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Listen to thisMark Krueger writes: I recently received this e-mail from Gevon Daynuah. It seemed like a perfect moment to share:
I have been working in the field of Child and Youth Care work for the past four years. I began as a student at the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee and was soon hired in the Youth Work Learning Center as an Academic Staff to provide trainings to youth workers or adults who worked with children and youth in various capacities. Although my direct practice with youth was limited, I knew that the core subject matters that I had learned and eventually began teaching over the years would pay off. Then I had this experience, which I call, My Moment of Bliss.
It all started Friday, really. I met with J, the youth work supervisor at the shelter for runaway and homeless youth to discuss my coming on board as a youth counselor/volunteer. I wanted to get some more hands-on experience and get enmeshed in “youth work.” Since my time was limited and I was already fulfilled in my current job I decided that volunteering more than fitting for me.
As J interviewed with questions regarding boundaries, relationships and my passion for children and teens, I felt a sense of confirmation in my being. My answers rolled from my tongue as if someone had revealed the test questions to me the day before the exam. Needless to say, she was ready for me to begin at the start of next week.
On Saturday, I began my first 5 hours out of a 12-hour training required for new volunteers (Wednesday and next Saturday concludes the training sessions). Upon entering the room, I felt a bit tired and groggy, but my mood quickly altered when I saw the seven other volunteers who I imagined, were just as humble and caring since monetary or stipends would not be the motivation in our case. From 9am-2pm, I learned a lot about the shelter as well as other events and advocacy taking place in the community.
On Sunday, my own kids cooked me a breakfast (sausage, toast, and eggs, and apple juice) on a silver platter. Happy Mothers Day! And indeed it was. Upon completing my meal, I kissed my children and let them know that I was starting the first day at my job as a volunteer; to my astonishment they were excited for me. Mom, those kids are not able to be with their moms on Mother’s Day – we don’t mind sharing you for a few hours...
I was scheduled to work from 9am-1pm. I was to go over my checklist of things that are required of me to complete during my four-hour, once-a-week Sunday shift. S, a youth worker, opened the door and gave me a look as if she were disappointed. It was time for her shift to end and she was waiting for L, another youth worker, to arrive and thought that I was a youth coming for a walk-in intake. She was relieved when she discovered I was a new help. The doorbell rang again and S was a bit frustrated because this time it was B, an on-call person who covers when there are a certain number of kids in the house.
S went on to explain the events of the morning and the previous night. She was overwhelmed, I could tell. She mentioned getting ready for her third job. She also seemed to be a bit subjective rather than objective when relating these events to B and me. I was amazed how a person could be present and effective knowing that she has two additional employers to please every day. Once S left, B related the events to L. The entire time we were in the staff office and the kids were finishing up chores, showering and getting dressed for the day. B “gets off” on asserting his authority. I watched as the kids responded, and they were clearly agitated and turned off by his tactics.
B and L obviously wanted little to do with being around the kids. “Gevon why don’t you go up and hang out with the kids, they are not to be unsupervised for periods of time, you can get a feel for them, etc. etc.” There were six kids; the shelter can have up to eight at anytime. One was a 16-year-old African-American girl named A, the others were boys. R was a Caucasian 15-year-old who has OCD; he enjoys electronics, debating and is skeptical about religion. He is a punk and grundge kid and he likes attention. M is a scrawny little guy, African-American 14-year-old. He is not doing the best in school but he is passing, he likes rap music and having fun. He needs help in English class and wants to go to Vincent High School when he finishes up his 8th grade year. L is the only Mexican guy in the house with a rich accent and humble stature. He gets angry though and is willing to punch a guy out when they call him names and constantly pick on him. He attends middle school and he and M play basketball together at the park near the shelter.
X is a 16-year-old African-American and he was released the night before from another shelter across town. Normally he would have to wait 30 days in order to be qualified for a stay, but he was recently enrolled in the TLP (transitional living program). He was allegedly molested by his father and grandfather. He is questioning his sexuality and is an extremely intelligent guy. He is always thinking and already knows exactly what he wants to be when he grows up. He plans to assess, analyze, and do research on computers, businesses and other systems; the job description was easier for me to recall, but the title of this job was to difficult and rare for me to remember.
H is a 14-year-old Caucasian kid who is also into punk. He is gay and often flirting with and prancing around R. R plays with H to rock the boat or perhaps have some sort of power over him. They wear black nail polish and lipstick. H is as frail in his body as I have ever seen a young boy who looks to be suffering from an eating disorder (again I understand my subjectivity). A is a 16-year-old girl who plays the flute and is also taking up dance at the high school of the arts. She is quiet, passive, and more mature than the boys. She waits for her mom (an adoptive mom) to come and pick her up for Mother’s Day. She doesn’t mind being with all boys, because girls can be catty and click up at times.
Just then B enters the upstairs area for the first and last time. “Whose room is this, did you clean the bathroom, get your butt in the showers, take that paper down from the top bunk it looks messy, what is this you are watching?" He continuously gets R’s and H’s names mixed up, I thought if only he sat down for a half-hour and found out as much as I already did about these kids. The point or moral of my story is that this was a revelation in my life – of how things really work, happen or don’t happen, and who, if anyone, is the potential cause of the effect. Ok, I know I am going deep, and again I am not very seasoned and therefore carry more fire and passion, yet what I did seemed so easy – effortlessly to just ask questions and talk. You’d be surprised at what you find out, and just how much a child has and is willing to share. I did, and when I left they wanted to know when I would be back. Although exhausted from working my ass off these past few weeks, this day will be forever stored in memory bank; an affirmation of sorts for me and my spiritual being. It’s official I am a youth worker, a good one at that!
