My volunteers often comment that their experience with our communities helps them remember to be grateful for what they have. They talk about what they have learned about our students: the rough conditions in which they live, their varying and often volatile family dynamics, the disheartening odds they face, and their resilient spirits. In reflecting on these realities, the volunteers make comparisons to their own background. Many times they realize aspects of their lives that mark them as privileged, advantages they never knew they had in life.
I have experienced many moments here that evoke similar reflections, the most resonating of which usually result from interactions with the mothers we work with. A few weeks ago, for example, we hosted a "Family Day" at Safe Passage, where we invited the students and their parents to come in for a day of games, prizes, fun, and food. One main event was a raffle where parents who had won tickets over the course of the day could win small prizes. As they were getting ready to call ticket numbers, one of the moms, Juana, turned to me and said, "Could you help my mother?" (She gestured toward the grandmother next to her.) "She can't read." I looked at the tickets. Each had a 3- or 4-digit number printed on it, in numerals. I looked at the older woman. From my experience with our families, I could guess that she had never been to school. As they called numbers and I scanned through her tickets looking for winners, I thought about what her life could have been like. I cannot fathom growing up and raising a family without this skill that I have always considered so basic. I cannot imagine looking at a printed "203" and viewing it only as figures on a paper, with no decipherable meaning. Her grandson is in our preschool program. He is three years old and probably not far from surpassing her in what we consider education and academic skill. But the knowledge she must possess that has no relation to academics... I can't imagine that either.
That woman's daughter, our Safe Passage mom Juana, graduated this past weekend. She officially passed the equivalent of sixth grade in our adult literacy program, meaning that she has completed elementary school for the first time in her life. I don't know how old Juana is, but I would guess she is not all that much older than I am. I know she has at least three children. Before this weekend, she had never had a graduation before. She had never felt the support of family and friends gathering to celebrate this kind of personal achievement. She beamed. And she was not the only one. Five mothers passed the grade alongside her, and another eight parents graduated the same day from the middle school level. Their parents, including the woman from the raffle, watched them with what I saw as a calm, content form of joy. Maybe the same joy my Grandpa once expressed when he looked around at our Thanksgiving celebration and saw his great-grandchildren running around so happily. Feeling the assurance that you have left a mark on the world, and that your mark is beautiful and ever-growing. That your children will have better opportunities than you did.
I have always known that I was lucky and privileged, relative to most people in the world. And I have always understood that my wealth extends beyond the material (we give thanks for good health, for loving relationships, for simple happiness). But this year, I am thankful more than anything for the opportunities I have had in my life to learn. I have learned from my parents, my teachers, and now, from the families I have worked with. And by all of their lessons, I am better able to work on my own beautiful mark on the world.
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