I'm visiting home for a little while and wanted to meet up with a friend. She suggested a frozen yogurt place near our high school. I hadn't heard of it but agreed to meet her there.
We graduated from high school in 2010. Actually, my friend went to a different school for senior year but we both spent several years at our district high school. We went there from 2007-2010 and 2006-2009, respectively. Not all that long ago, right?
I used my phone before I left to see more specifically where the frozen yogurt shop was and as I drove into the shopping center, I spotted it right away.
"This used to be a TCBY, right?" I asked my friend when we were both in the shop.
"No" she reminded me, "it was a Baskin Robbins."
"Oh yeah, remember we used to come here for free scoop day after school?"
"Yeah" she responded and we both smiled.
I passed by one side of the high school on my drive over and immediately noticed that one of the parking lots was completely dirt. I mentioned it to my friend.
"I used to park there on Flex Days!" I exclaimed. I usually parked in that lot only once a week because, due to the different schedule, my first class of the day was on that end of the campus.
"Oh gosh, Flex Days!" said my friend. We recalled how easily we used to know the schedule each day, down to the exact minute each class was supposed to begin and end, and now it was so far from our minds.
"You know they're building a Walmart grocery store where the bookstore used to be?" my friend asked, referring to a space near where we were eating our frozen yogurt.
"Ya, I heard," I responded. I later realized that it has been probably about ten years since that space was a bookstore. It was most recently a Walgreens, until Walgreens moved to a new space just across the street, but she referred to it as where the bookstore used to be and I knew just what she was talking about.
A different friend told me earlier in the summer that she is working at a pet shop near my high school. I had a faint memory of that being there, but I mostly remember an Italian ice shop in the same row of shops. It moved to a new location while I was in high school.
As I drove home, I thought about all the changes that had happened in the area around my high school in just the past few years. In the shopping center where the Walmart is to be built, I noticed the smoothie shop where my friend used to work was no longer there. The school parking lot is being redone, the bookstore became a Walgreens which will soon be a Walmart, the Italian ice shop has long ago moved locations, and the Baskin Robbins went out of business and was replaced by a frozen yogurt shop where I had just spent the last hour and a half catching up with my friend.
Changes aren't just happening to the stores around my high school. In a few weeks I will be a college graduate and we just put down a deposit for a townhouse for me, my first time not living either at home or on campus. As the saying goes, the only constant in life is change, but I know that I have family and friends who will always stick around.
Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Monday, July 7, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
The Barefoot Lunatic
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| image via https://www.cagle.com/tag/barefoot/ |
Sweaty and tired, I picked up my belongings and headed home. I chose to carry my jacket instead of wear it because, while it was nearly freezing outside, I had just worked out and was plenty warm. I went into my apartment and immediately took off my shoes. Then I realized I was missing my student ID. I checked around my room but soon realized I must have dropped it on my walk home.
I walked out into the cold, barefoot and in the shorts and t-shirt I had just worn to work out. Retracing my steps toward the gym, I kept my gaze on the ground, looking for my card. I walked down the stairs. Nothing. I got to the sidewalk where cars were passing by. Still no card. I crossed the street and was more than halfway to the gym when I saw my card on the ground.
As I picked it up and trotted back to my apartment, freezing all the way, the thought crossed my mind of how weird I must look. It's not every day drivers and passerby get to see a barefoot college student appropriately dressed for a summer day walking along staring intently at the ground on a nearly freezing January evening!
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Stabbed by the Thorn in a Pile of Roses
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| Image via amritham99.files.wordpress.com |
The other day was full of roses for me. I participated in an exciting intellectual conversation in my philosophy class and ran into someone I know who wished me a happy birthday and gave me a hug on my way out of the building. I bought a Subway sandwich for lunch and ate while chatting with a girl who is running a club I am joining.
In my last class of the day, astronomy, the professor was reviewing that an object has to be moving at about 17,000 miles per hour to go into orbit around the earth. He was going along the back rows calling on each person for a question.
"When was the last time you traveled at 17,000 miles per hour?" he asked his next victim. The girl smiled uncomfortably as the professor waited for an answer.
"I don't even know you that well and I know with absolute certainty the last time you traveled 17,000 miles per hour," added the professor. The girl still didn't have an answer. Everyone was waiting.
I looked back at her and our eyes met. "Never," I mouthed to her.
"Never?" she said, still unsure about the answer.
"Right!" The professor was satisfied with her answer and turned his back on us as he walked back up toward the chalkboard.
"Thank you," the girl mouthed to me. I smiled.
Later in the class, a guy asked if the maximum velocity of a rocket is proportionate to radius. The professor told him no, but he seemed confused. I mentioned that I thought he was confusing it with the orbital velocity formula, which does include radius. "Thanks!" he called over to me.
I left astronomy feeling pretty good. Two people had said thank you to me in class! When does that ever happen?
I realized in the middle of the day that I didn't have my water bottle but I knew I had it in philosophy class that morning, so I stopped by that building on my way home. A class was just starting in the classroom when I arrived. I stood in the doorway patiently as the professor talked, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
After a few moments, he looked at me. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if any of you found a green water bottle in here," I said to the class. Students looked around their desk but no one found it. I was about to go when the professor spoke to me. "You think it's worth interrupting my class for a water bottle?!" he sneered, shaking his head.
I was not expecting this. "I'm sorry; have a good afternoon," I said and walked out of the doorway, instantly feeling tears welling up.
I walked over to the dean's office down the hall and asked the secretary if there was a lost and found for the building. "It's usually me," she responded, but said she hadn't seen my water bottle. I absentmindedly peered over the top of her desk to see what was behind. "What, you don't believe me?"
As I walked home, I replayed the past ten minutes in my mind. Was I rude? Was the professor rude? Was the secretary rude? I was embarrassed and offended. And just like that, I let my rose-filled day be shattered by one little thorn.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The Sunday School Hunger Games
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| image via http://graphics8.nytimes.com |
I teach a religious school class of 8 kids in grades 2-4. This past week, I set up a game for them to review some of the Torah characters we have been learning about. I had them split in two teams; boys versus girls was the unanimous choice. Names of Torah characters (Isaac, Joseph, Dinah, Miriam, etc.) were folded up and placed in a little holder. When it was their team's turn, one student came up and picked a name. They then had one minute to use words and/or actions to get their team to guess the name.
During one round, the boy whose turn it was was struggling to describe the character whose name he had picked. All he knew was whether it was a boy or girl. Since his teammate was not doing well, another student on the boys' team yelled out, "Can I volunteer?!" I told him that he couldn't because it was the other student's turn, and we were rotating turns in order. His reply: "But this is the Hunger Games!!!"
Friday, December 20, 2013
One Week Ago
One week ago, one of my best friends graduated from college with her degree in nursing. I had told her I would be there. I didn't make it.
A week and a day ago, I finished my last commitment in my college city and had mostly finished packing for my trip home for winter break. I set an alarm for 9:30 am and went to bed.
