The first twenty minutes hadn't been great. I stood in front of the 5th-grade class, most of them looking bored, and tried my best to make pre-writing fun. Pre-writing isn't fun. Graphic organizers are boring. Webs with bubbles and phrases like "How did it feel?" and "What could I hear?" and "What did I see?" are the worst part of writing. Most writers I know skip pre-writing altogether, but 5th-graders aren't most writers. They're eleven-year-olds with a standardized test coming up in two weeks.

"Close your eyes," I said. "Go to your favorite place in Charleston. Pretend you're blindfolded, standing still. Now listen. Listen to everything going on around you." I gave them one minute to listen. Half of the students opened their eyes and stared, confused. One boy in the back corner started swaying, with a smile, Ray Charles at a piano.

"Now open your eyes and fill in the bubbles. What did you hear?" Volunteers were sitting with the students, helping them focus. We were trying to help them learn to paint with words, to go beyond hearing "people" and instead hear a child laughing while they're running from a wave, or people telling the server they want the buffet in the Chinese restaurant.

We were disappointed. They heard "people". With a lot of prodding they finally heard "people talking". They tasted "hot food". Only one girl offered an over-the-top feeling of "seashells that feel like knives poking my feet until I’m about to die."

One boy, Nathan, tapped me on my arm while I was helping a girl describe an amusement park.
"I'm done," he said.
"You're done?"
"Yeah," he nodded, holding up his paper as proof. Three quarters of the page was filled with double-spaced lines.
"I can't wait to read it," I told him. "I'll come over in just a minute."

When I finished helping the girl, I walked over to Nathan's desk. He smiled and stood up beside his chair.
"See?" he asked, holding up his paper again.
"I see that. Let me read it."
I stood beside him and read. It wasn't very good, but I could see that he had really tried. He wrote about Ryan's, a buffet in West Ashley, and described the "comfortable chair" and the "hard plates" and the "wet water." I finished reading and reminded myself that for every discouraging day like this, there are three other days where you can see the students improving, catching up to national standards, discovering their voice and learning to love it. I looked around the room at a few of the other students, some talking, some fighting over a pencil. I thought about how hard it must be for one teacher to get anything accomplished. We have fewer volunteers working in this class than any other we go to. It's one volunteer to five kids, and even this ratio is almost impossible.

I handed his paper back to him, and smiled. "I'm proud of you. Thanks for putting in the work." I gave him a high-five.
"I wish you were my dad," he told me.
I'd never talked to Nathan before. He's always been in another volunteer's group. It was only the second day I even remember seeing him.
"Really? Why?"
"Because you're nice."
"Your dad's not nice?"
"He's nice, but he's never said that."
I stood there for a few more seconds, a little uncomfortable, not sure what to say. Nathan sat down and started to write his name and the date on top of his paper.

When we left the class I started thinking about my dad, and how we're going to Florida in two weeks to watch some spring training baseball games, the way we did when I was a kid. I thought about all of the times he told me he was proud of me when I was growing up, even when I struck out, or ran too slow. I thought about last Father's Day when I called home. He told me I was his hero. I was 29 years old and felt like a failure. Most of the things I'd tried in my life hadn't worked out. I'd made less money that year than I did my junior year of high school. To him, it didn't matter. His son was his hero.

****

I drove to the next school we were going to that day, and sat in my car until it was time to go in. I couldn't quit thinking about Nathan, and how sad it was that it took so little to fill such a huge need in his life. A high-five. Ten words. Why do some parents leave such a gaping void in their child's heart, one so big that a high-five and ten words can seep in and explode into a stranger becoming family?

For the next two hours, I stopped caring about 4th and 5th grade national standards for writing, and stopped begging students not to start a story with "This is a story about". Instead, I looked around at all of the volunteers, and the students huddled around their tables. I saw Maliek, who I swear you would not be able to see him smile the way he does when you mention a fire truck and not want to make his life perfect. One of our volunteers, Nicole, took Maliek and several of his friends Christmas shopping a few months ago. He spent the money she gave him on his family, and only bought one little fire truck for himself. I saw Jabril, a 5th grader that has built such a strong bond with another volunteer that he cried when he found out she had to miss that day. Not just a tear or two, but a puddle of tears pooled on a round wooden library table. It was my favorite two hours of SideWalk Chalk all year. Looking around the room, I remembered why we are here. We help students create. Stories. Art. Life.

