A Helping Hand [Part Deux]

The ironic thing was, once all of my classmates had left, I was finally able to get working.  It wasn't that they were purposefully hindering our work (though some of them had been there for who knows how long before me, and were clearly so over it).  But just having everyone crammed into one small room, working with only three paint trays and two ladders between us all.... it just couldn't work.  I have my fair share of painting experience (growing up I would always inexplicably ask to help with painting rooms, shelves, and any other project around the house, and I've painted many a friend's room as well.  Not to mention my time painting for summer in the city, and my work in AP art senior year...)

I filled in every corner that still gaped with white.  I tried to get a second coat where the walls needed one.  I fixed the edges that had been painted "close enough" with a roller but didn't meet up to the ceiling.  It was hard to explain the burst of motivation, but I this sudden sense of responsibility- like we owed it to Mitzy to make her walls look great.  It was the moment I shifted, the moment I let myself start to care.

By the time I was finishing up, we were all smiles.  I had exchanged a dozen giggly "excuse me"s with people squeezing by my ladder, which had often ended up in a doorway.  Mitzy was showing me all their other projects- the color blocked shelves, the cartoons painted on the wall of the children's room.  Suddenly I was excited for people I had only just met and a cause I hadn't heard of until the week before.  The paintings of Pooh and Curious George on the walls reminded me of the bears I had painted in a Detroit classroom during Summer in the City, and that striking connection reminded me why we do this.  Yes, sometimes we need volunteer hours for school or as an outside obligation.  But the reason people first started giving back- the root of philanthropy- is seeing the difference you can make in someone's life, and the feeling you get from knowing you helped make that happen.

Call it cliche, I don't care.  It's the truth.

A Helping Hand [Part Un]

I'm not a stranger to volunteer work.  I can easily remember times throughout my life when my mom would come home with some random new volunteer assignment for us.  We're going to start re-shelving books at the library!  I signed up for a bake sale at work so let's make some cookies!  Have you ever heard of Queen for a day?  Well, we're going to start participating in their fund-raisers!  In fact, I'm pretty sure that every time I've volunteered for any cause, it was either because my mom dragged me along, or because school mandated it (rather than earning pay as a camp counselor this past summer, I spent 70 hours volunteering at a day care- which I loved doing, but getting paid would have been nice, had it been possible).

So when we when were told as a class that we were going to be doing some community service... well, I didn't exactly jump out of my seat.  Helping people is all well and good, and I'm all for the golden rule, but I'm a really busy girl.  I just don't always have time to give back.  My philosophy is always airline 101- put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others.  It can sound callus when I try to explain it, but it's something I've always stood firmly by.  I would love to help others, but I'm not going to be able to do much for them if I can't help myself first.  (This isn't just about myself, you can apply this theory to whole countries even- but I won't get into that now!)

But yeah, I was just going to have to go along with it.  It was for a grade after all.

When I got to the clothes closet of the Baldwin Center I was surprised to say the least- and already thrown off by passing the place three times.  I was kind of shocked to see how many people had come so early.  It was about 10:30 when I got there, because I didn't have class in the afternoon and had that time to my leisure, so I figured I may as well get a tiny bit more sleep.  But when I arrived, the majority of the class was there, all crammed into one little room, slathering mint green paint over everything in sight.

As someone who actually has quite a lot of experience painting walls, it was appalling.  There were neglected corners, blotchy edges, areas where the paint had been applied too liberally and was now forming semi-permanent drips... there were way too many people and not enough ladders or walls.  Still, I jumped in as best I could, knowing that once some of my classmates began clearing out I would be better able to do the task.

And that was where my experience began.