The following day, I woke up still sleepy but got out of bed and started getting ready, determined to be on time for my friend's 3 pm graduation in my home city about three hours away. After three trips from my third floor apartment to my car parked at the curb downstairs, I had loaded a suitcase full of nice clothes with their hangers, a trunk full of workout and other casual clothes as well as socks and underwear, my school backpack with my computer, some books, and the usual water bottle, wallet, phone, and keys I keep in there, a bag of laundry, a few pairs of shoes, and a box of food that would expire before I returned in January. After a quick stop at a gas station, I was ready to get on the freeway.
With 3 1/2 years of college behind me, this was easily the fifteenth or maybe twentieth time I had made this same trip back home. To a tourist, it would be an interesting and scenic drive through the desert landscape, but to me, it had become pretty boring. There are two small towns between my college city and home and I often stop in both when driving alone to break up the monotony with a snack. I couldn't that day though because I had finally gotten on the freeway just after 11:00 am and my friend was picking me up at 2:15 from my parents' house to go to our friend's graduation. I had to keep moving.
There is a section of the drive from about forty-five minutes away from school until about an hour and a half from my parents' house where there are basically no radio stations, and as I entered that dreaded zone, I switched from radio to CD. For over a year, I hadn't bought any new music on iTunes because I had been using Spotify. However, my aunt had given me an iTunes gift card for Hanukkah, so before I headed back to school after Thanksgiving break two weeks prior, I had bought some new music and burned it onto a CD for my car. I don't know if my car CD player was having issues or the CD didn't burn correctly, but only the first few songs of that CD played cleanly in my car.
After passing the first small town and hearing the same few songs several times, I reached down where the passenger's feet would go to grab my CD case. Hurtling along on cruise control, I set the CD case on the passenger seat next to me and looked back and forth from the case to the road, flipping through until I found something that looked good. I switched the CD's and refocused on the road.
About the time I passed the first town without stopping, I started to get annoyed with having to stay in the car continuously for two hours until I reached the second town, where I planned to stop briefly for lunch. Thoughts of sitting for hours at my friend's graduation crossed my mind. Of course I wanted to be there for her but I had convinced myself that it would be extremely long. Additionally, I hadn't showered the night before and felt gross, knowing that because I left later than planned, I wouldn't have time to shower at my parents' house before getting picked up to go to the graduation. Grumpily, I tilted my seat back so far that I felt a little scared at my perceived diminished control of the car. I loosely held the wheel on the bottom, blatantly neglecting the "10 and 2" hand grip from driver's ed. I just wanted to get home.
I noticed the sign announcing that I was entering the county of which the second town is the county seat and noted that I was making progress. I was still listening to that second CD I had put in earlier in the drive. It was a mix that some of my teammates had made when I played water polo my senior year of high school. I am a fan of old photos and nostalgia-inducing music, so I had enjoyed having the N Sync CD from when I was a kid in my car. One of their songs came on the mix and I remembered that I had the N Sync CD in my car and hadn't played it in awhile.
I once again reached down to grab my CD case and repeated the same routine of glancing back and forth from the case to the road, looking for the N Sync CD. I got to the last page in the case and hadn't found it, so I figured it must be in my other CD case. It was a little further forward in the passenger feet area and I reached down but couldn't quite grab it. Still flying down the road on cruise control, I grabbed the first CD case and tried to use it to move the second case forward on the floor so I could grab it. I tried a second time and then looked up. I saw where I was, panicked, and turned the wheel hard the other way.
"Oh shit," I remember thinking, realizing that I, Sarah with the lifelong accident-free driving record, was about to be in a major car crash. I braced myself and suddenly felt like I was on an extremely violent roller coaster. For the brief moment I was fully alert, I remember looking at the steering wheel.
The next thing I knew, I was still sitting in my car with my seatbelt off. The car was making the obnoxious dinging noise that indicated the key was in the car and one of the doors was not closed. People were talking to me through what I eventually realized was my completely missing back left window.
'Should we call 911?' I remember thinking. 'It wasn't that bad. Maybe we shouldn't bother them.'
I hesitantly asked the people outside my window to call 911. I did not know how bad the accident had been and was afraid of sounding like an idiot by asking them to call 911 if it had been really minor. Understanding the severity in a way I couldn't at that moment, they did call 911. Everyone kept asking me if I was OK. "Yes," I told them again and again as I cradled my head in my hands. I heard someone speaking to the 911 operator. I looked down where I always kept my phone while driving but it wasn't there. I requested a phone from the people outside my window and was soon handed one.
I intended to call my dad, but in my state of panic and shock, I dialed my own phone number. I thought about it for a moment and then was able to dial my dad's number. "Hi Dad, don't freak out, I'm OK, but I was in a car accident," I told my dad. I remember what his voice sounded like as he responded but not exactly what he said. I asked if he wanted to talk to the lady standing by the car, and they spoke. The girl outside my window, who I later learned was the granddaughter of the woman talking to my dad, told me she had EMT training "in case you need CPR". I smiled at her joke, still holding my aching head.
The lady asked my dad for his name and then for my name. I don't remember what she thought he said but she said my name wrong the first time. He must have repeated it because she then said it correctly.
Another traveler came to the passenger door and tried to open it, but it was locked, as my doors always are when I'm driving. I unlocked the door with the button and he opened it up and peered in. He looked curiously as if he wasn't sure what he would find in there. Probably ten minutes passed in which I stayed in the driver's seat. Eventually I was encouraged to try to get out of the car, or maybe I had asked if I could. The driver side door was broken so I got up and crawled out the passenger side door.
Immediately I was shivering. It wasn't even all that cold. I ended up with a zip up hoodie and my heavy winter coat on over my t-shirt. Both were covered in debris, from dirt to toothpaste.
The initial shock began to subside and I was able to see the damage. The trunk was totally smashed in and my belongings were scattered all over the side of the road, starting at my car and going back probably fifty yards. I noticed a pair of my own underwear sprawled out on the ground. Normally I would have rushed to pick them up, but in the moment, that seemed entirely unimportant.
A police officer arrived some time later. He looked at the car, asked for my license and registration, and generally acted like he had seen much worse and couldn't wait to leave. I looked and found my phone on the floor of the back seat and talked to my dad some more. I broke down sobbing as the realization that I could have just died set in. The police officer told me to stop walking around and to sit down, either in my car or in his police car. By then there were several police cars lined up behind the first guy. I was headed over to his car when the ambulance arrived.
I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance as the EMT's took my blood pressure and measured my oxygen levels with the device they put on the index finger. I seemed just fine. They took a look at my head, especially where there was a cut. Because I had yet to see my own face and had only been told about the cut and felt the bump forming, I imagined a huge gash. My parents told me to go ahead and go to the hospital in the small town nearby. My mom told me to make sure I grabbed my backpack, which had basically everything of major value that was in the car, including my computer and wallet. I crawled into the ambulance, sat down on the bench, buckled myself in, and, on Friday, December 13, experienced my first ever ambulance ride in ambulance number 13.