A teacher in one of the classes we partner with told me this morning that every student's score in her class went up on their mid-year MAP test. The measurable results feel good, and help us win grants and all of that stuff, but the results there are no tests for are the ones we're really after. Confidence. Hope. Fire truck smiles.

A few weeks ago, a volunteer had to come late to a session in a new school. It was only our second week there. When she opened the door the classroom erupted in cheers. It doesn't take much. A high-five. Ten words. Coming back a second time.
It takes so little.

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The second time SideWalk went into a 4th grade classroom to lead a writing workshop we were early. The guidance counselor was reading a story to the kids, all crowded on the reading carpet in the front of the room. Our six volunteers sat with them. The story was about a young boy, his mother, and younger sister who were moving to a motel to escape an abusive father. None of the children were shocked.

"What should the mother do?" the guidance counselor asked.

The girl sitting next to me raised her hand. "She should get another boyfriend again."

Another boy raised his hand. "I have a question," he said. "Why does the daddy beat the kids, too, and not just the mom?"

It was the most heartbreaking, and eyeopening moment I've experienced over the last year and a half. When I was in 4th grade, the teacher read us a children's version of The Count of Monte Cristo. She poured each of us a cup of popcorn and gave us a comprehension quiz once she finished.

Adolescent illiteracy has been a hot topic the last few months, as this Post and Courier series of articles illustrates. The biggest lesson we at SideWalk learned during our first year: the lack of literacy in our children's lives is not due to unqualified or uncaring teachers. We've had the privilege of working with some of the most dedicated, caring, invested teachers you can imagine; one of whom was mentioned in the above linked series.

I don't pretend to know the cause of the problem. I'm sure there isn't just one. Many of these students are fighting an uphill battle. They come from broken families, have one or more parents who ran away, or have addictions. Not all of them. Some have great families, with parents, aunts, grandparents all doing their part.

But it's hard to focus on learning to read and write when, in all honesty, you have more pressing things to worry about.

So the solution: us. Not "us" as in SideWalk Chalk. "Us" as in "you and me." SideWalk is working, there's no doubt about that. Our students' scores are rising. They're gaining confidence in their ability to write, discovering their voice, and mastering state and national ELA standards. But we're not the only way.

Maybe you can't volunteer with SideWalk Chalk two hours a week, or even donate to keep our programs alive, but you can find and do your part. Our schools need our neighborhoods, and our neighborhoods need our schools. What I'm trying to say, as kindly but sincerely as possible, is if you're not personally sacrificing to be part of the solution, you may not be the problem, but you have no right to complain. So set up a meeting with the principal at your closest elementary, middle, or high school. Get to know the teachers. Find out how you can help. Learn the names of the students. Read with them. Show them how to form a paragraph, and then show them again. Pass out high-fives like they cured illiteracy. Maybe they do. There is a way to help.

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Warren wrote a play. He starred in it, too. Considering the fact that a month before, Warren had been too shy to raise his eyes from the ground, too intimidated to speak to his peers, or the fifteen SideWalk Chalk volunteers that showed up at his school to provide a summer camp, it was a pretty big deal.

It took a lot of work - not just on Warren's part but all the volunteers as well. We met at 7:30 each morning, made the trip to Edisto, spent the day with sixty elementary school students, drove home, and went to our night jobs. We raised $10,000 for art supplies, meals for campers, workshop leaders, and all the other unexpected bills that add up when you're running a camp.

Some days, it didn't seem like it was worth it; but that day - standing off to the side of the stage, watching Warren stare at the crowd of 150 when the curtain opened - I knew it was. It took him ten long seconds to take it in, and then he spoke. It was the highlight of my summer.

After the play, after all the art displays had been taken off the wall, when the parents and campers and community members were leaving I saw Warren walking with his mom to their car.

"Warren!" I yelled. They turned around. "Did you hear how loud those cheers were?"

His mother wrapped her arm around him and pulled him close, laughing this laugh that happens when you're proud past words. He looked at me and smiled.

