Chapter 2 - We need to understand
I’m ahead of schedule in meeting the third volunteer at a café in the big town. I made a point when booking it to give myself extra time to get lost. The café is new to me and, with my poor sense of direction, I knew I could easily drive past it.
I’m eager to meet this volunteer. Her experience, dedication and success in supporting her communities is vast. I want to learn from her and, if I can, be of some help.
The dangling bell above the café’s door chimes softly as I enter. A bank of food counters to my right is a delight to behold: apple turnovers, cinnamon rolls, plump croissants, bagels, biscotti, cookies, sweetbreads and scones vie for attention with sandwiches packed with smoked bacon, salami, prosciutto, tomatoes, peppers, exotic cheeses and all sorts of seasonings and sauces. I linger to take it all in, promising myself I’ll stop on the way out to buy treats for later. To my left, bistro tables are pulled close to a fireplace, home to a snapping fire that’s a welcome respite from the day’s chill, despite it being the middle of spring. Students plugging away on laptops, locals catching up with friends and tourists leafing through visitor guides take up all the seats.
My colleague suggested we meet in a sitting area at the back of the café, where they have comfortable armchairs. Exiting the small hallway leading to this nook, I see that my colleague hasn’t arrived and I’m too late to snag a couple of armchairs. All that remains are a table and two wooden chairs squeezed next to a service door. I put my notebook and pen on the table to claim the spot, and go back to the entrance to wait for her.
As I round the food counter, I see my colleague knocking on the front door. Someone, it seems, has accidentally locked it. That happens with the old lock from time to time, an employee tells me as I open the door.
“I thought you’d be taller,” my colleague says, stepping across the threshold.
“I’m glad we’re finally meeting in person,” I reply. I’m of average height and can reach most items in my kitchen cupboards. Anything beyond that is what a stepladder is for, I reassure myself.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get any armchairs for us,” I add, as we reach our table and chairs.
“All good,” my colleague says. “There’s an electrical outlet here and I need to plug in my laptop.”
She opens her bag and pulls out her laptop and power cord, followed by a piece of paper covered on both sides with densely packed notes. Her handwriting is beautiful, I observe, discreetly closing my notebook. Next to come out is a stash of labelled photographs, which I wait to be invited to look at.
She plugs the power cord into the wall and tucks it behind her chair. The outlet is next to the service door and she’s concerned that staff might trip over the cord.
We both want to know what motivates the other to volunteer. I invite her to go first, opening my notebook.
She starts talking about her early years, her first steps on her life’s path and the detours along the way. It’s these personal experiences, coupled with what she’s learned as a volunteer, that compel her to help her communities, she explains. I close my notebook and put down my pen. This is not the time to take notes. Her story is deeply personal and moving. I feel it would invade her privacy if anything were recorded. It’s better that I just listen, in respect and admiration.
She stops after several minutes and checks her laptop battery. Enough juice to unplug it, she says, pleased that she can move the electrical cord away from the service door. She looks at me, waiting for a response to her story. I can’t find the words. It’s like I’ve twisted and twisted a kaleidoscope, and each new vision is more riveting and poignant than the last. I have no lodestar in my life experience to guide my response. What can I say that won’t sound cursory or glib?
I fall back on my training and experience in writing and strategic planning. What’s at the heart of her story, I ask myself. How can I capture this message and turn it into a plan to help her?
It’s clear she understands, truly understands, the children and families she’s helping. What a deep well from which to draw commitment, love and hope.
It’s clear she’s enriching children’s lives by helping them develop confidence in themselves and their potential. That can help dispel doubt and nurture dreams. What an enduring strength to give a child.
She spreads her photos on the table, arranging them in themes. There are pictures of children making gifts for their parents. Pictures of children collaborating as a team on a creative project, brows furrowed in concentration and eyes sparkling with imagination. Every picture, regardless of theme or activity, shares one common trait: the children are happy. Happy in witnessing their talent blossom before their eyes. Happy in the congratulations they receive. Happy in believing that tomorrow, they can do it all again.
Putting on my planning hat, I summarize the kind of support I think can help my colleague.
She lets me talk as she closes her laptop, carefully coils its power cord and puts them in her bag. She collects her pictures in a neat pile in front of her.
I stop, and now it’s her turn to reply. I don’t get the feeling, though, that she’s at a loss for words. She’s given this talk before, I sense.
She pushes her beautiful handwritten notes toward me.
“We need to understand,” she begins.
I open my notebook and lift my pen.
She’s volunteered regularly in several schools over many years, engaging closely with countless principals, teachers, families and students. She’s watched and listened and learned. She could fill many pages with notes in her beautiful handwriting outlining her knowledge.
“There are ongoing socio-economic issues in families,” she says. Unemployment. Domestic abuse. Lack of education and limited involvement in their children’s education.
“Parents, including single parents, work multiple jobs just to give their families something to eat, clothes to wear and a roof over their heads. Many are self-employed and not always by choice. Incomes are smaller than what similar workers in a city earn. Parents here are careful not to overextend themselves, and that affects how involved they can be in their children’s education.”
When they can get involved, paying for extracurricular activities and supplies is not always front of mind.
“Nutrition is a top concern in the schools. It’s vital for learning,” she says. “Almost every school has a critical nutrition programme that provides, at the minimum, healthy snacks throughout the day, and parents and grandparents try to focus their help here.”
What about local donors, I ask. Getting tapped out, she says.
“These are small communities. People looking for donations are going to the same small group of local businesses. Times are hard for them too, and they don’t have the resources to be regular donors. Even ‘in-kind’ donations are drying up.”
Local municipalities struggle to fill the funding gap. “They’re just trying to keep their regular services and maintenance going for their communities,” she says.
If donations are harder to come by, what about getting more volunteers to support parents and schools, I ask.
My colleague shakes her head.
“Volunteers are stretched pretty thin. They’re not looking to volunteer more. Take schools’ Parent Councils, for example. They’re struggling to increase the number of their volunteers. It’s hard to find the extra hands.”
My notebook is full of notes. But no plans.
“We’re living in a time of enormous economic and political uncertainty,” she says. “We need to understand.”
She glances at her watch. “I’ve done all the talking and you haven’t had the chance to tell me what motivates you as a volunteer.”
I close my notebook and slide my pen into its rings. Let’s save that for next time, I suggest.
We walk to the front of the café. The tables by the fireplace are mostly empty now. Glancing through a window, I see the dinner crowd gathering on the sidewalks. Some loiter by the restaurants’ outdoor menu displays, savouring the various gourmet offerings. Others politely squeeze by, hoping to grab a quick bite before catching a performance at the local theatre.
My colleague apologises for having to dash. She has a long drive home, she explains as we shake hands goodbye. The bell above the café’s door jingles as she leaves.
I pause at the food counter, remembering my promise to myself. The server smiles, ready to take my order.
Let’s save that for next time, I suggest.
Missy
When home life is unstable, learning becomes harder
Statistics Canada reports that school-age children exposed to domestic abuse or food insecurity are significantly more likely to experience anxiety, inattention, hyperactivity and behavioural challenges that interfere with learning. When children arrive at school hungry, frightened or emotionally overwhelmed, it becomes harder for them to focus, regulate their feelings or feel confident in the classroom. Creative experiences in music, art and writing offer powerful support: they help children express difficult emotions, strengthen attention skills and rebuild a sense of safety, accomplishment and trust.
Creativity changes lives. Your donation to the Robins Hollow Charity Fund helps children and youth discover their potential and grow in confidence, hope and success.
Please give generously.
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