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.