It was all worth it. It reminded me of why SideWalk Chalk exists, and what we're trying to do. We want the students of our under-resourced schools to know they have a voice. We want them to learn to communicate, so they can have a better future. We want to break the cycle. And it reminded me of my job - our job. To leverage what we have for someone else. To give something we thought we needed away - time, money, talent. That's why we're excited about the Charity Classic, and our partnership with the Harbour Club this year. You'll be helping SideWalk reach 600 students every single week. That's a lot of voices. A lot of futures. Thank you. Really.

Labels: giving

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Holy humid hot days. Summer. But even the sweat soaking our shirts can't weigh us down. Here's some good news:

SideWalk chosen as the Harbour Club's Charity Partner for 2009.
Each year, Charleston's Harbour Club sticks their hand in a hat and draws out a non-profit's name. Not really. The truth is there were try-outs. Lucky for us, they didn't involve basketballs. Harbour Club invited several of Charleston's most respected non-profits to meet with their Young Executive Board and discuss the work they're doing in the community. We bribed one of our young writers to go with us, by promising her a delicious Chinese buffet dinner, and promising her mom we would have her home by seven, make her wear her seatbelt, and not text while we drove. She read a story - a story filled with intrigue, missing teachers, and orangey-gooey clues. We talked about the fun we've had, our past success, and our hopes for the future. John wore cufflinks. Harbour Club saves the day.
There's a golf tournament in the works (October 23 - 24) as well as several smaller events throughout the year. Proceeds from these will go towards providing our "SideWalk Writes the Future" workshop during the 2009 - 2010 school year.

Dear Mr. Bedford.
We're proud to announce the winners of the "Dear Mr. Bedford" persuasive writing contest. The 4th graders at Mitchell spent three "SideWalk Writes the Future" sessions writing perfectly constructed letters, asking Mr. Bedford to pick a 4th grader of the year. They cajoled, urged, wheedled him into making his choice. They provided evidence, sound reasoning, even witty comments supporting why their candidate was the best choice. He picked two students, based on their letters. Our facebook group picked the two authors whose letters moved them the most.
The winners:
4th Graders of the Year: Shamar, Jamarie
Young Authors Award: Chanquashia, JaDejauh
These 4 students won an all expense paid trip to Chucky Cheese with the Mitchell SideWalk team, where they enjoyed spending all of our gas money on skee-ball, and won enough tickets to buy a few Tootsie Rolls, a rocket launcher, and a bag of cotton candy. Congrats 4th graders!

Create
It's almost July, which means it's time for our Summer Art Camp on Edisto Island. Students at Jane Edwards Elementary will spend the month writing and starring in plays, crafting memorable short stories, painting murals on the walls of the school, planting a reading garden, getting high-fives, and enjoying moments of air-conditioning mixed with a healthy amount of kickball.

600+
That's the number of students SideWalk will be working with each week next school year. Every one of these students will receive regular one-on-one attention, discover their voice, and become published authors. We'd love to have you join us for that. It takes a lot of resources to make this possible: lots of volunteers in the schools, lots of help writing grants and putting on events, lots of $25 donations. We have a lot of fun being involved, and you would too. The kids to help, encourage, and love are here. So are we. SideWalk is not an idea that could work, it's one that is.

Labels: good news

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It's a phrase we've heard a lot lately. It's got something to do with baseball, we think, but more importantly, it's a phrase teachers are promising their students, and whispering under their breath when the alarm goes off on Monday mornings.

Labels: thanks.

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We don't need the calories. It's beach season, and if you're like me, that svelte hundred and ___ pound frame has expanded to __ and _____. But it's Free Cone Day, an American holiday whose importance and ability to bring families together is surpassed only by Thanksgiving. And what could be better than free Cherry Garcia? Cherry Garcia scooped by SideWalk Chalk. That's what will be happening Tuesday, April 21st, at Ben and Jerry's on Market Street. Some SideWalk volunteers will be there from 12:00 til 8:00, braving the cold behind the counter, forearms straining, working to make you happy. And all that we ask in return is for you to tip a dollar or two. SideWalk gets a (as of yet unknown) percentage of monetary tips, and 100% of the smiles.

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The competition was fierce, the battles epic, but today we got the letter.

Labels: Give

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