Volunteering: for medicinal purposes

"Never leave that till tomorow which you can today." - Benjamin FranklinI found a cure for the acquisitive, suburban, cardboard mansion covetin',mini van drivin', soccer mom knowin', don't have enough stuff, gluttonyblahs.For quite a while I'd been bemoaning the size of our little log home in thePines and the fact that our boys share a room. I'd been for a drive througha new development where our friends will soon live in a larger edifice witha pool and lake front property.

Picturing my sons going there to visit and play I envisioned them cominghome and asking us why we couldn't have those things. I could see thembegging to go and live there with their friends in "a real house."

So I was looking for a cure to these woes. Little did I know I would have toget up at 5 a.m. and drive for two hours in lethal traffic to find it. Butnow that I have, I feel the need to share. This cure has a name, it iscalled the Lafayette Street School in Newark, New Jersey.

A third grade teacher there wrote to me some months ago and asked if I wouldbe willing to donate a morning to read to kids and talk about being awriter. She told me that theirs was not only the oldest elementary schoolbuilding in the state that is still in use (a dubious honor) but one thathasn't had an author visit there. I thought she meant this year. She meantEVER.

It isn't just the fact that Lafayette Street School is now state run andcannot afford the fees most speakers charge. I know plenty of writers andperformers who donate their time. It seems most people shrink from (are gunshy?) of the neighborhood, well the whole town really. Newark is a prettyrough diamond hidden deep in the inneards of New Jersey.

Being born and bred in Manhattan and having toured schools in Trenton,Pennsauken and Camden New Jersey this winter (all can be a white-knuckleexperience for a pale face from the suburbs), Newark didn't worry me... much.

I had a few nervous moments when I realized that, like Camden, residents inNewark have a penchant for taking down street signs. Safe directions musttick off the streets and take you there via phrases peppered with landmarkssuch as, "go four streets down and make a right at the gas station."

Arriving on Lafayette Street I found that new parking rules in effect thisweek made it "permit only" parking and only residents of the neighborhoodcould obtain a permit.

This left teachers in a bind since most are from out of town. The choices:Park blocks away and spend hours filling out those pesky forms with yourvehicle identification number for the police, or park on the playground.

A uniformed guard, one of several at the school, told me to park on theblacktop and have my car locked in behind the high chain link gates with theother cars and children at play.

Yes, children at Lafayette Street School share their playground with carsand two dumpsters and not one single scrap of playground equipment. Not evena basketball hoop. I watched the kindergarten through third grades play outthere in the asphalt/car lot jungle with a few kick balls and jump ropes anda lot of imagination. I thought of my first and second grade sons who, atthat same moment, were at their school on the jungle gyms, swings and withenough equipment to choke several horses.

Contrast make a powerful curative and my cardboard mansionless state seemedto be a non-issue as the day wore on.

Inside the school was clean, neat, as well tended as can be managed by astate run school with hundreds of kids and teachers making up for the lackof wealth and opulence with dogged determination and pride. You know theseteachers are good because they are not screaming. They don't need to. Theyhave actually connected with students in a way that makes them feel likethey are partners in their education and the school is their community.

This school also has a special distinction. On September 11th last yearstudents on the fourth floor stopped in mid-lessons when they saw anairplane slam into the World Trade Center. The classrooms on the fourthfloor facing Manhattan were quickly packed with student sand teachers whowatched the second plane crash and the towers fall.

"They were so upset that children, from the oldest to youngest, were beggingteachers to let them go to the City to help," said Teacher Judy Riccio, whoinvited me and was my tour guide.

These same children were so awed and happy to meet someone from outsideNewark, an author no less (no matter how unknown) you would have thoughtJ.K. Rowling had popped in for tea and story time.

A little girl named Genesis snapped my heartstrings when she gave me alittle note apologizing for not being able to afford one of my books. I gaveher and other pleading eyes their own copies and watched Christmas comeearly. The school's library is a bit book-challenged.

You could hear a pin drop as I read to them. It was like seeing starvingchildren having their plates loaded.

I was there to tell them how storytelling and words are powerful tools. Iwanted them to know that it doesn't matter where or who you come from, ifyou know how to use words you can change things.

Now I would like to put my words where my mouth is and try and make alittle change. If you are a writer, artist or performer and you want tospend a few hours doing something that will make you feel very wealthy andwonderful, please volunteer to visit an inner city school in your state. It's worth the risk. The only thing you are guaranteed to lose is yourheart.

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Contributed by Lisa Suhay suhays@comcast.net(Copyright (c) Lisa Suhay)
Lisa Suhay lives in Southern New Jersey. She is a correspondent for theNew York Times, a columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer, and her books include"Tell Me a Story" life-lesson fables, available fromParaclete Press.Visit the author's site.