"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not."
-- Dr. Seuss
This is it. I'm going to write about my service trip. Right now, in this blog, before the magic is all forgotten.
Let's just put this out in the open right now: I went on this service trip because I felt like I had to.
170 kids out of my class of 350something were going on service trips. I didn't want to be one of the minority who didn't. But I also didn't want to go to some random town with a bunch of random people I didn't know. I used to be really open and bubbly in grammar school, but after high school I got the tiniest more reserved. I got really, really awkward. There are some people I can talk to easily, some I can't. And the chances were pretty slim that I would be friends with people on my trip. But I went. Out of obligation, but I suppose also out of some silent hope that I would actually get a good experience, like everyone said.
We were going to Harlan, Kentucky to work with an Organization known as C.O.A.P. (Christian Outreach with the Appalachian People.) I'm not really going to talk about my group in this. We did kind of form a community, but one problem with the program we were on was that, unlike the other trips that had gone from our school, we didn't do service in small groups every day. We served as one large group of twenty two. Because of this, none of the barriers of the different cliques and social classes were really broken. We pretty much just stayed with the same group we had rode the bus with. We cooked and cleaned together, always begged for seconds together (we were living on $3 a day, so we were still hungry after each meal), shared one bathroom and one cabin, and some people did form community, but it wasn't a very welcoming community, I felt. But then again, I'm awkward, and for some strange reason my mind was kind of on a retreat that week, so I know I'm partly to blame for not really being connected. That week in Harlan was a week I spent with God and myself, more than anyone else, even though I was with 21 other people. It was wonderful though. I was away from all the distractions-- my phone, the computer-- and I was more or less on my own out there, with no one who knew too much about me, who could make me remember what was going on back home ore remind me of the past. It was God and I. It was lovely.
We were working on a house for a family in the town next to Harlan. We were putting up roofing and siding. Our carpenter was the best part of the trip. For the sake of privacy, I won't use his real name. He'll be Bobby as far as this blog is concerned. The lady who runs C.O.A.P., Ms. Jessica, told us to guess what Bobby's age was. We all made guesses and Matt wrote them on his pants. We were all guessing that Bobby was in his twenties. We were wrong. Bobby is seventeen. Just like all of us. And he works fourteen hours a day.
The first few days Bobby didn't say anything to us. We couldn't get him to talk. Around Wednesday, he finally started laughing at some of the things we said. He started to like us. It was so cool.
It was weird, though. Bobby is seventeen, but he seems so much older than all of us, like he knows something about life that all of us are missing. Bobby knows what hard work is, that's for sure, but I don't think that's all we don't know. I think there is something else. Something in that relaxed southern way of life, where 8 o'clock can range anywhere from 8-9 and if you don't get something done because you are talking to someone and getting to know them, it doesn't matter because you were doing something special with your time. Everyone knew that Bobby was more mature than any of us. The adults even treated him like their equal. Because he is. Bobby is in every way the equal of an adult, and that is so weird for me to think, being his age and still being under the control of my parents and teachers.
Bobby works fourteen hours a day. Bobby doesn't go to school. It kind of seemed to us that Bobby is missing out on being a kid. Legally, he is a kid. But really, I think Bobby kind of skipped from being four to forty.
Around Tuesday of that week I realized what I wanted to do with my life, at least for a few years after college. I want to teach. Not just anywhere. I want to teach English at Harlan High School. Harlan is a mining town, and if you are not a miner, there are no jobs unless you're educated. And most of the people in Harlan aren't. I want to go there and teach. I want to make a difference. I know I sound like I'm trying to be a savior, but that's not what I want at all. I want to teach kids, to share my love of reading and writing, to pass on what I know. But most of all, I want to learn the big secret that everyone in Harlan, Kentucky seemed to know. I want to learn how to appreciate life. I want to learn from the citizens of Harlan. I want to let them teach me, and if I'm lucky, I want to convince at least one student to stay in school. That's all I want-- to make a difference in the life of one person. I want to touch people's lives, and I want to meet people who touch mine. I want to know people everywhere, I want to be someone special in the lives of the people I come in contact with. I want to be needed.
That's what I learned on this trip to Harlan, Kentucky-- how good it feels to be needed. I need to be needed. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, not because I landed a good group or good chaperones, but ecause the simlicity of every day helped me discover who I am and what I want. It helped me learn about myself and others, and these are things I will never for get.
xoxograce
I started thinking about a quote today when I was bike riding. I didn't know who the author was, but I liked the quote. I googled it (google solves all) and the author was Brian Andreas who is an American artist and short story teller. 
