The intro to Jimmy Hendrix’s rendition of “All along the Watchtower” blares in my head, and I step out of the line and into the first square. As I strut into place, everything is in slow motion and I am pointing across the four square court directly at Jose. Our eyes are locked and I can sense his fear. I generally don’t single kids out, they’re all my enemies on the playground, but this is an exception. Ten minutes ago Jose made the grave mistake of eliminating me moments after I selflessly saved him. It’s time for redemption. I tell him he’s going down and he doesn’t crack a smile because he knows I’m dead serious. Jacob serves the ball and I rip into it with a hint of spin directly at Jose’s feet.

This is a slightly (very slightly) exaggerated snapshot from one of hundreds of four square sessions I’ve had these past two months with my students. Sometimes I feel guilty about calling this work because playing Billy Madison on the playground three times a day is so much fun. It feels like meditation. For an hour or two a day I have no worries as I laugh and play with the kids. Unlike many of us working in education, my regular school day is not very relenting. Although I will begin teaching individuals and small groups of remedial students in the near future, which should prove to be very difficult, I rarely have had to teach my own class thus far. Nonetheless, my placement is not without its own daunting aspects.

In addition to my responsibilities as a teacher’s aid and after school coordinator, I coach the seventh and eighth grade soccer team. Undoubtedly, this has been one of the most frustrating jobs I have ever had. During our last three games we have lost by a combined score of 22-0. There have been moments that I have nearly lost my mind as I convince myself that my players are purposely opposing my instruction to see me turn a darker shade of red, lose the remainder of my voice, or maybe develop an ulcer. But as I watch the opposing team’s soccer moms cheer for their kids and their diehard coaches scheme ways to score another nine goals, I remember why I am here. Not a single parent from Bellesini Academy has showed up for a game. Not even a home game (where, by the way, the field is not lined and must be scoured for broken bottles of Old E and Corona before every game/practice). Furthermore, a recreational soccer league does not exist in the entire city of Lawrence. These kids have never been exposed to a competitive team sport and lack parents who support them in positive, extracurricular activities. As cliche as it may sound, the purpose of my job is not to assemble a winning team, but to expose vulnerable kids to sportsmanship and guide them in an alternative to the streets. So as I watch my goalie throw the ball into the back of his defenders head, knocking him to the ground and giving the other team an open shot on net, I take comfort in knowing that these children are actively being saved.

While I have dedicated my blog entry to Bellesini Academy, it is, of course, only one aspect of my volunteer experience. The spiritual facet of my life is as intense and influential as it has ever been. I also belong to a community alongside three special people that I have had the unparalleled pleasure of getting to know. Opening more doors within each other is the most highly anticipated development to come this year. I am having an incredible volunteer experience and I look forward to reuniting with the greater community in January. During our retreat, I plan on imposing four square participation upon anyone who wants to remain my friend. On that note, I advise you to start training for the competition now, unless you want to end up like Jose.

Brian O’Neill

Lawrence, MA 2006-2007

I asked for strength
and God gave me difficulties.
I asked for wisdom
and God gave me problems to solve.
I asked for prosperity
and God gave me brain and brawn to work with.
I asked for courage
and God gave me danger to overcome.
I asked for love
and God gave me troubled people to help.
I asked for favors
and God gave me opportunities.
I received nothing I wanted
I received everything I needed
~Islamic prayer

Lindsey included this prayer one evening with our community and I can truly attest to its every line. Strength, wisdom, prosperity, courage, love, and favors are among the many things we do often pray for. Certainly these are the things I fervently include in my pleas to God as I begin my year in the Bronx. Challenging, frustrating, rewarding, exciting, scary are my initial reactions for this mid-October evaluation of what I’ve been doing, how I’ve been doing, but most importantly, why I’ve been doing it. With the hustle of developing routine, adjusting to my new teaching role, and enjoying the four fabulous people I’ve been blessed to call roommates - it goes without saying that difficulty often lies in finding time for reflection.