The EMT got a brief health history and asked where I was hurting. Then I called my friend who was supposed to pick me up for the graduation and told her what had happened. I chatted with the EMT during the approximately 20-minute drive into town. I kept my eye on the stretcher in front of me, quite aware that I could have been lying in it in much worse shape than I was in.
My mom and brother met me at the hospital. I had bruises on my calf and on my hips and shoulder where the seatbelt was, some bumps and a small cut on my head, and a generally banged up body, but I had no broken bones, no internal injuries, and a clear head CT scan. Just a few hours after arriving at the hospital, I was discharged.
We went to the junkyard where my beloved 1999 Camry had been towed. I sat in my mom's car and cried as I looked at the shriveled mess that I had been driving just hours before. We removed everything I wanted to keep from the car, including all the luggage I was bringing home for break as well as miscellaneous items like my old high school parking passes. I took a lot of pictures. I wanted to remember that moment and that great car that been my primary mode of transportation for nearly six years and that had kept me alive in the accident. While I missed my friend's graduation, I was able to make it to her graduation party that evening.
That was one week ago. I spent today with my friend's first grade class, helping and observing. Last night I went to the gym. A few days before that I went for an hour walk. And a few days before that, I survived a potentially fatal rollover car crash. I made some stupid choices while driving that day, including reaching for the CD case while the car was still moving, and I know I am incredibly fortunate that the consequence for my major lapse in judgement was not my life.
A week and a day ago, I finished my last commitment in my college city and had mostly finished packing for my trip home for winter break. I set an alarm for 9:30 am and went to bed.
The following day, I woke up still sleepy but got out of bed and started getting ready, determined to be on time for my friend's 3 pm graduation in my home city about three hours away. After three trips from my third floor apartment to my car parked at the curb downstairs, I had loaded a suitcase full of nice clothes with their hangers, a trunk full of workout and other casual clothes as well as socks and underwear, my school backpack with my computer, some books, and the usual water bottle, wallet, phone, and keys I keep in there, a bag of laundry, a few pairs of shoes, and a box of food that would expire before I returned in January. After a quick stop at a gas station, I was ready to get on the freeway.
With 3 1/2 years of college behind me, this was easily the fifteenth or maybe twentieth time I had made this same trip back home. To a tourist, it would be an interesting and scenic drive through the desert landscape, but to me, it had become pretty boring. There are two small towns between my college city and home and I often stop in both when driving alone to break up the monotony with a snack. I couldn't that day though because I had finally gotten on the freeway just after 11:00 am and my friend was picking me up at 2:15 from my parents' house to go to our friend's graduation. I had to keep moving.
There is a section of the drive from about forty-five minutes away from school until about an hour and a half from my parents' house where there are basically no radio stations, and as I entered that dreaded zone, I switched from radio to CD. For over a year, I hadn't bought any new music on iTunes because I had been using Spotify. However, my aunt had given me an iTunes gift card for Hanukkah, so before I headed back to school after Thanksgiving break two weeks prior, I had bought some new music and burned it onto a CD for my car. I don't know if my car CD player was having issues or the CD didn't burn correctly, but only the first few songs of that CD played cleanly in my car.
After passing the first small town and hearing the same few songs several times, I reached down where the passenger's feet would go to grab my CD case. Hurtling along on cruise control, I set the CD case on the passenger seat next to me and looked back and forth from the case to the road, flipping through until I found something that looked good. I switched the CD's and refocused on the road.
About the time I passed the first town without stopping, I started to get annoyed with having to stay in the car continuously for two hours until I reached the second town, where I planned to stop briefly for lunch. Thoughts of sitting for hours at my friend's graduation crossed my mind. Of course I wanted to be there for her but I had convinced myself that it would be extremely long. Additionally, I hadn't showered the night before and felt gross, knowing that because I left later than planned, I wouldn't have time to shower at my parents' house before getting picked up to go to the graduation. Grumpily, I tilted my seat back so far that I felt a little scared at my perceived diminished control of the car. I loosely held the wheel on the bottom, blatantly neglecting the "10 and 2" hand grip from driver's ed. I just wanted to get home.
I noticed the sign announcing that I was entering the county of which the second town is the county seat and noted that I was making progress. I was still listening to that second CD I had put in earlier in the drive. It was a mix that some of my teammates had made when I played water polo my senior year of high school. I am a fan of old photos and nostalgia-inducing music, so I had enjoyed having the N Sync CD from when I was a kid in my car. One of their songs came on the mix and I remembered that I had the N Sync CD in my car and hadn't played it in awhile.
I once again reached down to grab my CD case and repeated the same routine of glancing back and forth from the case to the road, looking for the N Sync CD. I got to the last page in the case and hadn't found it, so I figured it must be in my other CD case. It was a little further forward in the passenger feet area and I reached down but couldn't quite grab it. Still flying down the road on cruise control, I grabbed the first CD case and tried to use it to move the second case forward on the floor so I could grab it. I tried a second time and then looked up. I saw where I was, panicked, and turned the wheel hard the other way.
"Oh shit," I remember thinking, realizing that I, Sarah with the lifelong accident-free driving record, was about to be in a major car crash. I braced myself and suddenly felt like I was on an extremely violent roller coaster. For the brief moment I was fully alert, I remember looking at the steering wheel.
The next thing I knew, I was still sitting in my car with my seatbelt off. The car was making the obnoxious dinging noise that indicated the key was in the car and one of the doors was not closed. People were talking to me through what I eventually realized was my completely missing back left window.
'Should we call 911?' I remember thinking. 'It wasn't that bad. Maybe we shouldn't bother them.'
I hesitantly asked the people outside my window to call 911. I did not know how bad the accident had been and was afraid of sounding like an idiot by asking them to call 911 if it had been really minor. Understanding the severity in a way I couldn't at that moment, they did call 911. Everyone kept asking me if I was OK. "Yes," I told them again and again as I cradled my head in my hands. I heard someone speaking to the 911 operator. I looked down where I always kept my phone while driving but it wasn't there. I requested a phone from the people outside my window and was soon handed one.
I intended to call my dad, but in my state of panic and shock, I dialed my own phone number. I thought about it for a moment and then was able to dial my dad's number. "Hi Dad, don't freak out, I'm OK, but I was in a car accident," I told my dad. I remember what his voice sounded like as he responded but not exactly what he said. I asked if he wanted to talk to the lady standing by the car, and they spoke. The girl outside my window, who I later learned was the granddaughter of the woman talking to my dad, told me she had EMT training "in case you need CPR". I smiled at her joke, still holding my aching head.
The lady asked my dad for his name and then for my name. I don't remember what she thought he said but she said my name wrong the first time. He must have repeated it because she then said it correctly.
