[ On Tuesday, October 3, the weekly E'port Tutorial
Program resumed for another academic year. Present were 43 youth,
ages 8 to 14 years, bused to Summit from Elizabeth. They were joined by
over 80 tutors from Summit High School and surrounding towns. So, why
bring 120 youngsters together weekly in the CPC auditorium?
Yes, we hope to improve some student academic skills, but
we have a more important objective. Hear what a former high school tutor,
Sarah Coyle, saw evolving on these Tuesday evenings when she was an active
tutor. Below, Sarah shares her experience as an E'port tutor.]
____________________________________________________________________________
It was 7:00 o'clock on a Tuesday evening several years ago,
and I had just joined the Elizabethport Tutorial Program at Central
Presbyterian Church. I had been accepted as a tutor, along with about 60
other local high school students.
Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity and noise ---- a
big yellow school bus from Elizabethport had arrived carrying about 40 expectant
grade school students from the inner-city of Elizabeth, New Jersey.
I sat alone at a table in the church auditorium, waiting for
the girl I had never met. Spread out on the table in front of me were
some materials I thought might interest my new student. Shortly, one of
the program's adult supervisors came to my table with a young girl
student. Her name was Aneesha. She was twelve years old and
reluctantly approached the table, eyeing me with distrust and suspicion.
"Welcome!" I said in a friendly manner, trying to
hide my nervousness. "My name is Sarah." Then I introduced
myself, describing my high school, my family and some of my extra-curricular
activities. Aneesha sat indifferently and disinterested, staring at the
tiled floor. I questioned her, but that did not evoke responses.
I asked Aneesha if she liked to read, but Aneesha looked at
me like I was some kind of nerd. I had brought a simply-written paragraph
to test her reading level. so I asked her to read it to me. In a
monotone, barely an audible whisper, she rattled off the various random words
on the page that she recognized, slurring them together as if she was reading
them in consecutive sentences. My palms began to sweat, and my heart
began to pound. Do I dare correct her? Maybe I should never have
signed up for this!
Then Aneesha asked if she could color some pictures.
Relieved, I found a connect-the-dots picture and a few markers and let her get
to work. After what seemed like hours, the bus driver called for the
children to line up. Grabbing her coat and bag, Aneesha got out of her
chair and took a few steps to the door. With a look back over her
shoulder, she spoke to me: "You gonna be here next week?"
"NO!", my inner voice wanted to say. What a
disaster! How can I ever come back! No way!
Forcing a smile, I looked at her, "Of course!
I'll see you next week."
She turned and disappeared in the hoard of kids pushing and
shoving their way out the door. I let out a small cry of anguish, utterly
exhausted.
That was my first session with Aneesha and the next few were
not much better. My difficulty in developing a positive rapport with my
insolent student continued. Aneesha rejected my friendly overtures and
scoffed when I corrected her grammatical, mathematical, or reading
mistakes. Although, she never missed a Tuesday night session, Aneesha
frequently refused to do any work at all. For weeks, she would come to
the table where I sat, and we would color. Silently. Or, she would
go wandering around the room, visiting her friends, or taking unnecessary trips
to the bathroom. I found myself frequently searching for her, completely
discouraged, and feeling that I was merely Aneesha's entertainment.
Having started on the program with the noblest intentions of "making a
difference," I was disheartened as I became certain that Aneesha
didn't even know my first name.
However, I refused to be beaten. I had an idea.
I brought three very loved books off my own bookshelf. They were Shel
Silverstein's, The Giving Tree, A Light in the Attic, and Where
the Sidewalk Ends.
Tuesday night arrived and I was armed and ready.
Aneesha walked over and immediately asked to use the bathroom. I
consented, but insisted on accompanying her. By the way she looked at me,
I could tell she knew something was up,
When we returned to the table, I sat her down and explained
that these were books my dad had read to,me when I was younger, that they were
great, and that I was going to read them to her. She agreed as long as
she could pick which one. She picked The Giving Tree, presumably
because it was the shortest, so we would be done sooner.
I opened the book and began to read. Aneesha initially
mocked the story line, called the tree "stupid" for giving the little
boy everything, and laughed at me for actually liking the book. But,
gradually, she began to search the simply drawn, progressive pictures, and
enjoy watching the little boy grow older and older until he was a wrinkled old
man. I watched her face as I read. I saw her defensive, sharp eyes
open and laugh.
I explained that Where the Sidewalk Ends and A
Light in the Attic, were collections of poems. We discussed what
poems were, and I asked her to read some. She and I both laughed at the
pictures. Then she turned to my favorite, "The Twistable Turntable
Man" and I insisted on reading it to her, just as my dad had read it to
me. Taking a deep breath, I delighted her in reading the quick-rhyming
poem at record speed. "Again!" she said, "Sarah read it
again."
Shocked at hearing her say my name, I did as I was
told. And she laughed. And then Aneesha tried to read it, and
stumbled over the words so badly they began to sound like gibberish, and she
laughed at herself. She called over her friends and commanded me to read
it to them. We all laughed and she asked me to read it over and over
again. At the end of the night, Aneesha characteristically grabbed her
coat and bag, and headed for the door. Suddenly, however, she ran back,
gave me a hug, and then disappeared.
I realized that although Aneesha was rowdy and difficult,
she was not the demon I had thought her to be, but merely a hardened little
girl who had led a tough life. She had learned not to trust anyone.
I discovered that she did appreciate me, not for the math work we did, or for
my grammatical corrections, but for being there every Tuesday night. I
suddenly realized that just by reaching out every week, I was "making a
difference," and it was an incredible feeling.
I have decided that this type of service, sharing what I
have learned or experienced with less fortunate individuals, while sometimes
difficult and trying, is essentially important to living a healthy, fulfilled
life. This endeavor will become a major part of my life, no matter what
profession I decide to pursue.
And the best is yet to
come. . .
The next week, Aneesha returned and leaned over to me and
said, "You know that book? The tree one? They have it in the
library at my school.
My heart soared. On the subject of libraries, Aneesha
had told me that they were for "nerds" and "wimps,"
and were "stupid." Yet she had gone to the library and had
taken the book home to read to her little brother. I sat there, at our
table, swimming in pride and accomplishment, and beaming at Aneesha.
She, however, remaining in character, gave me a look as if I
were out of my mind, and asked to go to the bathroom.
____________________________________________________________________________
These words are brought to you by the CPC Adult Spiritual
Education Team, hoping to encourage your spiritual growth this Fall.
____________________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment