Nick Hudson was a member of the 2007-2008 MercyWorks Community and worked with 11-17 year olds boys at Mercy Home. This is his reflection and his challenge to the notion that volunteering is a “year off.”
I have become increasingly frustrated by those who said that by volunteering for a year of service after my undergraduate studies, I was taking a “year off.”
“It must be nice to re-charge your batteries before you go to grad school.” Home for a holiday weekend to visit my family, I was greeted with that remark no less than six times in two days. It became a casual and routine part of conversation. I usually met it with a polite half-smile and non-verbal groan. I wondered if they believed I had been passing the days learning to surf in the Caribbean or wandering the streets of Prague to find myself.
Whenever I think of this year spent between formal schooling, my thoughts inevitably drift toward Josiah, a twelve year-old I currently work with at Chicago’s Mercy Home for Boys & Girls. He can be a tough boss. He holds everyone accountable, every day. He’s challenging, demanding, uneven, and prone to obscenity-laced tirades.
My official title is Josiah’s “advocate,” a term that means I am essentially his de facto contact person. When there is an issue at school, they call me. When he has a doctor’s appointment scheduled, the time, date, and place are waiting on a note in my mailbox. And when he acts out at the Home—an all too-often occurrence—I am held responsible for his behavioral improvement and well-being. The title also means I get the chance to build an especially strong relationship with a young man who needs and craves one.
But a few weeks ago, I served in a very unusual role, especially for a 22 year old—I got to be Josiah’s Grandpa. Josiah attends a private school on scholarship located on Chicago’s North Side. As a fundraiser, the school invited all “grandparents, family friends, and elderly acquaintances” for a school Mass and brunch, to be followed by a collection for new windows in the gym. Being the closest thing he had to family, I told Josiah I’d go with him. I told him he should be able to spot me in the crowd, as I’d be the one wearing a red tie, and under 60.
That morning, he greeted me with a smiling hand slap and a hug. So who was I supposed to be to Josiah that evening? We decided it would be best to have our stories straight. Clearly I would not pass as anyone’s elderly acquaintance or grandpa, no matter how dapper I looked in my striped tie and polished shoes. And we wanted to avoid drawing attention to Josiah’s living in a residential treatment home. So we agreed I would just call myself “a family friend.”
As we sat down at our assigned seats in the school’s cafeteria, it became clear that Josiah had trouble fitting in. The other boys chatted with each other, darting table to table and introducing each others’ families to one another. We just sat there. I tried to make small talk with Josiah, but his initial enthusiasm fizzled. I began to get unnerved.
Then, someone from the table introduced himself. “I’m Jack Fitzgerald,” the man stated, “Bryan here’s my grandson.” “Pleasure,” I countered. Before I could think, I glimpsed across the table to Josiah’s face and nodded, and responded “Hi, I’m Josiah’s grandfather.” I turned back towards my plate and got a swift kick under the table. Looking up, a gentle, brace-filled smile spread across Josiah’s face, then mine. “…And NOW for the Window Raffle!” cried the emcee on the loudspeaker. The lights darkened and clapping erupted, but the only sound I noticed was the infectious soprano of Josiah’s laughter.
I object to the notion that my volunteer year was a year off because people simply don’t understand the challenges each day brings as a MercyWorker. This supposed year off has become quite the opposite for me: it has been a year on. I am responsible for writing and handing in reports on time (not unlike the “papers” I am supposedly on vacation from). I must balance the weight of a child’s feelings on top of the discipline they crave, especially ones like Josiah who are so unfamiliar with someone taking an interest in their needs before. Even when my time stamp reads “clocked out,” thoughts of work are always on my mind.
When I look back on this year one day, I will see that rather than a year away from my own challenges, this was the year I stopped and faced them directly.