Yet, reflection is more than necessary to digest everything that takes place throughout the day. Some days are overwhelmingly difficult. I doubt myself and my capabilities and I question if I am really doing the very best I can. Sometimes among these widely human frustrations, we feel as though God gives us nothing that we ask for. Things are not getting easier. Problems just won’t disappear. After some reflection, however, we realize we have absolutely everything we need.

I have everything I need to be a teacher. I may not have the degree of proper training, but I have the heart, and my heart has been formed by love. It is a daunting task to stand in front of these classrooms filled with adolescent attitude so big you can see it coming from a mile away. Teaching Spanish to a widely Hispanic student population requires strength I never knew I had. Yet, the weariness I may feel on some days is inviting - it invites me to awaken myself to my daily encounters. Maybe the challenges I face at the front of the classroom are nothing compared to what some of my students may face at home. Some may learn nothing from me by the end of this, but if I am successful in teaching them one thing, I pray that they gain a greater sense of respect - a respect for learning, a respect for the people who are teaching them to love learning, and most importantly I hope they learn to respect themselves.

As I left a 4th grade art class, one student told me I was the best teacher in the world, and the kindergarten usually cheers loudly upon my Friday morning arrival. While some Spanish students (the spastic 6th graders) are eager to see me, most are reluctant to take out their books and heavy eye-rolling usually accompanies the start of our Spanish prayers. My days are varied from making puppets in art class, to hosting detention for unruly 7th graders, and then to leading exciting tournaments of “Go-Fish” with after-school kids. As my roles change throughout the day, I know God remains with me through it all, maintaining my spirits and blessing my efforts.

I am grateful for this year, how it has begun, and for the amazing things that are in store for me. I thank God everyday for the wonderful people He has placed in my life. I have found great company and solace in the people I live with. Brian, Pete, Lindsey, and Lauren are amazing individuals and I could not have asked for better people to share this experience with. Thus far, the time we’ve shared exploring the city, sitting on the couch, praying together, or just doing our “Bronx thang” have been fruitful blessings as we grow closer as a community.

Today is October 20th and I am a teacher in the Bronx - Thank you God for giving me everything I need.

Melanie Stevens

Bronx, NY 2006-2007

As I bent down to tie a student’s shoelaces for about the fifth time that day, I felt a little hand gently touching my head. “Miss Heather, I really like your hair.” With moments like this one, it’s not surprising that I love my volunteer placement. Even on the most frustrating of days, a smile or hug from one of my kids reminds me of what’s really important. I work as an aide in the Pre-kindergarten class at St. Margaret of Scotland School here on the South Side of Chicago. My day is spent with 20 three and four year olds, who never cease to entertain me. While it took me some time to learn and remember all of their names (try differentiating Aahniyah, Kaniya, Timaya and Daruis, Darren, and Darion), I now know not only their names, but also their personalities, habits, voices, and needs. I love overhearing the conversations they have with each other and watching the social interactions unfold. My happiness at my work site would not be possible without the support of my three housemates. So when art projects take a disastrous turn or two boys simultaneously burst into tears in the bathroom, it’s easier to handle knowing that I can walk up to the computer lab at the end of the day and share my ups and downs with Mr. Liva. Each one of us has experienced frustrations and struggles, but we can always count on words of encouragement and support when we finally arrive home at 2557 W. 104th St. And for that, I am so grateful.

Heather Stickney

Chicago, IL 2006-2007

“Get your butts out of bed!” It’s 7am on a Saturday morning and I’m exhausted. Cracking open my eyes I see Deke, our site supervisor, standing in the middle of my room. “It’s time for surfing” he says and walks out.
Surprising is the only way to describe my first month in San Diego. Never before have I lived with five others in a spiritual community. Never before have I crossed the border 3 times a week. Never before have I been woken up by a Deacon wanting to surf. Although I had to politely decline Deke’s invite, (I work at the orphanage on Saturdays) life here is always exciting. Working three jobs allows me to do something different every single day.