Another traveler came to the passenger door and tried to open it, but it was locked, as my doors always are when I'm driving. I unlocked the door with the button and he opened it up and peered in. He looked curiously as if he wasn't sure what he would find in there. Probably ten minutes passed in which I stayed in the driver's seat. Eventually I was encouraged to try to get out of the car, or maybe I had asked if I could. The driver side door was broken so I got up and crawled out the passenger side door.
Immediately I was shivering. It wasn't even all that cold. I ended up with a zip up hoodie and my heavy winter coat on over my t-shirt. Both were covered in debris, from dirt to toothpaste.
The initial shock began to subside and I was able to see the damage. The trunk was totally smashed in and my belongings were scattered all over the side of the road, starting at my car and going back probably fifty yards. I noticed a pair of my own underwear sprawled out on the ground. Normally I would have rushed to pick them up, but in the moment, that seemed entirely unimportant.
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| my pink toothbrush holder, laundry basket, a library book, and many other items displaced along the side of the freeway |
I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance as the EMT's took my blood pressure and measured my oxygen levels with the device they put on the index finger. I seemed just fine. They took a look at my head, especially where there was a cut. Because I had yet to see my own face and had only been told about the cut and felt the bump forming, I imagined a huge gash. My parents told me to go ahead and go to the hospital in the small town nearby. My mom told me to make sure I grabbed my backpack, which had basically everything of major value that was in the car, including my computer and wallet. I crawled into the ambulance, sat down on the bench, buckled myself in, and, on Friday, December 13, experienced my first ever ambulance ride in ambulance number 13.
The EMT got a brief health history and asked where I was hurting. Then I called my friend who was supposed to pick me up for the graduation and told her what had happened. I chatted with the EMT during the approximately 20-minute drive into town. I kept my eye on the stretcher in front of me, quite aware that I could have been lying in it in much worse shape than I was in.
My mom and brother met me at the hospital. I had bruises on my calf and on my hips and shoulder where the seatbelt was, some bumps and a small cut on my head, and a generally banged up body, but I had no broken bones, no internal injuries, and a clear head CT scan. Just a few hours after arriving at the hospital, I was discharged.
We went to the junkyard where my beloved 1999 Camry had been towed. I sat in my mom's car and cried as I looked at the shriveled mess that I had been driving just hours before. We removed everything I wanted to keep from the car, including all the luggage I was bringing home for break as well as miscellaneous items like my old high school parking passes. I took a lot of pictures. I wanted to remember that moment and that great car that been my primary mode of transportation for nearly six years and that had kept me alive in the accident. While I missed my friend's graduation, I was able to make it to her graduation party that evening.
That was one week ago. I spent today with my friend's first grade class, helping and observing. Last night I went to the gym. A few days before that I went for an hour walk. And a few days before that, I survived a potentially fatal rollover car crash. I made some stupid choices while driving that day, including reaching for the CD case while the car was still moving, and I know I am incredibly fortunate that the consequence for my major lapse in judgement was not my life.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Must be teaching, huh?
I live in an apartment on campus which is really convenient because it's right next to everything. It can also be quite inconvenient because… it's right next to everything. Tonight I was driving home after Yom Kippur services and the break-the-fast at temple. About a quarter mile from my apartment, my university's football team had just lost to one of our biggest rivals. I encountered road blocks and heavy traffic but eventually was able to park where I usually do across the street from my apartment building.
I got out of my car and prepared to cross the street, noting how odd I must look dressed for temple when everyone else was headed home from a football game. As I walked on the sidewalk beside barely moving traffic, a guy in the backseat of a car, potentially very intoxicated, starting yelling at me.
"Hi!" he called. "Hi!" I responded, waving politely. He yelled out our university's mascot and I again waved. He then started shouting random questions which I decided to ignore. A few moments into this interrogation, he called out, "What's your major?!" As I started climbing the stairs to the front gate of my apartment building, still ignoring the guy, I heard him say, "Must be teaching, huh?!"
I didn't look back but smiled to myself. Random guess or do I really look like a teacher? Maybe it was the outfit...
I got out of my car and prepared to cross the street, noting how odd I must look dressed for temple when everyone else was headed home from a football game. As I walked on the sidewalk beside barely moving traffic, a guy in the backseat of a car, potentially very intoxicated, starting yelling at me.
"Hi!" he called. "Hi!" I responded, waving politely. He yelled out our university's mascot and I again waved. He then started shouting random questions which I decided to ignore. A few moments into this interrogation, he called out, "What's your major?!" As I started climbing the stairs to the front gate of my apartment building, still ignoring the guy, I heard him say, "Must be teaching, huh?!"
I didn't look back but smiled to myself. Random guess or do I really look like a teacher? Maybe it was the outfit...
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
So Was I Helpful?
I was in the gym with my group of rowdy and highly competitive day camp boys. My co-counselor and I have many 8-year-olds and also some 7-, 9-, and 10-year-olds. The kids were playing Star Wars, a version of dodgeball that they absolutely love. I, on the other hand, always vote against playing this game because almost every time we play, at least one kid ends up crying. Today was no exception.
I didn't really see what happened but suddenly one of my boys was crying. I have a few boys who will cry if someone so much as pokes them, but this crier wasn't one of them. I saw him storming off to the side of the gym just as my CIT's were stopping the game due to arguing. (Like I said, Star Wars never seems to turn out well.)
The crying boy made it to the side of the gym and angrily punched the door to an adjacent office. Wanting to help him calm down while avoiding getting hit myself, I stood behind him and reached over his shoulders, grabbing his hands. This is my go-to move for upset kids as it both restrains them and feels like a big hug.
"Calm down, buddy," I whispered to him, "if you hit someone, you'll have to go to the office."
He soon ceased to seem dangerous so I let him go and we sat down against the door he had just hit.
"What happened?" I asked, but he was still fuming and did not respond. After I asked a few more times, he responded by informing me that he didn't want to tell me what happened because I would not be able to help.
"Try me!" I countered, knowing I would almost surely be able to help solve this dilemma if I knew the details.
He continued to insist I would not be helpful and that it wouldn't be worth it to "risk it". This went on for a bit. Then I remembered that I had seen a certain other child push the crier so I asked if that child was involved, already knowing he was. I suppose this led to my gaining his trust as he then told me which other boys were also involved. We walked to the nearby camp office where I sat with the four of them and let each tell his version of what happened. We eventually came to a peaceful solution and left to go join the rest of the group.
As I walked with the boys from the camp office to our group's classroom, I looked over at the original crier, who was still visibly upset and holding back tears.
"So, was I helpful after all?"
"Yes," he admitted and broke into a grin.
I didn't really see what happened but suddenly one of my boys was crying. I have a few boys who will cry if someone so much as pokes them, but this crier wasn't one of them. I saw him storming off to the side of the gym just as my CIT's were stopping the game due to arguing. (Like I said, Star Wars never seems to turn out well.)
