, the token becomes embedded in a shared memory between a father and daughter. It becomes part of a birthday gift. It is a reminder on someone’s desk that they matter.
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Received a token? I'd love to hear where we met and what stayed with you.