Two days a week I work as a PE teacher with Anthony my roommate at St. Patrick’s, a small Catholic grade school with a big heart. We were both welcomed with open arms and large smiles. Since starting there I have learned the importance of a whistle and how it can make the difference in having a voice at the end of the day. St. Pat’s has also answered some very important questions in my life; like what really happens behind closed doors in a teachers lounge. Working with kindergarten through 8^th graders makes each hour different and exciting. At any point I could be the referee in a heated game of soccer or capture the flag while 45 minutes later be the goose chasing the duck around the circle.
El Hogar Infantile Orphanage inspires me everyday. Although from our front door I only travel 17 miles to cross the border, you would think I was in a different part of the world. Tijuana, like many Mexican cities, is spread out and disorganized. The houses are slightly nicer than shacks and trash is littered everywhere. And yet I see beauty. The kid’s affection is captivating and instantly brightens any bad day. My roommate Keeley and I help in any task assigned to us. She often changes diapers or plays with the babies while I do maintenance or gardening until the older kids come back from school. The kids exhaust me but I leave feeling fulfilled, like we accomplished something.

Things also move slower here, including the line at the border to get back into the US. I wait in this line at least 3 times a week coming back from the orphanage and it’s never a dull experience. While driving up you can buy anything from a picture of Mary holding Pope JP2, painted children’s desks, or my new favorite food, churros. The border is just like going through customs in an airport except there are many more questions. Most Americans just go to Mexico to party and drink so it’s a little hard for the border patrol to understand what I do down there. “You volunteer at an Orphanage? For no money? Are you crazy?” These are the questions I get almost every time. My personal favorite was from a guard last week who was very concerned about my teeth. “So let me get this straight, you make absolutely no money.” None I said. “But how will you buy your toothpaste?”

Zack Zweber

San Diego, CA 2006-2007

Wow. Where do I begin to talk about the many frustrations that I have felt since arriving in South Africa?

Hospitals in South Africa can be one of the most frustrating experiences. There are cues everywhere and no one seems to be moving. On one occasion I accompanied one of my roommates to the hospital because it was over an hour away and she had never been there before. The day started at 5:30 am. We were told that the patient had an appointment to get her results back from blood tests and x-rays at 9:00 am. We arrived at the hospital a little after 7 am and waited in a cue to get her medical file. After that we were told that her appointment was in room 5. After looking for that room, we were told that room 5 no longer existed and we needed to get in cue. After waiting for an hour the patient walked to another room and then was told that she already had all the tests completed and we just needed to wait for the doctor to arrive to read the results and then we could be on our way. Logically our next question was when are the doctors supposed to arrive. She replied 11 am. It was 9 am. At 11:20 am the doctors began to call names. At this point, the patient was getting tired. The doctor informed us that they had lost all the tests and they needed to be redone. After a frustrated laugh, we took the patient where she needed to go. Forty minutes later, we were completed and waiting to see the doctor again so that he could read the result. After waiting another hour we asked the nurse how long results took to get back. She informed us two to three hours. At this point, I left the hospital in search of food for the three of us. I returned and found out that the doctors had all gone to lunch. This was at 1:30 pm. I couldn’t believe it they had only been working for two and half hours. At 3:00 pm, we were finally seen and the results were read. An Appointment that was supposed to take about 3 or 4 hours with travel ended up taking 11 hours with travel time.
This is just one example of the daily frustration that we and all the people here in South Africa face each day. Here is a list of other frustrations:

- 5 donated computers on Monday. 4 stolen by Wednesday.
- Watching people wait hours to catch a Kombi to take a ride that should take 15 minutes, but rather they have to transfer in Pinetown so it takes an hour or more
- Someone trying to break into the house only a month after we got here
- Seeing children go hungry
- Children not being able to afford tuition for school. Its 75 rand for the year. Only 10 US dollars
- Seeing a disease ravage someone’s body
- Seeing a child get hit by a parent
- Listening to children say that they will not go to the local High School because it is that big of a joke and they know that they will not learn anything, but also knowing that other high schools cost 10,000 rand to go to
- Having a roommate try desperately to get one of the students into a good high school, but because of his age being denied left and right.
- The list could go on for a while