The crying boy made it to the side of the gym and angrily punched the door to an adjacent office. Wanting to help him calm down while avoiding getting hit myself, I stood behind him and reached over his shoulders, grabbing his hands. This is my go-to move for upset kids as it both restrains them and feels like a big hug.
"Calm down, buddy," I whispered to him, "if you hit someone, you'll have to go to the office."
He soon ceased to seem dangerous so I let him go and we sat down against the door he had just hit.
"What happened?" I asked, but he was still fuming and did not respond. After I asked a few more times, he responded by informing me that he didn't want to tell me what happened because I would not be able to help.
"Try me!" I countered, knowing I would almost surely be able to help solve this dilemma if I knew the details.
He continued to insist I would not be helpful and that it wouldn't be worth it to "risk it". This went on for a bit. Then I remembered that I had seen a certain other child push the crier so I asked if that child was involved, already knowing he was. I suppose this led to my gaining his trust as he then told me which other boys were also involved. We walked to the nearby camp office where I sat with the four of them and let each tell his version of what happened. We eventually came to a peaceful solution and left to go join the rest of the group.
As I walked with the boys from the camp office to our group's classroom, I looked over at the original crier, who was still visibly upset and holding back tears.
"So, was I helpful after all?"
"Yes," he admitted and broke into a grin.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
When Life Gives You Lemons (or $600 in extra meal plan money)
This past year was my third year of college and after eating virtually all my meals in the dining hall my freshman year and most dinners there my sophomore year, I had had enough. I do live on campus, though, and there is a Subway in one of the classroom buildings in which I have several classes, so I decided to sign up for a meal plan that was exclusively dining dollars. These credits spend like cash at any of the restaurants and food courts on campus. I found out that I could get a 400 dining dollar plan for $350. I called my parents and they agreed it was a good idea, so I signed up.
I bought Subway for lunch a couple times a week and occasionally bought food from other venders. Toward the end of the school year, I started noticing that the receipts I received when I used my dining dollars showed I had quite a bit of money on my card, even more than the $400 I had originally signed up for. Assuming it was an error, I continued to ignore the ridiculously high numbers until about two weeks before school ended when I finally made my way into the ID card services office to find out what the deal was.
To my surprise, it turned out that the $600+ credit still on my account was not an error. I had thought I was signing up for $400 for the year, but actually the plan was $400 per semester. Could I cancel the credit from the spring semester and just use up the leftover from the fall? Nope! I left the office pretty upset about the money I was wasting because of my mistake.
Soon after, I had an idea. While most of the venders who accept dining dollars are on campus, Papa John's pizza also accepts the credit. So, the Tuesday of finals week, just days before my huge credit was to expire, I went onto the Papa John's website and ordered 33 extra large pizzas. I was called shortly after by an overwhelmed pizza maker to inform me that my order would take longer than the promised fifteen minutes. I assured him that was just fine.
I showed up at the restaurant about an hour later to pick up my pizzas. When they were all loaded up, my trunk was pretty full...
About fifteen minutes later, while following my phone GPS, I found myself in an area of town I had not frequented. I pulled into the parking lot of the soup kitchen and unlocked the car doors and trunk to allow the pizzas to be carried into the kitchen. Several hundred hungry people, many of them homeless, ate Papa John's the next day for lunch. Extra dining dollars well spent!
I bought Subway for lunch a couple times a week and occasionally bought food from other venders. Toward the end of the school year, I started noticing that the receipts I received when I used my dining dollars showed I had quite a bit of money on my card, even more than the $400 I had originally signed up for. Assuming it was an error, I continued to ignore the ridiculously high numbers until about two weeks before school ended when I finally made my way into the ID card services office to find out what the deal was.
To my surprise, it turned out that the $600+ credit still on my account was not an error. I had thought I was signing up for $400 for the year, but actually the plan was $400 per semester. Could I cancel the credit from the spring semester and just use up the leftover from the fall? Nope! I left the office pretty upset about the money I was wasting because of my mistake.
Soon after, I had an idea. While most of the venders who accept dining dollars are on campus, Papa John's pizza also accepts the credit. So, the Tuesday of finals week, just days before my huge credit was to expire, I went onto the Papa John's website and ordered 33 extra large pizzas. I was called shortly after by an overwhelmed pizza maker to inform me that my order would take longer than the promised fifteen minutes. I assured him that was just fine.
I showed up at the restaurant about an hour later to pick up my pizzas. When they were all loaded up, my trunk was pretty full...
…and so was my back seat!
About fifteen minutes later, while following my phone GPS, I found myself in an area of town I had not frequented. I pulled into the parking lot of the soup kitchen and unlocked the car doors and trunk to allow the pizzas to be carried into the kitchen. Several hundred hungry people, many of them homeless, ate Papa John's the next day for lunch. Extra dining dollars well spent!
Monday, March 18, 2013
Just What I Needed
I don't usually believe in divine intervention. OK, that might be a little misleading; I don't believe in divine intervention. The God I believe in is not one who swoops in to save one person while simultaneously letting someone else die. People die because germs attack their body or because their car happens to be the one the drunk driver hits, not because God lets them die.
I feel this way about less serious situations as well. I have friends and acquaintances who pray or ask for prayers before a big test or job interview, and while I absolutely respect their beliefs, that's not how I think God works. God gave me a brain that works, but that is the extent to which I believe God is involved in my test outcomes. Whether I study or not is up to me and ultimately that will be the biggest factor in my grade.
Last night, a song came into my head that I hadn't heard in awhile. I typed the line of lyrics that kept replaying in my head into Google and subsequently found the track on Spotify. The tune is catchy and I listened to the song several times before heading off to bed.
When I woke up this morning, my body was immediately pumped full of adrenaline. I had my second astrobiology midterm in an hour and a half and didn't do great on the first one. I got some studying in the night before but was still less than confident. I had trouble getting going with my morning routine because I was so anxious.
Then I remembered the song I had been listening to the night before:
Where will my help come from?
My help will come from God, maker of heaven and earth.
-Esah Einai by Dan Nichols
Based on Psalm 121
I turned the song on and was amazed how quickly a calm fell over me. Everything was going to be alright. I replayed the song probably four times as I got dressed and ready for school. As I got on my bike and headed to print my homework and then to class, I kept the song in my head. It was in my head as I sat down in class, and it was still in my head as I walked out of class after successfully completing the exam. The combination of soothing melody and comforting lyrics was just what I needed this morning.
This line from Psalm 121 is something I can believe in. In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold S. Kushner suggests that one's belief in God should not go against their common sense. My common sense tells me that if I don't study, no amount of prayer is going to make me ace a test. But this line doesn't say God will ace the test for me; it says God will be my help. God will be there with me as a take the test, not doing the work for me, but just being there, cheering me on, calming me down, helping me focus. I like that idea.
