Community service: the words don't inspire most people to run for their car keys or their checkbooks.
When I was a senior in high school, I had to do 20 hours in one quarter, not a particularly fond - nor personally rewarding - experience, regrettably.
So when I came to UB and the honors program wanted me to do a day of community service to pass the colloquium, I was considerably annoyed. Without a car, and as an occupational therapy major, I had little time and less method of doing community service, and my experiences with it in the past hadn't been all that inspiring.
I ended up signing with Habitat for Humanity for a day. My roommate Jeanine and I got up early on a Saturday (early being before noon, of course) and trudged outside to meet the van, joining a bunch of equally morose guys waiting at the Governors bus stop. The van came, and we crowded inside, squeezing to fit the whole group.
Our project that day was to put vinyl roofing on a porch. The house was basically gutted; when Habitat for Humanity finished with it, a mother and her children would be moving from a shelter into the house. She was at the house when we came, wandering around and looking at everything, looking rather dazed and almost afraid to believe her eyes.
Jeanine and I took turns balancing precariously on a step ladder to lean over the beams and nail the roofing in, angling the hammer so it would hammer effectively and not fall on someone's head. It was freezing cold, raining and muddy. Before the day was over, I was wearing more mud than I was clothes.
It wasn't easy work, especially not when you consider that I'm not an outdoors person. At all. But when we got home that day - and after we stripped off the mud with some clothing underneath, and warmed up - I was glad we'd chosen that particular type of community service, despite my earlier reluctance to go to any sort of community service.
It's memories that that of the soon-to-be homeowner treasuring her house, even in its somewhat bedraggled condition, that make me wish I had more time to give away.
That feeling doesn't extend to money. I can't recount the number of times beggars have approached me in search of money - and I never give money to beggars.
I've gotten a few strange looks when men or women come up and ask me for mere pocket change and I say no, looks from both passers-by and the beggars themselves. My twinges of guilt usually stemmed from the fact that I did have the money on me and that it really was worth so little to me, but it's such a hard decision to make.
If I give money to this beggar and not the next, how do I justify that? Did the first one need the money more just because he was the first to ask me? What if the second really did have children to care for, and I gave all my change to some boozehound that's going to drink my money away?
That's not an excuse, and I know it.
I was having lunch with a friend in an outdoor caf?(c) during the summer. We were sitting and talking to the guy at the table next to us about random nothing, just enjoying the summer weather. The two girls at the table past our friend's were doing the same thing. A beggar was walking through the tables at the caf?(c), looking for money.
He was obviously sick; he didn't have many teeth and it looked like he had some sort of disability, because he wasn't actually asking for money, but just holding out one hand and moaning loudly at each patron. His clothes were filthy.
When he came up to our caf?(c), I didn't really feel pity, but more a sort of sorrow and empathy for someone who obviously had not had an easy life and needed treatment. I actually considered giving him the change from my lunch, unusual because at that point I was still somewhat shocked that other people had the nerve to beg for what I earned.
The two girls felt sorry for the man - anybody would have, I think, and that's what he was counting on. One of them took out a lunch her mother had packed for her and held it out to the man. "Here you go," she told him, not a hint of condescension in her voice; she was just trying to help.
He took the brown bag and looked inside. His face screwed up into a grimace and he made an outraged sort of grunt and tossed the bagged lunch on the table, holding out his hand again. The girl, shocked, just shook her head, negative. He kept going, right to our two tables, same routine.
Not all the homeless are like that man. Maybe you're like me and giving money to people on the streets doesn't feel right. I gained more from my day with Habitat for Humanity than I did the few times I actually did give away some money. Give it a thought - even if it's only one or two times, it's enough to help.