The funny thing though is that all those frustrations go right out the window with the smallest of things. Listening to the children of St. Leo’s singing in the morning, reading a book with one of the children of St. Theresa’s, or just putting a smile on a person face that is dying from AIDS. Yesterday we had a farewell at St. Leo’s and even though some the children would not eat that day, they still sang and danced and continued to make us feel welcome. From the first day to the last, the people of Molweni and Kloof have made us feel a part of their community and that acceptance and welcoming has made it much easier to deal with the frustraions of everyday life in South Africa, and instead of giving up, continuing to learn from and help where we can.

Pat DiDomenico

South Africa 2005-2006

There is a place that exists, hidden from the rest of the world by a formidable mountain rage, forgotten, or maybe, simply, yet to be acknowledged. Lacking electricity, the millions of stars that appear every night in the heavens are the only primetime shows the people have ever known. Survival depends on the land, thus the weather dictates the extremity of the poverty these people are exposed to daily. The sunrise can find a whole family huddled in their small kitchen with no windows or ventilation, braving the smoke for a chance to sit closer to the fire while tortillas are flipped in the skillet. Silence becomes a remarkable companion for anyone visiting from below, who has unconsciously become accustomed to a constant stream of noises and distractions.

Up until two weeks ago I had no idea that a place like the Meseta Andia existed. I had heard tales from my good friend Padre Kevin (a Priest from England) who has made two visits to “Las Altura” (the Heights, as the Meseta Andina is referred to by the people in the town below). Padre Kevin works in the Parish of Frias in the Andes Mountains. His parish includes about 100 small pueblos scattered throughout the mountainous terrain, 14 of which are on the Meseta. Padre Kevin, along with the another Peruvian Priest, deacon, and 3 Marist Sisters spend much of their time traveling to each pueblito, ensuring that each one is visited by a priest or nun at least once a year. Padre Kevin showed us pictures and told us tales of sitting around for hours waiting for the person from the next town to come with the horses to lead you to the next pubelito, eating small potatoes, cheese, and tortillas for breakfast lunch and dinner, and staying in the house of a local, sharing food, shelter, and sometimes a bed with these generous people, willing to share what little they have. The stories were impressive, they sparked my imagination and my interest, but they were never able to convey the immense beauty of the Meseta and the people who have made it their home.

Padre Kevin invited my roommates and me to experience the Meseta, accompanying him on one of his pastoral visits. Brenden and I traveled with Padre Kevin while Roger and Ellen went with Hermana Palepa on her visits. We planned to visit three villages, helping Padre Kevin to hold meetings, talk to school children, hold mass, and, yes, sing (a lot). Walking up to the Meseta, it is hard to imagine that anyone lives on the summit of the mountain peaks. The five hour walk up seems to lead to a dead end, the top of the mountain, and nothing more, but the efforts are rewarded, and as the last bend of the trail opens up a whole different world is revealed. As though from a storybook, green hills and small brooks and bright flowers can be found 3,000 meters up, at the summit of a mountain. This place is so cut off from the outside world, only accessible by foot or horse due to a heavy rainy season, it is a sensation unlike any other, as though you have been lead into a different world, where time is slower, and the petty stresses of the world below become insignificant.

In our 4 days, we were welcomed warmly into three different, yet beautiful and generous families. I never appreciated the simple beauty of a mass, a blessing I have taken for granted my whole life, until I celebrated with people who know that this is their own chance to receive Eucharist, talk with a Priest, and celebrate sacraments for an entire year. After mass, instead of rushing off to their busy lives, the people gather, and out of nowhere they begin to pull out food, whatever they may have, and put it all on a table. The people who have just shared the Bread of Christ break the bread of their own hands, of their own sweat, and of their own land; with their neighbors. The food my appear meager by normal standards, but becomes, like the loaves and the fishes, sufficient to feed all of the eager mouths, and everyone leaves knowing they have eaten food given and made of love, shared with neighbors and friends.