P.S. I have been checking online almost neurotically looking for a spot in a certain mini-semester class that filled before I was able to register. I kept waiting for a spot to open from someone dropping the class. Today when I logged onto my student account, there was one spot available. The randomness of the universe was good to me today.
I feel this way about less serious situations as well. I have friends and acquaintances who pray or ask for prayers before a big test or job interview, and while I absolutely respect their beliefs, that's not how I think God works. God gave me a brain that works, but that is the extent to which I believe God is involved in my test outcomes. Whether I study or not is up to me and ultimately that will be the biggest factor in my grade.
Last night, a song came into my head that I hadn't heard in awhile. I typed the line of lyrics that kept replaying in my head into Google and subsequently found the track on Spotify. The tune is catchy and I listened to the song several times before heading off to bed.
When I woke up this morning, my body was immediately pumped full of adrenaline. I had my second astrobiology midterm in an hour and a half and didn't do great on the first one. I got some studying in the night before but was still less than confident. I had trouble getting going with my morning routine because I was so anxious.
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image retrieved from http://jewishrock.com/music/ |
Then I remembered the song I had been listening to the night before:
Where will my help come from?
My help will come from God, maker of heaven and earth.
-Esah Einai by Dan Nichols
Based on Psalm 121
I turned the song on and was amazed how quickly a calm fell over me. Everything was going to be alright. I replayed the song probably four times as I got dressed and ready for school. As I got on my bike and headed to print my homework and then to class, I kept the song in my head. It was in my head as I sat down in class, and it was still in my head as I walked out of class after successfully completing the exam. The combination of soothing melody and comforting lyrics was just what I needed this morning.
This line from Psalm 121 is something I can believe in. In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold S. Kushner suggests that one's belief in God should not go against their common sense. My common sense tells me that if I don't study, no amount of prayer is going to make me ace a test. But this line doesn't say God will ace the test for me; it says God will be my help. God will be there with me as a take the test, not doing the work for me, but just being there, cheering me on, calming me down, helping me focus. I like that idea.
P.S. I have been checking online almost neurotically looking for a spot in a certain mini-semester class that filled before I was able to register. I kept waiting for a spot to open from someone dropping the class. Today when I logged onto my student account, there was one spot available. The randomness of the universe was good to me today.
Friday, March 15, 2013
The World's Best Babysitter
I watched from the driver's seat of my car as the 8-year-old I was babysitting trotted off toward the public restrooms at the park. I had driven him there for soccer practice when he suddenly informed me that he needed to go to the bathroom. Second guessing my decision to let him go all by himself, I got out of the car and followed him. As I got nearer, I could tell the gate surrounding the restrooms was locked.
"Is it number one or number two?" I yelled to him. He held up one finger. "Just go right there," I said, gesturing toward the many bushes surrounding the locked gate.
"Everyone will think I am weird!" he countered. I assured him nobody would even notice and, after some persuasion, I turned around as he did his business behind one of the bushes. When he was done, he jumped back into my car and I drove him down to his practice at the other end of the park. "Chau!" he called back to me as he ran off to join his teammates.
"Is it number one or number two?" I yelled to him. He held up one finger. "Just go right there," I said, gesturing toward the many bushes surrounding the locked gate.
"Everyone will think I am weird!" he countered. I assured him nobody would even notice and, after some persuasion, I turned around as he did his business behind one of the bushes. When he was done, he jumped back into my car and I drove him down to his practice at the other end of the park. "Chau!" he called back to me as he ran off to join his teammates.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Through the Eyes of a Child
I have a new phone and it sucks. Yes, that is a very "first world problems" thing to say, but it's the truth. I had the same flip phone for over two years, and while I was admittedly sometimes envious of my friends sporting smartphones that put all of the knowledge in the world right in their pockets, I was very happy with that phone. As is to be expected, it broke a few months after its exciting second birthday and I switched to my dad's old phone which happened to be the exact same model. That phone had already seen better days by the time it got to me and it broke after about six months. The next upgrade on our family plan for me is in April and I have been planning for quite awhile to use it to get a smartphone. So, to avoid spending hundreds of dollars, I reactivated an old phone that's been lying around the house.
This phone was really cool. It's one of those "TV phones" from four or five years ago. It was my brother's, then it was mine, and then it was no one's for two and a half years as it lay in my parents' house. Now it's mine again. Text and graphics on the screen are difficult to decipher, especially in the sun, because it is so beat up from use. It turns off randomly, sometimes when I'm in the middle of typing a text message. It's a working phone and for that I am grateful, but it's nothing exciting and I can't wait to get rid of it in April.
Last night I was out for dinner with friends and happened to run into a family whose children I babysit. They have two boys, ages 11 and 8. I went over to their table to say hello and was quickly bombarded by a request to show their mom my "new" phone. The boys had both seen it the day before when I was driving them home from school. Before I had a chance to find my phone, the younger boy had already discovered it at the other end of the table and snatched it. He and his brother excitedly showed it to their mom, who ooohed and ahhhed supportively. They were bubbling with excitement over this awful old phone. Everyone my age has probably seen a phone that spins open the way this one does, but to them it was brand new and SO cool.
Getting to see and experience life vicariously through the eyes of children is one reason I have chosen to work with children in nearly every job I have ever had and am studying to become a K-8 teacher. I've seen the Grand Canyon, ridden a horse, and built a snowman. Never again will those experiences be new to me. I've already lost my first tooth and had the training wheels removed from my bike. I will never experience these big moments again. But by spending my life working with children, I get to experience infinite firsts and the excitement that goes along almost as if each was really happening to me all over again. What a perspective.
This phone was really cool. It's one of those "TV phones" from four or five years ago. It was my brother's, then it was mine, and then it was no one's for two and a half years as it lay in my parents' house. Now it's mine again. Text and graphics on the screen are difficult to decipher, especially in the sun, because it is so beat up from use. It turns off randomly, sometimes when I'm in the middle of typing a text message. It's a working phone and for that I am grateful, but it's nothing exciting and I can't wait to get rid of it in April.
Last night I was out for dinner with friends and happened to run into a family whose children I babysit. They have two boys, ages 11 and 8. I went over to their table to say hello and was quickly bombarded by a request to show their mom my "new" phone. The boys had both seen it the day before when I was driving them home from school. Before I had a chance to find my phone, the younger boy had already discovered it at the other end of the table and snatched it. He and his brother excitedly showed it to their mom, who ooohed and ahhhed supportively. They were bubbling with excitement over this awful old phone. Everyone my age has probably seen a phone that spins open the way this one does, but to them it was brand new and SO cool.
Getting to see and experience life vicariously through the eyes of children is one reason I have chosen to work with children in nearly every job I have ever had and am studying to become a K-8 teacher. I've seen the Grand Canyon, ridden a horse, and built a snowman. Never again will those experiences be new to me. I've already lost my first tooth and had the training wheels removed from my bike. I will never experience these big moments again. But by spending my life working with children, I get to experience infinite firsts and the excitement that goes along almost as if each was really happening to me all over again. What a perspective.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Smokey Cooking
Tonight while cooking dinner, I nearly burned down my apartment building. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but I definitely feared setting off the fire alarm, which probably would have been just as annoying to my fellow residents as if I burned down the building.
