Yesterday Gracie, my mother and I volunteered two hours at Cradles to Crayons. The organization collects new and gently used clothing, books, toys, and gear for families who cannot afford these things for their own children. The three of us spent our time sorting clothes and assembling packages of a week’s worth of clothing in various sizes.
It was enjoyable, though somewhat abstract for Grace. It’s one level removed from what I’d like. I am really looking for a soup kitchen where I can bring a 5 year old. I’ve called all the ones I know in Boston – Homeless Vets, Rosie’s Place, Women’s Lunch Place, etc, and they all insist on children being much older. I understand this, for liability reasons, but I am continuing to look.
It’s really important to me that both children are exposed, early and often, to volunteerism. I firmly believe that we who have so much need to give our money and our time to help those who have less. It is the time piece of this that is often neglected, and I believe it adamantly. No matter how big a check you write, I think we all benefit from hands-on experience helping those who need it.
I have vivid memories of spending Christmas morning delivering Meals on Wheels with my family in London. I looked for a project to do as a family this past Thanksgiving day, and struck out. Will keep looking there as well.
I participated in various service projects at Exeter but it wasn’t until Princeton that I really got deeply involved in this work. I started volunteering at Rainbow House, a home for HIV positive teenage mothers in Trenton, as soon as I got to Princeton. By my senior year I was on the board of the Student Volunteers Council, the group that organizes all the service efforts on campus. This was a marvelous group of people, quite removed from the core of my Princeton experience, and I’m glad to have known them. It’s how I met Melissa, for one thing, and she’s become such an important friend to me.
I talked to the Peace Corps about joining after graduation. I was told that I was most likely to be assigned to work with AIDS children in the inner city, and I confess that was not exactly what I had imagined. Shame on me, I now think, but I opted out and stepped onto the treadmill at BCG.
During those BCG years, however, I fell in love with the homeless vets. My second year at BCG, which I recall as a dark time (my grandmother and Susie Vogt were both dying protracted and painful deaths, I took a leave of absence from work, I had just broken up with a lovely man because I knew he was not the one, etc) I spent about one evening a week at the shelter. I really grew attached to the place. The men were warm and friendly, they quickly knew me, and I felt like I was cheering them up. It bothers me in a fundamental way that someone who fought for our country (and many of these men were living with injuries they sustained in war) could wind up on the street. How can our country ask so much of people and then not provide them with any kind of reciprocity when they fall down on return? I am sure the Republicans out there are crying out with all kinds of answers, and I am sure those have merit. I’m just saying how I feel about it. It might surprise some of my BCG classmates (whom I’ve recently discovered mostly thought I was dumb and self-absorbed) that I spent so much time at the shelter.
Since having Grace and Whit I haven’t been as good as I would like about continuing to find ways to participate in service. That changes now, as I feel the strong motivation of desire to introduce my children to a life of awareness, sensitivity, and generosity.