Our experience in “Las Alturas” was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity. It opened for me new perspectives and expanded my understanding of the world in which we live. I will never forget the people I encountered on the Meseta. Though I doubt I will ever be able to make the trip again, it is a memory I will return to countless times in my life. The tranquility and peace I felt during my visit is something I will always remember and strive to maintain despite the stresses and distractions the sometimes try to overpower.

Katie Pheasant

Chulucanas, Peru 2005-2006

At the beginning of this year I had the privilege to meet an extraordinary man, Brother Steve. Brother Steve was a warm and welcoming man that I felt I had an instant rapport with our love of history. The first time he came over we talked for hours about the civil war and WWII, and he was one of the most knowledgeable men I have ever encountered. Even though the man knew pretty much everything about anything related to history, he was still interested in my thoughts and would try to show me different angles that I hadn’t thought. He was always teaching, inside a classroom or out. Our discussion just kept going and going to the point that Father Steve and Father Gary had to drag him out. I was really looking forward to, hopefully, countless other nights where I could pick his brain and just listen to the innumerable stories.

Unfortunately, Brother Steve didn’t have that much time left. Those countless conversations and story telling were coming to an end. Brother Steve began to fall apart from a vigorous man that loved hiking, sailing and various other activities to a man that could barely walk around the grounds of the classroom. Around the beginning of October he had to use oxygen everywhere he went and his movement decreased every day. He forcibly would smile and make conversation but under labored breaths and a pain that could not be concealed. Brother Steve in his free time loved reenacting battles, and he would send me pictures of him in his uniform blowing up a Sherman tank or firing on Pickett’s charge.

One dinner at the beginning of October Brother Steve showed serious signs of deterioration, but the moment I asked about his various war related trinkets around the house he jumped right up and told me everything he could. He gave me a tour of the house even though he could barely walk and he made sure to show me his various battle uniforms. After that dinner I didn’t really hear from Brother Steve until I heard he was in the hospital. I heard from the rumor mill that he should just be there for a week or two and then see if he could still go to Washington for his sabbatical. Maureen, Jenn and myself went to visit him that first weekend. The sight of the ICU and people hooked up to all those machines only brought back memories of my grandmother’s death and her summer long struggle. The sight of Brother Steve only compounded these thoughts into things were not as I heard or hoped. This brilliant man that I was looking forward to getting to know looked even worse than before.

Jenn brought a couple treats for him including some candy and some historical magazines including one article on Napoleon and other famous leaders. I remember wanting to read it after Brother Steve was done with it. Brother Steve perked right up after he saw us and tried to make small talk with our usual banter, but he clearly didn’t have the energy. When we were leaving I said something like you better get back to Saints soon because Deke needs somebody to keep him out of trouble. This little innocuous comment made him chuckle, and then we said our goodbyes.

A couple days later he was dead. My hope that he would get better and we could continue to get to know each other was over. At the funeral as the volunteers approached the casket we saw something that surprised us. A rosary that we had made for him during one our prayers was held tightly in his hand. This vision made me realize that this is why I volunteer. The little actions that seem inconsequential and just seem like nice little gestures can mean the world to someone. Later I was told that Jenn, Maureen and myself were the last visitors Brother Steve had before they began giving him heavy drugs and put him on a ventilator. Maybe the little chuckle I got out of him was his last, and my presence and this year seemed to have a purpose. Just those little things might have meant the world to Brother Steve. The door you hold for a stranger. The smile at a passerbyer. The smallest gestures can make the biggest difference.