I was cooking spaghetti, as I often do, so I put a chunk of defrosted ground beef in a pan and turned on the burner. Then I filled a pot with water and started cooking the noodles. I wandered off for a moment, checking a text on my phone while I waited for my food to cook.
As usual, the beef began to sizzle. But then, the beef REALLY began to sizzle. I suddenly realized I had turned the burner on high instead of medium and was burning my food. Soon the pan started emitting thick campfire-like smoke, and I quickly turned off the heat and moved the pan to another burner. This did not solve the problem.
With smoke now filling my entire apartment, the thought of setting off the fire alarm was hot on my mind. I grabbed the sizzling, smoking pan and ran out the front door, all the while hoping I would not hear the dreaded blaring sound signaling evacuation. My resident advisor was walking across the grass on the first floor and looked up at where I was standing on the third floor, wondering what the sizzling noise was. I yelled down to her that I was fine and just trying not to set off the fire alarm. She smiled and kept walking.
I stood out there for what seemed like an eternity before the pan finally stopped smoking. When it did, I rushed back inside, put the pan on a cool burner, and opened all the windows in the apartment. Then, I waited.
The smoke eventually cleared, and I was able to return to cooking dinner. About half of the beef was burned, so I threw that part away and continued cooking the un-burned portion. The noodles soon finished cooking, and, with no fire alarm after all, I sat down to enjoy my spaghetti.
I was cooking spaghetti, as I often do, so I put a chunk of defrosted ground beef in a pan and turned on the burner. Then I filled a pot with water and started cooking the noodles. I wandered off for a moment, checking a text on my phone while I waited for my food to cook.
As usual, the beef began to sizzle. But then, the beef REALLY began to sizzle. I suddenly realized I had turned the burner on high instead of medium and was burning my food. Soon the pan started emitting thick campfire-like smoke, and I quickly turned off the heat and moved the pan to another burner. This did not solve the problem.
With smoke now filling my entire apartment, the thought of setting off the fire alarm was hot on my mind. I grabbed the sizzling, smoking pan and ran out the front door, all the while hoping I would not hear the dreaded blaring sound signaling evacuation. My resident advisor was walking across the grass on the first floor and looked up at where I was standing on the third floor, wondering what the sizzling noise was. I yelled down to her that I was fine and just trying not to set off the fire alarm. She smiled and kept walking.
I stood out there for what seemed like an eternity before the pan finally stopped smoking. When it did, I rushed back inside, put the pan on a cool burner, and opened all the windows in the apartment. Then, I waited.
The smoke eventually cleared, and I was able to return to cooking dinner. About half of the beef was burned, so I threw that part away and continued cooking the un-burned portion. The noodles soon finished cooking, and, with no fire alarm after all, I sat down to enjoy my spaghetti.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
The Dog Poop Dilemma
A few nights ago, as I often do when I'm home, I took my dog Scout with me for a run. We run on a paved path that sits parallel to a major street. We usually run 1.5 miles and then turn around and come back.
I bring bags with me whenever I run or walk Scout, and he usually goes within the first five minutes or so. But that night, he waited until we were a good 3/4 mile from the starting point. I bagged up the excrement and set it on the side of the path, planning to pick it up on the way back. We got to our turnaround point, and on the way back, I realized that if I were to pick up the bag I had left, I would have to run with it for 3/4 mile. Being an only marginally good citizen in that instance, I left the bag sitting on the side of the path and finished the run.
The next evening, I took Mali, our older dog, for a walk. I decided to try to find the bag Scout and I left the previous night, so Mali and I walked along the same path. Sure enough, about 3/4 mile in, I saw the bag sitting right where I had left it the previous night! I picked it up and carried it back to our starting point, where I found a trash can and disposed of it. So yes, I left the poop in a bag on the side of the road for 24 hours, but I eventually helped it find its way to the trash.
I bring bags with me whenever I run or walk Scout, and he usually goes within the first five minutes or so. But that night, he waited until we were a good 3/4 mile from the starting point. I bagged up the excrement and set it on the side of the path, planning to pick it up on the way back. We got to our turnaround point, and on the way back, I realized that if I were to pick up the bag I had left, I would have to run with it for 3/4 mile. Being an only marginally good citizen in that instance, I left the bag sitting on the side of the path and finished the run.
The next evening, I took Mali, our older dog, for a walk. I decided to try to find the bag Scout and I left the previous night, so Mali and I walked along the same path. Sure enough, about 3/4 mile in, I saw the bag sitting right where I had left it the previous night! I picked it up and carried it back to our starting point, where I found a trash can and disposed of it. So yes, I left the poop in a bag on the side of the road for 24 hours, but I eventually helped it find its way to the trash.
Friday, July 13, 2012
My Goofball Dogs
Tonight I took the dogs outside to go to the bathroom before bed and a funny incident unfolded. Mali, age 12, largely vision impaired and diagnosed with Cushing's, was peeing in the rocks where she always goes. Scout, the 7-year-old, likes to pee on top of Mali's pee, I guess to mask her scent with his. Mali finished peeing and stepped away, and Scout immediately began peeing on the spot where Mali had gone. After Mali uses the facilities, she likes to kick the rocks back to cover up the spot. So while Scout was peeing over the spot where Mali peed, Mali started kicking the rocks, not knowing they were going straight toward Scout! This startled Scout, who bolted away from the scene while I burst out laughing at the whole situation.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Walmart: A 6-year-old's "home away from home"
Friday, February 17, 2012
David
It was the very beginning of spring semester 2011, so either January or February. A career fair was happening over a two-day period at the newly finished convention center, and my English teacher was offering extra credit for going. Naturally, I decided to stop by. I planned to just grab a handout to prove that I was there, and maybe walk around for a few minutes, but I ended up doing something there that really changed my life.
All throughout my life, I had been actively involved in volunteer work and community service. When I was little, I mostly tagged along with my mom to various volunteer projects she was doing. As I got older, I started my own volunteering, and as I teen, my main volunteer job was being an aide in my temple's religious school. For five years in middle and high school, I came almost every Sunday during the school year and worked for two and a half hours. I was in the kindergarten for three years and the third grade for two. However, after I graduated from high school and went away to college, I wasn't involved in volunteer work like I had been all my life.
I was moseying through the fair, glancing at each booth, when one caught my eye: Big Brothers Big Sisters. I had heard of the organization before; I passed a BBBS clothing donation center every day on my drive to and from school. I never gave it much thought, though, because volunteers with this organization have to be at least eighteen. When I saw the BBBS booth at the career fair, it occurred to me that, at nineteen, I was eligible to be a Big in the program. I also realized that I wasn't doing much volunteer work at all anymore. I approached the table and stayed for awhile, learning more about the organization. Before leaving, I signed up to be a volunteer.
