June 05, 2008 02:47 pm
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I can’t remember ever being as nervous as I was that day. It was April 18, the day after my 44th birthday. I distinctly remember getting up that morning early so I would have enough time to drink my coffee, calm my nerves, get dressed without spilling something on me, get to work, get settled in. I watched the clock until it was time to leave: 9:15 a.m. I got ready to go. Made sure I had everything and departed. The ride over there was longer than I had thought. I’m going to be late, I thought to myself. How good will that look?
Once I arrived, I parked and made my way to the office. At least I thought it was the way to the office. I was instead greeted by a locked door. I figured someone somewhere was watching me on a camera, wondering who I was and what I was doing. If nothing else, at least someone might come to my aid because of my blunder.
Once my brain decided to begin functioning again, I figured out where the office was and made my way inside. The person I was to meet wasn’t there so I was given directions to her office. I sat and waited. I read a couple of books. I looked around. I marveled at how small the chairs were and how low to the ground they were. I tried to remember the last time I had sat in a chair like that. It must have been 35 years or so.
I ended up leaving that day without meeting the person I had come to see but it all worked out in the end. A week later, I found myself going through the same morning routine but this time, I knew when to leave the office, knew a quicker and more direct way to go, knew where to park, knew where the office was.
But I was still more nervous than I could ever remember.
An hour and a half later, though, my nervousness was slowly dissipating and I had come to terms with my own fears: I had successfully met and engaged in conversation with a 9-year-old dynamo of a kid. I had passed the first hurdle of being a Communities In Schools of Randolph County mentor. I’m not sure if it was with flying colors or not, but when she and I bumped knuckles to say our goodbyes that day, I knew that my life had changed. I knew that I had changed. I was already looking forward to the next week.
In the weeks since that first face-to-face meeting, bumping knuckles to say hello and goodbye have been replaced with hugs and smiles and tiny jumps of joy from my little dynamo. I’ve taken tests, helped with reading, played on the playground, did multiplication tables (I’ve gotten really good with my 11s), explained what I do for a living and eaten lunch with people who actually fit in those tiny chairs. I have felt like a female Gulliver (of Gulliver’s Travels) and they the Lilliputians, for lack of a better comparison.
I’ve made more friends in the last few weeks than I have in the last couple of years. I’ve learned lots of new names and have committed them to memory. I’ve learned that being an adolescent girl is just as hard now as it was 35 years ago but that the factors in play are much more intense and dangerous. I’ve learned to answer questions asked with honesty you can only find in a child. I’ve found that children are sometimes much more accepting than my peers. I’ve learned that children are like elephants – they really don’t forget anything you say or do.
I’ve learned that being away from work for a little while is OK. I’ve learned to laugh at myself. I’ve learned to see the world through younger eyes. I’ve been witness to how something as small as a hug can leave a lasting impression on a child. I’ve looked into the eyes of children and saw innocence replaced by loneliness, hurt, anger and confusion.
But more important than that is the feeling of joy I have when I get there and the feeling of helplessness I feel sometimes when I leave. It’s on those days that I tend to tear up on my way back to work, or as it happened last week, I sit in my truck and cry for a little while. Not because I am hurt or upset but because I know there are kids at that school who need a mentor but don’t have one simply because there aren’t enough to go around.
Bluntly, the law of supply and demand has become the law of demand and supply: there are more children who need mentors than there are people who volunteer.
It breaks my heart to see some of those children so desperately in need of an adult to just spend some time with them, to give them a little of their time, to give a smile, a high five, a low five, a knuckle bump or just a hug. It breaks my heart to know that for the one child I spend time with, there are dozens of others at this one school who need a mentor. It breaks my heart to know there aren’t enough volunteers.
The children of Randolph County need us. They need you. Isn’t it time you step up to the plate and help?
Patricia M. Edwards is the editor and publisher of The Randolph Guide. She can be reached at (336) 625-5576 or by e-mail at pedwards@randolphguide.com
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