Wednesday, September 18, 2019

Books are the Bridge


It had been a while since I last read in this particular shelter. It has not been for lack of want. This shelter is one of my all-time fave places to read. It is one of my favorite places to be, in general. But life is a demanding taskmaster at times. A new role in my school district. A dissertation that won’t write itself. Out-of-town guests. Etc., etc. All have detracted from spending my time dollars in the fashion I prefer.

A volunteer had let me know that we were low on books at this site, and so I raided the shelves of other sites, scrounged through the tubs of books that fill my garage, called ahead to the manager, and headed to the shelter with an odd tingle of excitement. It always feels a little like the scene from the old Cheers show when Norm walks in off the street. These kids know my name and they have my heart.

From the moment I step into the room where they congregate, I am surrounded by chatting voices who seem unaware and unconcerned about my absence, swarming bodies who have no awareness of personal space needs, little girls that want to touch my jewelry and stare at my shoes, and hungry eyes that are eager to peruse the books I have with me. Every time I step into this place, it has the feel of Christmas morning. The eager joy of anticipation. The smiling faces. The excitement of receiving a new item. It gets me every time and puts a little lump in my throat. Every blasted time.

Today was no different. Happy, chatty voices. Bodies swarming. Shy touches on my bracelets. Eyes fixed on my book cart. I hugged and asked about school and congratulated on birthdays celebrated. It was a hard sell today, as always, to get them to back up, give me room to grab a lungful of oxygen, and help them one-at-a-time pick just the right book, both to read together and for them to keep.

I have often wondered why they have such a difficult time waiting their turn. Even when I ask them repeatedly to take a step away and wait their turn, they don’t. They don’t do this in a defiant way. They are neither disrespectful nor pushy. But there is a quiet determination to stand close. This used to bother me a little. I’m a teacher, for crying out loud. Where are my magical classroom management skills when I need them?

I think I have arrived at a few conclusions about this phenomenon. The first is that they don’t want to hear just one story. They want to hear them all read aloud. Why eat just one fat green grape when there is a whole bowl in front of you? The second reason I believe may explain this mystery is their need to guard their precious chosen book. They have already eyed the one that they want. When new items are such a rare and precious commodity in an impoverished child’s life, they will treasure, cherish, guard, and fight for it. To walk away from it, even for a moment, might mean someone else will claim it.

I have come to be less insistent about having them step away until their turn. For this one afternoon every week or two, I can help grant these simple wishes.

Today I faithfully read with each child, sometimes more than one book. We looked at the illustrations, made predictions, laughed at funny parts, and shared reading responsibilities where children could decode words within their skill level.

The last precious lamb ran away with their coveted book and I stood to pack my things and head home after a long day at work. As I bent down, I heard a deep voice say my name and I looked up. A young teenage boy was staring at me and expectantly waiting for me to respond. I smiled and greeted him by name. He smiled back and said words I never thought that I would hear from him. “Mrs. Dahl, do you have an origami book?”

It took my brain a moment to process what had just occurred.

This boy has struggled. Home is hard and chaotic. Food is often scarce. Nurturing even more scarce. The local law enforcement knows his name. Survival is his norm. He has paid me no attention on all of my previous visits. Never seemed interested in me or my bag of books. Always distant. Coolly detached.

Suddenly my brain was screaming at me. “Do you know what just happened, Vonda?? He asked for a book. A SPECIFIC book. HE WANTS A BOOK!! If I could have willed my fifty-seven-year-old body to do a cartwheel, I would have done one on the spot. Adrenaline and joy surged into a tidal wave of understanding and happiness.

I forced myself into a more appropriate response and grinned at him. “I will find an origami book.” He gave me a half-smile and with eyes never leaving my face, quietly said, “Thanks, Mrs. Dahl.” And I knew that he believed me. This kid who has known more disappointment than any human should. He believed me. He believed that I would keep my promise. Books built a bridge between us.

So, I will close here and head on over to Amazon to put an origami book or two in my shopping cart. I cannot wait to go back to the shelter and hand him a bridge.

Thursday, February 21, 2019

Boys and Books


I have been running to catch up with my own life for what seems like a very long time. Just ask my husband. My life has been exceptionally chaotic lately, to the point that my volunteer hours as a Project Armchair reader have suffered. And, oh how I have missed it. Nothing feels quite right when I don’t have time to do the thing I love best.

I pulled into the parking lot of a local homeless shelter yesterday and smiled. Finally! I was armed with a wide array of upper-elementary books. Books the older boys of the after-school program had requested the last time I read there. (SIDE NOTE: Shout out to their teachers who helped them discover their own “reading territories” - books that kids are naturally drawn to).

It was sweetly calm when I entered the large room where the kids spend time until parents can pick them up. There were kids at long table working on puzzles or crafts. Others lounged in comfortable chairs. The workers looked in my direction and smiled warmly.

As familiar young faces ran to greet me, I hugged each one that stretched out arms for affection. Others stood shyly at the perimeter and waited. They soon directed their attention to my rolling crate. The one filled with what they were REALLY excited about… my books. A tall kid just to my right asked without preamble, “Do you have any Dog Man books?” “As a matter of fact, I do,” I responded with a broad smile. “But you’ll have to wait your turn.” His shoulders slumped a little, but he followed me dutifully across the room.

I (vainly) attempted to have the children take turns choosing a book and sitting beside me while I read their choice to them. But no matter how many times I asked them to stand back and wait their turn, they continued to crowd around the rolling treasure box of coveted books and to search longingly for the perfect choice. I finally gave up shooing them off and had them sit around me on the floor as I read every book to every child. They were like hungry little birds, absorbing every word and feasting on the bright illustrations. They laughed at funny pictures and nodding knowingly at familiar connections.

The Dog Man fan eventually had his turn to choose one of several from the series. He gratefully accepted his treasure and disappeared. Soon another middle school-aged boy appeared and asked for a book. Then another. Apparently, word travels fast where graphic novels are concerned. I packed up the remaining books, put on my coat and turned to leave. Then my heart constricted and melted into a gooey mass. Lounging on chairs and stretched across the sofa were boys in big bodies devouring their new books. They were aware of nothing around them. They were utterly and contentedly lost in their new books.

This…

This is what it is all about.

This is what the volunteers of Project Armchair have set at their primary goal. Kids in crisis finding a moment’s reprieve from challenging circumstances through the pages of a really good book.

In my doctoral studies, I came across the story of a young woman who spent most of her growing up years in transience. Homeless shelters were a natural part of her environment. She longed to escape from the cycle of poverty and was naturally intelligent. She recounted in an interview how she would read any and everything that she could get her hands on, including cereal boxes, and old copies of Readers Digest. Books, she claimed, were her escape.

I witnessed echoes of that yesterday. Shelters are not beautiful places to live. Life is hard when you are transient. I mean HARD. Fear, stress, and chaos are the norm. If Dog Man can relieve a little of that for a few brief moments, then I am a happy camper.

Oh, and Khadijah Williams? The girl who read cereal boxes when there was nothing else available? She ended up at Harvard. You can read more about this inspiring young woman here: