Last week the faculty and staff at McClernand
Elementary School held a breakfast to show appreciation for its
volunteers. A lot was said about how we mentors plant seeds of hope
in the kids we come to see once a week. Though we may not think
we’re making much progress with our child, just the fact that
an adult comes regularly to ask him how he’s doing lets him
know somebody cares. We were given a tea mug (“You’re
tea-rrific!”), a refrigerator magnet with our kid’s
picture on it, and a packet of flower seeds with a poem:
“They’ll grow and blossom/ and change each day./ Just
like you helped me along my way.”
It was nice, but backwards. We mentors should
have been honoring the kids who put up with us and showed us the
ropes all year, and the teachers who offered us glimpses of the
real world. When I went to Communities in Schools asking to be a
mentor, I let them know up front I’m not particularly good
with kids. I don’t know whether they hid this fact or
discussed it openly with the pool of potential mentees, but they were able to find a fifth-grader willing to give
up his lunch hour once a week to take me on. He became my ticket into
McClernand, a world of vitality I’d driven by for 15 years
without having been inside. At our first meeting he gave me a tour of
the school like he owned the place, and introduced me to his teachers.
He gave one counselor special praise. “For a while she talked to
me every day about my problems. Without her I wouldn’t be talking
to you right now.” Though he occasionally was impatient with me
(“Why you ask so many questions?”), we became friends. He
taught me how to play Uno, though I found it strange I never won a game
which seemed to depend on chance. I thought someone slick at cards
would enjoy the marked deck I brought in, but when I showed him a
“magic” trick, it offended his moral code: “You
cheatin’, man!”
He furthered my education on the field trip he
and I took to the Illinois State Museum. We’d planned a quick
fast-food lunch, but at the drive-up I discovered I only had $5,
which I thought just wouldn’t work. No problem, he said, and
had me get one order of McNuggets, which he divided equally between
us. Then he directed me across the street to Get ’n Go,
“The Home of the 25-cent Soda,” where we had enough change for a pop apiece. Thus nourished, we
went to the museum, where he found the most interesting interactive
exhibits were about personal transportation: He took me for several
rides on the escalator and the elevator.
The children were always trying to boost my
confidence. Once when we were painting pictures a classmate took a
look at my work and told my kid, “Your mentor draws a real
tight horse,” which I think was a compliment. Another time a
group of us were playing basketball and the boys told me we
didn’t have to go inside until the second bell. That turned
out not to be the case. When they were about to get in trouble I
stepped up and told Ms. Hunter, the principal, it was all my fault
and she let us off the hook. I became the hero of the fifth-grade
special ed lunch table that day. On Cinco de Mayo I ran the work
station that helped 37 kids make mini-piñatas out of construction paper
rolled up like a cone, stuffed with candy, and covered with red crepe
paper to look like a chili pepper. At the end several of the kids voted
mini-piñatas the best activity, while others said it ranked a
close second to making chimichangas.
By letting me follow him around, my kid helped
me shatter some illusions about educating kids in poverty. Some
like to blame teachers, but I met so many dedicated teachers who
love these children I find that explanation insufficient. Others
blame parents, which would have been easier to do before I met some
struggling parents and learned what they’re up against.
Administrators must be the culprits, I thought, until I heard them
speak knowledgeably and passionately about their plans and hopes
for these children.
My education about education has just begun.
But my “mentee” has planted some seeds that will
“grow and blossom and change each day.” Thank you, kid,
for helping me along my way.
To learn about becoming a mentor, call Communities in Schools at 544-1783.
This article appears in Jun 2-8, 2005.
