As mentioned previously, it brings me to near delirium to be back reading live in the homeless shelters after Beast Covid devoured two years of volunteer service. Yesterday after work I headed to a local domestic violence shelter and was greeted by a gaggle of boisterous children.
This shelter is dedicated to women and children who have been victims of domestic abuse. I find myself compartmentalizing my emotions before entering. It’s the same with reading to patients on the pediatric floor. Reading to a child with medical tubes running in and out their bodies or facing a daunting cancer diagnosis is tough on this mama’s heart. Children shouldn’t suffer. It pains me when they do. Stepping into a structure that houses children who have most likely experienced (or at least witnessed) violence is a pain of another variety, but one that can be as traumatic as a health crisis. To that end, I find myself steeling my emotions before stepping into this place. I focus on the task at hand and the children as they are in that moment, happy and interactive.
When I arrived, I buzzed into the entrance and was greeted by a smiling staffer. “Lots of kids today?” I ask. “Yes! Lots of kids,” she replied with a grin and a bit of forewarning in her tone. “They’re in the back, waiting for you.” I head toward the gathering spaces in the shelter and am greeted by a sweet mix of moms sitting at the kitchen table working on arts and crafts, and kids… everywhere!
To my delight, they recognize me and come running, anxious to peek into my ever-present book bag. We choose a sofa to sit on together and in a flash, I am a reader, a fresh listening ear for their cacophony, and a human jungle gym, all rolled into one. It’s like sitting on the floor with a litter of 6-week-old puppies. They are crawling into my lap, climbing into my arms, and maneuvering behind my back. This frenetic movement never stops for the 40 minutes I am there. I am silently thankful I had worn my hair up. If not, I would have left looking like a dandelion gone to seed.
The challenge in shelter reading, I have learned over the years, is gently pushing past the behaviors that can go with children who are currently living in a crisis environment. They are almost always sweet and loving, sometimes reserved, but often a little frenetic due to developmental maturity, lack of space to burn off energy, and other factors. They also sometimes have little idea of book care and can be a little rough on materials. I don’t take offense. It becomes a gentle teaching moment.
The golden moment of the day came near the end of my reading time. A four-year-old beside me was zeroed in on every book I read, asked a mountain of question, and shouted his answers to mine. When we finished reading his chosen book, he closed it carefully and declared, “my book!” and ran off to squirrel it away. He soon returned from the playroom with a book from the shelter’s stock. He shoved into my hands with a shy smile and said, “You keep it.” My heart melted a little as I gently placed it back into his small hands and said, “That’s a good book. You should keep it here.” He tried again. “You keep it!” The smile was a little wider. Again, I gently refused. “That belongs to someone else,” I explained. “You should keep it here.” Two more times he tried to gift the book to me. Each time he glowed with anticipation at the hope of my receiving his “gift.” Although he didn’t cognitively understand what he was doing, he had observed the cultural norms of our budding relationship that involved the gifting of something precious to me, books, and wanted to reciprocate as a means of expressing gratitude. After his fourth attempt my heart was reduced to a gooey mess of melted marshmallow. Such a beautiful gesture from a child with so little. Oh, how these little ones teach me to be a better person!
My doctoral dissertation had a strong theme of children’s agency, premised on the belief that children are capable reporters of their own feelings and ideas. This little guy tried to convey much through his giving gestures. His actions said to me, “I like you. I like that you read to me. I value the books you give me each time you come. I want to give you something to show my appreciation.”
I hear you, sweet child. I like you, too, and I’ll be back soon.