The interview and matching process was pretty lengthy. I heard somewhere that the organization spends $500 making each match, which includes interviews with parents, children, and prospective volunteers, and extensive background checks. (I don't know if that figure is accurate, but they are definitely very thorough.) I was interviewed about myself, my past experiences, and my interests to help the match specialist find a kid who would be compatible. I was also fingerprinted (each finger on both hands!) and background checked. Within a few months, I was informed that I passed the background check (shocker) and was going to be accepted as a volunteer. At that point, I was eligible to be matched with a child.
It was several weeks or maybe even over a month before I was matched. I remember the moment very well. I was at the dining hall eating dinner with friends and saw that I had a missed call from BBBS. I got up from the table and returned the call. The voice on the other end told me I was going to be matched with a six-year-old boy named David, and how soon could I meet him. I was so excited! Unfortunately, the end of the semester was quickly approaching, and I would be living at home three hours away for summer break. As much as I wanted to meet my new Little Brother right away, the BBBS staff and I both knew it was in David's best interest not to meet me once and then not see me again for three months.
After a whole summer of anticipation, I finally met David the week I returned to school in August. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got to the office before David and his mom. I was sitting in the main room waiting when in came a little boy. It had been over three months since I found out that I was going to be David's Big Sister, and in that time I had formed a picture of what he would look and act like. He was totally different. We were put in a room together to chat and get to know each other, and he hovered over the little toys he had brought, explaining them to me in such a soft voice, and rarely making eye contact. I had been told that David and I would be a great match because we are both high energy people, so I was confused and a little concerned by this behavior. Nonetheless, David, his mom, the match specialist, and I all signed a lot of paperwork that day, and with that, the match was officially in effect until the following August, when we would reassess and have the option to renew for another year.
I am amazed at how far we have come from that day. I now realize that David was behaving like any typical six-year-old would when put in a room with a total stranger for fifteen minutes. He is now seven, and we are much more comfortable talking to each other and being together. For over six months now, excluding the five or so weeks I was home for winter break, I have spent time with David consistently. We usually spend 2-4 hours together each week. We have done so many different activities together, including cooking, swimming, Zumba, going to the pumpkin patch/corn maze, and attending a September 11 memorial event. Recently, I took David on his first ever hike. It was a little over a mile each way, and we had lunch at the waterfall at the halfway point. On the way back to the car, he told me it was the best day of his life. I have tried, especially lately, to encourage our meetings to include activities David has never done before. I tell him he can go swimming anytime, but he might only get to go hiking with me.
It's pretty cool how big of an impact a small amount of time can have, and I think we have both benefited. I have gained experience interacting with a child, and I get to do activities that I would never do at my age if I wasn't with David. David is learning new skills and trying new activities, and he has an additional adult in his life who cares about him. It has been an almost exclusively positive experience for me, and I hope to continue to be matched with David for the next two and a half years I have left of college. This weekend we are going mini golfing- another new activity for David!
All throughout my life, I had been actively involved in volunteer work and community service. When I was little, I mostly tagged along with my mom to various volunteer projects she was doing. As I got older, I started my own volunteering, and as I teen, my main volunteer job was being an aide in my temple's religious school. For five years in middle and high school, I came almost every Sunday during the school year and worked for two and a half hours. I was in the kindergarten for three years and the third grade for two. However, after I graduated from high school and went away to college, I wasn't involved in volunteer work like I had been all my life.
I was moseying through the fair, glancing at each booth, when one caught my eye: Big Brothers Big Sisters. I had heard of the organization before; I passed a BBBS clothing donation center every day on my drive to and from school. I never gave it much thought, though, because volunteers with this organization have to be at least eighteen. When I saw the BBBS booth at the career fair, it occurred to me that, at nineteen, I was eligible to be a Big in the program. I also realized that I wasn't doing much volunteer work at all anymore. I approached the table and stayed for awhile, learning more about the organization. Before leaving, I signed up to be a volunteer.
The interview and matching process was pretty lengthy. I heard somewhere that the organization spends $500 making each match, which includes interviews with parents, children, and prospective volunteers, and extensive background checks. (I don't know if that figure is accurate, but they are definitely very thorough.) I was interviewed about myself, my past experiences, and my interests to help the match specialist find a kid who would be compatible. I was also fingerprinted (each finger on both hands!) and background checked. Within a few months, I was informed that I passed the background check (shocker) and was going to be accepted as a volunteer. At that point, I was eligible to be matched with a child.
It was several weeks or maybe even over a month before I was matched. I remember the moment very well. I was at the dining hall eating dinner with friends and saw that I had a missed call from BBBS. I got up from the table and returned the call. The voice on the other end told me I was going to be matched with a six-year-old boy named David, and how soon could I meet him. I was so excited! Unfortunately, the end of the semester was quickly approaching, and I would be living at home three hours away for summer break. As much as I wanted to meet my new Little Brother right away, the BBBS staff and I both knew it was in David's best interest not to meet me once and then not see me again for three months.
After a whole summer of anticipation, I finally met David the week I returned to school in August. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got to the office before David and his mom. I was sitting in the main room waiting when in came a little boy. It had been over three months since I found out that I was going to be David's Big Sister, and in that time I had formed a picture of what he would look and act like. He was totally different. We were put in a room together to chat and get to know each other, and he hovered over the little toys he had brought, explaining them to me in such a soft voice, and rarely making eye contact. I had been told that David and I would be a great match because we are both high energy people, so I was confused and a little concerned by this behavior. Nonetheless, David, his mom, the match specialist, and I all signed a lot of paperwork that day, and with that, the match was officially in effect until the following August, when we would reassess and have the option to renew for another year.
I am amazed at how far we have come from that day. I now realize that David was behaving like any typical six-year-old would when put in a room with a total stranger for fifteen minutes. He is now seven, and we are much more comfortable talking to each other and being together. For over six months now, excluding the five or so weeks I was home for winter break, I have spent time with David consistently. We usually spend 2-4 hours together each week. We have done so many different activities together, including cooking, swimming, Zumba, going to the pumpkin patch/corn maze, and attending a September 11 memorial event. Recently, I took David on his first ever hike. It was a little over a mile each way, and we had lunch at the waterfall at the halfway point. On the way back to the car, he told me it was the best day of his life. I have tried, especially lately, to encourage our meetings to include activities David has never done before. I tell him he can go swimming anytime, but he might only get to go hiking with me.
It's pretty cool how big of an impact a small amount of time can have, and I think we have both benefited. I have gained experience interacting with a child, and I get to do activities that I would never do at my age if I wasn't with David. David is learning new skills and trying new activities, and he has an additional adult in his life who cares about him. It has been an almost exclusively positive experience for me, and I hope to continue to be matched with David for the next two and a half years I have left of college. This weekend we are going mini golfing- another new activity for David!
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