First Steps

            by Ellie Tandeta

 

The St. Paul's Episcopal School's motto is basically "Community, Community, Community, Community," although it probably is phrased differently. So when the 8th grade class, a whopping 48 students, was told that we were required to do community service once a week, no one leapt out of their seat in surprise. Everyone knew it was coming and had heard wild stories from previous students about the crazy old women from the senior center across the street, who wore sombreros and played intense games of BINGO. The most popular choice was the animal shelter, a job that entailed playing with kittens and walking dogs, so I (and roughly 75% of the rest of the class) scribbled down ANIMAL SHELTER onto my paper. As the other choices were read off, one reverberated in my ears for an 8th grade minute (roughly 5 seconds). First Step, a day care for three and four year old kids with mental and physical disabilities. My best friend Hilary must have had a similar reaction because we both nudged each other at the same time, silently telling the other to sign up with a single eyebrow raise. I crossed out my previous choice, and wrote First Step. Apparently we were the only two who reacted this way because we were the only ones assigned to the job.

            I assumed it would be like a babysitting job, once a week, for an hour. Easy. Later I would find out that I was dead wrong.

            On the first day of our job, Hilary and I climbed into the school van, which was the color of milky tea, held together with chewed up gum, and had mysterious brown stains all over the cloth seats. A quick five minute drive through downtown Oakland and we arrived at our destination. First Step was blocked in by rundown apartment buildings, surrounded by deserted parking lots, and the walls were dense with graffiti. I climbed out of the van, and walked towards the double doors. I rang the buzzer and waited for the better half of a minute before we heard, amidst the sounds of children crying and screaming,

"Yea? Who is it?!"

Slightly intimidated by her tone, I responded, "Uh…we’re from St. Paul's…we’re here to help…"

“Oh GREAT, let me buzz you in, just walk down the stairs and turn right at the short white gate," she replied.

The double doors let out a deafening buzz and we hurried to pull them open. We were still a whole floor away from the center, but immediately we heard screams, yells, cries, the sound of breaking glasses and plastic toys being hurdled across the room. We came to the short plastic door, its only purpose to keep the knee-high tots from escaping. A tall brown haired woman greeted us there with a smile that literally spread from ear to ear. The words that came spilling out of her mouth did so at a mile a minute with a thick southern accent.

“My name is Cheryl, I'm so glad you came, we could really use your help, so to the left that’s the baby room you won't be working in there unless we really need your help, but this is where the older kids are, that’s Martin, Katie, and that’s Philip but watch out he bites, and over there, that’s Luis."

Cheryl pointed to Luis with her huge signature grin, and gave me a cup of yogurt. I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to do with it, but quickly she pointed at the small boy on the huge yellow beanbag again and asked me to feed him.

I haven’t been here for more than 2 minutes and they already have me doing work?

There was so much to take in; kids were running through the room, and toys littered the carpet, which I assumed used to be white but now had turned unattractive beige. Plastic planes, Barbie dolls, blocks and books were everywhere. I walked over to Luis, who knew right away what I was doing because he opened his mouth like a baby bird waiting for its mother's food. It wasn't until I had gotten closer to him that I realized that he couldn't move the lower half of his body. But somehow, this didn't seem to affect his attitude. His smile reminded me of the woman in charge, with his first front tooth gleaming in the florescent light. Spoonful by spoonful Luis slurped up the yogurt, rogue chunks of raspberry oozing out of the corners of his mouth. He giggled uncontrollably every time I tickled his chin, and I was just as entertained as he was. After a while I noticed a small girl watching me feed Luis. I recognized her as Katie from the lightning speed introduction at our arrival. Once she saw me look at her, she got up with her doll and skipped over to me. She couldn't have been more than three, but when she spoke she seemed older.

"Why are you here? Are you getting money for feeding him? Do you want to play outside with me? Do you like candy?"

She hit me with questions too fast to answer them all so I decided to respond to just one.

"You want to play on the slide?" I asked

"YESSSSSSSSSSS!" she yelled

I quickly put the leftover yogurt in the small fridge about three feet away. Thankfully, there was another volunteer playing with Luis, so I didn’t feel so bad about leaving him. Katie jumped at my waist, urging me to pick her up. I lugged her thirty pound body onto my hip and headed outside. But our excursion was cut short when the women who had introduced us came outside and told me that our van was here to pick us up. I told Katie that I had to leave.

