by Sarah Welch posted in Life & Home
I don’t remember exactly the first time I helped out in a soup kitchen or visited a nursing home to spread some child-like cheer to the residents.
But I was young. Definitely somewhere between five and seven.
A Lasting Memory
There was one nursing home visit in particular that left quite an impression. It was Easter time and there was a “party” going on in the common room.
The decor was a cross between that shiny-yet-dreary hospital grey and Friendly’s Ice Cream Parlor. The scents of bland, steamed cafeteria food, industrial floor cleaner and urine mixed together in odd scent pockets that assaulted my sensitive, young nostrils and seared my brain with the memory. My brother and I were cornered in the lounge area by an older gentleman and his lady friend. They both had dementia and proceeded to speak to us in non-sequiturs and half-laughs.
Mom, a physician, had left the common area to check on a patient, so the two of us had to figure out a path forward independently. We nodded along with their banter as earnestly as we could for a few minutes, eyes darting, looking for a plausible exit.
There wasn’t one. We nibbled our cookies and sipped our ginger ale nervously.
It was sad and funny all at once.
Ultimately we had no choice but to surrender to the awkwardness and patiently listen to the two of them reminisce. We comprehended little. I have no idea how long we stood there. Probably 15 minutes. But to little me, it felt like 500.
Invaluable Life Lessons
Looking back on it as an adult, I often wondered what my mom was thinking bringing us to visit the residents of nursing homes like that one. It wasn’t pleasant. What did it accomplish? Not much on the surface.
And yet.
As I turn the memory over in my head for the thousandth time, I see.
Little me got a front seat to the spectrum of life.
I learned, viscerally, that brains and bodies eventually fail. And not all in the same way or at the same time. I could see there were souls in those gnarled old bodies. Souls that needed to be looked at, cared for, listened to. I learned how to be present and compassionate in spite of my own discomfort. Not to look away, ignore, sweep under the carpet.
Pretty awesome lessons if you ask me. And there’s no way I could ever have learned them by reading a book or watching a video on the topic. Or sitting in a pew for that matter.
As my oldest child approaches 6, I’ve been thinking a lot about how to give him his own front row seat to the spectrum of life. The mama bear in me wants to shield him from anything that might make him uncomfortable or squeamish. And the other half of me knows that if I do, I am only cheating him.
When do you think it’s appropriate for your child to start volunteering? What kind of volunteer work do you or will you encourage your child to do? Why?
Read more from source:“babycenter”
volunteering when should kids start
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