The festive season of gift giving and receiving is just past. A few days ago, I came across this interesting article about the economics and psychology of gift exchange. The study shows that even though we don’t always receive what we particularly want and often exchange, return or recirculate our presents, most of us appreciate even small, inexpensive and seemingly useless gifts more than what mere economics would predict. Newspapers full of stories about the Magi, Santa and crowds at the stores got me thinking of another kind of giving – that which we give to strangers. Charity and volunteerism are gifts that make us count our blessings and assuage our conscience. But are they mere one way gift of altruism?
In the late 1980s, after several years of ad hoc and fitful volunteer work, I turned for the first time to a volunteer activity with formal and regular commitment. I enrolled as a tutor in the Adult Literacy Program of the Omaha Public Schools. The adult students encompassed a wide range of age, race and life experience. Most younger local students were school drop outs coping with problems of drugs, teen pregnancy and learning disabilities. Some posed distinct individual challenges for the tutors and others just needed a little help to catch up from where they had left off. Also enrolled were some newly arrived Afghan refugees who had fled their homeland (by way of New Delhi) after the Russian invasion – they and I got along famously. They needed a lot of help with history, geography and English but not much with math and science. Most impressive were a handful of dignified, well spoken men and women in their sixties. Due to the economic burdens of their youth, they had not attended school for long and did not learn to read and write very well. All of them had worked hard to make a living, some from a very early age, with no time to spare for school. After retirement, these seniors at last found the time and the opportunity to educate themselves and were remarkably motivated and hardworking. I did not usually deal with students who needed help with basic literacy. I worked mostly with those who had achieved at least a 6th – 8th grade level of competency in reading, writing and math and wanted to train for their GED certification. But from time to time, I was called upon to teach a beginner student at the minimum level of reading skills. One such student was Terence, a twenty four year old who had dropped out of an Omaha public school.
Terence read at about the third grade level and his math skills barely covered simple additon and subtraction. Amazingly enough, Terence had dropped out of school in the tenth grade! His lack of learning had either not been detected (is that possible?) or ignored until his sophomore year in high school at which time he was told he could go no further. Terence was a relaxed, unassuming, good humored and very articulate person. If one attempted a conversation with him on current events or listened to his opinions about the world in general, it would be impossible to guess that he was functionally illiterate. By the time I met Terence, he was comfortably set in his illiteracy and although he expressed some interest in learning, he exercised very little effort in changing the state of affairs. My best approach to getting his attention was to read to him (Terence enjoyed American history) and engage him in discussions during which he showed remarkable insight. Terence’s grasp of the world was largely aided by watching TV – news, talk shows, sports etc. all of which he absorbed with critical discernment. He rarely left home to hang out with his peers. Being a timid soul, he was afraid of the gang violence that riddled his north Omaha neighborhood. Most of my students asked me questions about my family and home life. Terence too was curious about me but not in a personal way. He wanted to know about my educational background, about life in India and my view of the world. He also liked to occasionally call me "Dave Letterman" or "Arsenio Hall" – for some reason, he found me hilarious. On the whole, Terence and I got along very well although my efforts at improving his reading and math met with a brick wall of passive resistance.
One morning, while assigned to teach Terence, I decided once again to teach him the rudiments of multiplication for the umpteenth time. After thirty minutes of chit chat about the latest sports news, politics and other weighty matters, I began the arduous process of explaining the rules of multiplication to Terence. While I was scribbling and talking, I knew that Terence was staring through the window at passers by and traffic on the road with glazed over eyes. We had done this routine before. He knew as well as I, that I would soon give up and open the history book. But that day, Terence surprised me with a question. He suddenly turned to me and asked: "Why do you do it? Why do you drive twenty miles every week to come and teach us? What is in it for you?"
I was taken aback. My instinct was to give him the safe and standard answer about "helping others," "giving back to the community" etc. which would have been mostly true but not quite the whole truth. Terence was an honest person and his question urged me to formulate an honest answer. What indeed was there in it for me? That I loved teaching and having decided not to take up a full time job, this was my only avenue to exercise that skill? That my extended family, childhood and college friends were far away and in a new country I was having to gradually make new friends? And the fact that I stayed home to care for young children restricted that scope? That many of my friends happened to be the parents of my children’s friends with whom I talked mostly about kids and school? Or my husband’s colleagues and spouses? (I must note here that I made some lifelong friends among these groups and am not casting aspersions on the quality of my choices) That I needed from time to time, to get away from a social milieu where I was either someone’s mom or someone’s wife? That I became a volunteer teacher for the same reason that I had enrolled at the university for classes? The reason I took up painting again with an artists’ group? To go out in the world, meet adults with similar interests and not become boring to myself as well as to my family? So, indeed there was much in it for me in driving twenty miles every week to try and teach Terence reading and multiplication. Or failing that, to talk to him about the world – present and past. I decided to say all this to Terence and he was satisfied. I guess, even though I did not manage to get the mysteries of multiplication across to Terence, he taught me a lesson in candid self examination.
Accidental Blogger 