"WHYYYY?" she whined

"Don't worry I'll be back next week" I tried to convince her not to be too disappointed. She just skulked away looking at me over her shoulder.

            Great. The first day, and already she hates me.  

 

The week leading up to our next visit went by so slowly I felt like it had taken years. Finally it was Friday, the day we’d go back to First Step. This time we had recruited another girl named Adrienne to come with us. We weren’t close friends, but I was glad for more help. Pulling into the familiar driveway, we stumbled out of the van and rang the buzzer.

It was a man’s voice, muffled and distant. “Yes?”

Startled by the different voice, I hesitated.

Adrienne jumped in, “We’re from St. Paul’s School,” she said quickly.

“Oh great.” The door rang out with the deafening buzz of welcome. Down the stairs and through the short door and into the bustling room of three year olds. My legs were immediately assaulted.

“Heeey Martin,” I laughed.

“I WANT A PIGGY RIDE!!!” he yelled into my ear, loud enough to burst an eardrum. I hoisted his heavy body onto my back. Martin rested his chin on my shoulder and wrapped his short arms around my neck. I slowly made my way over to the area scattered with blocks and broken plastic toys. I saw Philip, known for being a biter, but turned my attention to Katie, sitting alone in the milk crate that held the blocks and legos.

“Hey Katie, wanna play with me and Martin on the slide?” I asked.

“NO!” she screamed, “I don’t like Martin, he stinks.”

Thankfully Martin didn’t seem to hear her, but did continue to dig his fingernails into my neck.

“…Ok then.” I looked over at Hilary to see what she was doing. She and a small boy named Wilson were gluing shapes onto construction paper, although some shapes had somehow escaped and attached themselves to his face. My attention was disrupted by a yell.

“PHILIP IS EATING A TOY! PHILIP IS EATING A TOY!”

It was Katie screaming. I looked over at Philip and saw a wooden block caught between his teeth. A short blonde woman rushed by me and yanked the block from his jaws so fast I barely saw her do it. She grabbed him under his arms and hauled him to a small room of the kitchen area. I didn’t see him again until it was time to leave an hour later.

Distracted by this semi-kidnapping (literally, because later I found out that room was called the “nap room”) I almost didn’t hear the call for snack time. I felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Cheryl.

“Can you help us hand out snack?”

“Alright.” I replied. It seemed easy enough. I pried Martin’s hands from the chokehold and listened for direction.

“Pour each kid a cup of goldfish, but not for Martin he is allergic to cheese, give him some saltines, give Luis half a yogurt and put the rest in the fridge and don’t forget the juice boxes, but not for Katie, she needs a special formula.”

Hilary, Adrienne, and I hurried around setting up; making sure every kid had a heavy-duty paper towel in case of spills. I thought everything would go smoothly until I heard,

“Martin is trying to eat my fishies!” It was Katie again, no surprise. I leapt over to Martin and took the cup of goldfish out of his grip before he put one in his mouth.

“You’re not supposed to eat those Martin, here, have some saltines. Don’t they look yummmmmmy?”

Martin took a saltine from the white plastic sleeve and put it on his tongue, not chewing, but waiting for his spit to melt it into a lumpy paste. Then he spit it out, unfortunately, right onto my arm.

“EEEEWWWWWW!” screamed Katie.

Tell me about it.

Martin looked at her and shoved his lumpy creation (right off my arm) back into his mouth. For the next 15 minutes I had to gather thrown goldfish and saltine mush, wipe up spilled juice and tell Katie maybe 50 times not to mix her formula with Martin’s grape juice.

“I promise it won’t taste good,” I urged her, knowing full well that 2 minutes later she would try again.

While Adrienne and Hilary were cleaning up spills, I remembered that I needed to feed Luis his yogurt. It was strawberry banana this time from a small container labeled LUIS in black sharpie. He knew right way what I was doing, opening his mouth into a wide grin and squealing loudly upon my arrival.

“Luis, ready for some yummy food?” I couldn’t believe they made him eat this goopy pink slop, which looked a lot like regurgitated strawberries.

