It was 1980. I was 28. The idea of mentoring a young person appealed to me so I signed up for a Little from Big Brothers Big Sisters (BBBS)—a program designed to develop one-to-one mentoring relationships with at risk youth.
Paired with thirteen-year-old T_, I arrived at the house where she lived with her mother and two younger brothers for our first encounter. I was invited inside and ushered to the couch. Her mother, a prodigious woman with a wary gaze, looked me over while the youngest boy, about two years old, crawled in my lap and slid slobbery fingers over me as if reading by Braille. Not a fan of infants and toddlers, I sucked in my distaste and tried to converse with this woman who had enrolled her daughter in the BBBS program yet seemed reluctant to let the girl leave with me. A normal parental reaction, I thought; I was, after all, a stranger. After a few minutes, T_, a slender and quiet girl, hiding her bespectacled eyes behind a forelock of rich brown hair that glinted red when the light hit it just right, led me down the hall to her bedroom. The house was chaos, and her room was no exception—typical teenager’s room. After a few minutes we returned to the living room, where I perched uncomfortably on the couch again, eager to share with T_’s mother my plans for a fun excursion the following week. We would go to a BBBS event at the Fairgrounds, not far from their home. As the youngest child romped over me and tugged at my hair and earrings, I noticed that rather than disciplining the offender, T_’s mother yelled at T_ for allowing him to misbehave.
After about 45 minutes I left—40 minutes longer than seemed bearable. The following week I arrived punctually. Again, I was ushered in and told to wait while T_ finished the chores she had not completed. There was a lot of yelling and shrieking. Again, both younger boys pushed the limits of civility and somehow T_ was at fault for each of her brothers’ misbehaviors. At last she had permission to leave.
In the car on the way over, T_ was shy, but valiantly kept up her side of the conversation. At the home improvement show, the BBBS staff handed us a sheaf of raffle tickets to sell. I figured we’d be lucky to move any of those tickets in this venue packed with couples dreaming of renovating their tired dumps into cozy, catalogue-worthy homes. But I hadn’t counted on the butterfly emerging from her cocoon. T_ turned on an innate charm and smiling broadly, approached strangers with a mile-a-minute line about their chances of winning a great prize while helping teenagers like herself. In short order, she offloaded our entire packet of tickets. We went back for more tickets, and she made those magically disappear as well as I trailed in her wake, amazed by her transformation. At the end of the event, T_ was the top raffle ticket seller. As we drove back to her home, the quiet, shy little girl who had sat beside me on the way to the event had been replaced by an excited, giggly, teenager, high on success and the praise of strangers.
We arrived at her house 15 minutes earlier than I had promised—a tactic which I insisted on for each of our outings. T_ burst into the house eager to share with her mom the success of the evening. After she’d rattled on for a few minutes her mother gave her an icy stare and told her to go to her room.
“You’re trying to be someone you aren’t. You aren’t talking like T_, you sound like you’re imitating someone else.” T_’s shoulders sagged. The air escaped from her soul. She thanked me, said goodnight, and trudged back to her room, eyes cast to the floor.
Linda, thanks for doing this and sharing this story. Keith
LikeLike
Thanks, Keith. You’ll understand why I had to write about this after part 2.
LikeLike
I’m hoping Part II takes a turn I don’t expect…
LikeLike
It might.
LikeLike
Okay, Rangewriter, don’t have me waiting too long. I’m on the edge here. Good story!
LikeLike
Good for you for volunteering! I am hopeful your little sister was able to overcome the negative messages she received at home and found her true voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
She was mature beyond her years and made important critical decisions, peppered with the expected teenage foibles.
LikeLike
Woah! I know why you are her big sister. I hope the home life doesn’t quash her self-esteem.
LikeLike
She is a remarkable girl, now woman, now . . .
LikeLike
The mom was a perfect Debby Downer. So sad to see a parent in definite need of a parenting class. I think I will need a spoiler alert before reading part 2…
LikeLike
Alli, she was a real piece of work. There will be some good coming in Part 2. But, life is what it is…so…with good comes . . .
LikeLiked by 1 person
The pathos of this is heart wrenching and I hope it all comes good. So often the bitterness of failed relationships show up in children bearing the brunt of it all. It is so unfair.
Love is so overrated.
LikeLike
I’m not sure that love is overrated, but it is surely misunderstood.
LikeLike
Time to start a program for the “troubled mother”. She’s the one that needs help.
T…sounds charming & seems to have her act together. And under the Linda tutelage, I’m confident she could bring out her best & feel worthy and capable of reaching the stars.
LikeLike
Yes, Karen, there are SO MANY troubled mothers (& fathers) out there. I sometimes wish we could sterilize certain people. Though I know that is the wrong approach.
LikeLike
I’m glad she got to shine with you. 🙂
LikeLike
It was a two-way shine, believe me. Everything I gave, I got back. (Maybe it took a while. lol)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great idea – you were very brave to get into this and I’m sure T- benefited. Hope her mother also learnt something.
LikeLike
Sadly, Cat, her mother was incapable of learning and saw no need to learn. I confess to harboring a hatred of this woman who wrecked the lives of two of her 3 kids. Only the strong survive that kind of negativity.
LikeLike
I remember your letters from this time in your life. Both you and T grew and learned things. Cris in MT
LikeLike
Indeed! It was a very difficult time for both of us. But I think, especially for her. I’m so proud of how she turned her life around.
LikeLike
Pingback: My little sister; part 2 | Rangewriter