Charley Connolly

San Diego, CA 2005-2006

Greetings from Chi-Town! It may be spring but it has been quite chilly out here in Chicago, however the roomies (shout out to L-Train, Bry-Guy, & KT - BOOYAH!) and I have been busy with what this wonderful city has to offer. I hope that you are all well and living each day to the fullest enjoying each others company, ministry, and city for the end of May is rapidly approaching and time is precious. In receiving the dreaded email from April (you know I love you), I would be lying if I said that I had not thought about writing this blog and after much thought and consideration I want to share with you a piece of my SOUTH SIDE experience. Nine months ago if someone asked me what this year would be like, I would have painted an entirely different picture. That picture would have been jaded and a lot less colorful. It is simply through the people I have met while living here in the South Side that I am who I am today.

I would be here forever if I described to you each person I have met along this journey, however I do want to share with you a day in the life of one of my teenage clients. My clients range from 14-18 years old and all experience unplanned pregnancies. My girls have experienced so much more than I ever had to deal with as a teenager. I want to give you some insight on one of my favorites… Judith approached me to help her organize her thoughts and ideas to enter a contest for scholarship money to help pay for college specially for teenage mothers. Week after week Judith would bring me scraps of paper with her raw emotions written on them asking my opinion and advice. Below is HER finished product. HER words. HER emotions that won her a full ride to attend college this fall. With her permission, I want to share a piece of her with you. Looking back to October, I met a shy 17-year old girl whose self-esteem was shattered and was at one of her lowest points, however today she has blossomed into a beautiful young lady who is smart, confident, and ready to conquer the world. Judith let me into her world one day at a time and touched my heart. She has forever changed me and I will never forget her.

A Letter to God : by Judith M.

“God give me the strength to keep on trying
To keep me healthy away from dying
Help me wash away my sins
So my new life can soon begin
So I can graduate on time
And keep them silly boys off my mind
To get a good job and take care of my child
And keep her off the streets from running wild
To teach her how all men ain’t good
Especially the ones in your hood
To take care of herself and be on her P’s and Q’s
So you won’t have to worry about no one but you
To get a good job and take care of herself
And tell them boys you can do bad all by yourself
How not to depend on no one and be independent
And to budget her money not to be out just spending it
So I can be proud of the child I raised
And not have to worry about how she behaves
I put my worries on these lines
Now they will be left behind
Now I feel so much better
Thank you God for helping me write this letter.”

Failure is not defeat unless you stop trying. If we reamin focused on our task or assignment no matter how difficult, we will surely reap a good reward for our efforts. Every great leader must have this combination. David’s excellent leadership combined both heart and art. To have one without the other leads to failure. “So he shephered them according to the integrity of his heart, and gudied them by the skillfulness of his hands.” (Psalm 78:72) This has been one of the biggest lessons I try to instill in each one of my clients who in their own way have touched my heart. Judith has remained focused and reminds me that change is possible.

Thank you for letting me share her with you!
LoveAlways,
Bri-Ski

Brianna Grande

Chicago 2005-2006

So there is this 5th grader named Kody at Bellesini (the school I teach at) who is one of the funniest kids I’ve ever met. For some strange reason, he refuses to say anything to me but his two famous catch-phrases “I hate you” and “You’re not my friend”. While these statements may seem bitter on paper, coming out of his mouth they’re priceless. Ever since the school year began, I have been really kind to this kid, to the point of being a cheesy teacher. I frequently single him out in a crowd and say “Have a great day Kody!”, just so I can hear the classic “You’re not my friend! I hate you!” The kid is well-liked in the school, and despite sounding angry, is actually a quite goofy, happy-go-lucky boy. He is one of the many kids I’m going to miss when the year is over…

Euris is a gifted student. I’ve been teaching him Algebra all year. He’s in 8th grade, and due to his intelligence is in a math and science class by himself. He is my only student for 1st period. I can not emphasize enough how much of a treat it’s been to get to know this guy. You would think Euris wouldn’t be too popular because the kids would be jealous of him. It’s quite the opposite. He is the best basketball, soccer, and baseball player in the school. He is also one of the quietest kids I know. The students (and staff) love him because of his gentle demeanor. He is very athletic and friendly to everyone. I haven’t met a soul at Bellesini who doesn’t respect and look up to him. I look forward to seeing him graduate next month, as he prepares to go to one of the best private high schools in the state.

When I think about this year and the work that I’ve done, what sticks out the most to me is the time I’ve spend getting to know these kids. The school is 85 percent Dominican - I’ve never met more people from DR (Dominican Republic) in my life. It’s been a blessing because I’ve formed a lot of great friendships with people ten years younger than me.

Talking to 7th grader Alvaro about the White Sox, or getting drawings from 5th grader Kevin (arguably the most genuine and happiest kid I’ve ever met) are just a few more examples of what I am going to miss about this year.

I spend the afternoons with Mary at Merrimack College. My primary role was to drive volunteers to their designated sites each week. Since the students are taking finals this week, and summer begins for them on Saturday, my duties for the college are coming to a close. I enjoyed being surrounded by a great group of students every afternoon in our sweet white van.

The year has gone by fast - I still have no definite plans for next fall (currently looking for jobs in Philly), but I have no regrets, and have had a great time here in Lawrence. As I ponder about the highlight for the whole year, the same night keeps coming to mind - the four of us were relaxing at this beach house during Veterans Day weekend) when the subject of Mary’s lover got brought up. I picked up my guitar and wrote a delicate tune about him called “The Bongo Song”. It was a glorious night. We’ll miss you Kip.

It’s been a good year, Chris

Chris Pusinelli

Lawrence, MA 2005-2006

May has arrived the last full month at our work sites and I’m already having moments of nostalgia for the experiences of this year. During certain routine moments of the day, I think of little things that I’m going to miss in the future, especially the things that I know are unique to the Bronx or the Augustinian program. I thought I’d share a few of them…

7:00 AM weekdays- Hopefully around this time I am stepping out onto Andrews Ave. for a morning run. Running in the Bronx is not the easiest thing to do, but it is often an interesting one. I enjoy watching the streets wake up and come to life. When I head out, it’s rather quiet; there are just a few shopkeepers sweeping in front of their stores, sleepy-faced people waiting for the bus, and crates of chickens uncomfortably waiting in front of the live poultry shop, but the longer I trot along, the more the obstacles and noises increase and, before I know it, the sun is shining strongly and another day is in full swing. The path back is filled with kids in uniforms, rushing parents, street vendors, people with flyers, buses, car horns, and maybe some lively music. It’s a good way to start the day, especially when one of those kids or parents shares a smile and greeting, helping me feel like I am part of the community that I work in.

2:30 PM weekdays- I will be the first to admit that afterschool at St. Nick’s is not a piece of cake, but the way it starts off never fails to bring a smile to my face. No matter who you scolded or put in time-out the day before, all is forgiven, and this time of day is marked by getting nearly trampled by a group of kids rushing to hug you, hold your hand and tell you they missed you. It is really one of the sweetest things I have ever experienced. They also say the funniest things, as I’m sure the rest of you working with kids has noticed. One kindergartener told me he couldn’t help biting his cheeks while eating because his eyes were not in his mouth.

5:30 PM Mondays- I really like Monday nights. Sara, Jackie, Alyssa, and I get out of work and head next door to the priests’ for dinner. It is fun sharing a “social hour” and meal with our neighboring Augustinians. There is a nice mix of distinctive personalities around the dinner table, which can make conversation quite engaging at times. After dinner we have our community meeting and prayer and I think it is an excellent way to reconnect and regroup, especially if we had conflicting schedules over the weekend. I think our Monday night routine is reflective of the benefits Augustinian community life: we enjoy each other’s company (over a good meal, no less), discuss and hopefully resolve whatever issues there might be and then are able to share our faith with each other.

These are but a few of the many moments that I will miss when this volunteer year is over, but they are the first that came to mind and I hope you enjoyed reading them

Meredith Duval

Bronx, NY 2005-2006