He gurgled, drooling out of the corner of his mouth. I wiped it up and sat down in front of the huge yellow beanbag. Time seemed to slow down, his big brown eyes watching me with such intensity that he might actually be able to see what I was thinking. Then, BOOM, like an alarm clock pulling me out of a trance, the phone rang. The van had arrived. Time to go back to school. It always seemed to come so suddenly. As I was going out the door somebody grabbed my legs in a tackle. Martin had put his padlock grip around my leg with his face shmushed against my calf.

“I have to go Martin,” I told him, “but I’ll be back next week I promise.” He looked at me like he was going to burst into tears. I felt horrible, but secretly I was relieved to get a break from the rowdiness.

           

Our last day was Outside Day. A one-hour field trip to a playground across the street that I could see through the sliding glass door, but had never ventured to. It sounded easy enough, but the trip was organized to the extreme, as if it was a month long vacation. Snacks? Check. First aid? Check. Toys? Check. Kids? Martin, Katie, Wilson, Luis, Philip. Check.

            “Philip, where are you shoes?” Philip stood by the window, his Spiderman socks sticking out from the bottom of his pants.

Oh great, they could be anywhere!

            The search began. I found one Power Ranger sneaker jutting out of the box of Legos. Adrienne found the other in the kitchen. I hurried to shove his shoes onto his feet while trying to avoid getting spit bubbles on my face.

Are we ready YET?

            Every kid got a stroller. Strap in, buckle up-LETS GO!

The glass door slid open and the cool outside air triggered squeals and yelps. It took longer than I expected to get there because Luis spit his pacifier out, and Martin tried to unstrap himself from his stroller.

Stop signs popped up; an instant crosswalk appeared. Cheryl and the other volunteers split like the red sea to lead the parade of strollers across the street, and hold their signs to stop the phantom cars from mowing them down. The playground was surrounded by a 20 foot chain link fence, complete with barbed wire at the top to keep the outsiders out.

            “Come OOOON Ellieeeeeeeeeee! I wanna play houuuuuuuuuse!” Katie grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the small pink, plastic house. She slipped easily through the door and motioned frantically at me to follow.

There is no way I am going to fit in there. “How about I just stay out here and we can talk through the window?”

“I guess,” she responded. She started blabbing loudly about a doll she had at home, when suddenly I feel a massive weight on my back. I recognized it as Martin when his sharp little fingernails began to claw at my ponytail. JESUS CHRIST!

“Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike,” Martin yelled in my ear.

“I thought you were playing with MEEEE!!” whined Katie.

“I’m going to take Martin over to the tricycles, but I’ll play with you after. Sound ok?” Please say yes, please say yes.

“Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike…” Martin continued, loudly, in my ear.

“FINE,” Katie snapped, “I was bored with house ANYWAY.” She quickly ran over to the patch of daisies sticking through the chain fence. Readjusting Martin on my back I walked over to where two red tricycles were and slid him off my shoulders. Like lightning, a boy named Wilson shot out of nowhere and hopped on the vacant bike.

Martin screamed slash growled something that sounded like, “MINE!” Wilson turned his nose up and rode away without saying anything. Martin started to cry loudly, streaking his dusty face, snot flowing down his lips and onto his shirt. Cheryl flew over and asked what was going on. Martin blubbed something inaudible, so Cheryl looked at me for assistance.

“Wilson took his trike, I guess,” I said slowly.

 “Of course it would be Wilson. WILSON!” she yelled, “Come here please.”

Aware of the trouble coming, Wilson slowly peddled towards us, wearing his most innocent face. Cheryl didn’t say anything, but looked at me.

            Oh not me, why me?

            “Uh…Martin was going to play on that bike…why don’t you wait till he’s done…?” Cheryl looked expectantly at Wilson. Fewf.

He mumbled “fine,” and hopped off. Martin laughed tauntingly at Wilson’s back, and jumped onto the shiny red tricycle, the one you always wished you had at age three. I was already drained and we had only been there for 20 minutes. 30 left to go. But wait…30 minutes, that’s it? Just then, it hit me; this is our last time here.

For the next 29 minutes, I did as much as I could to end on a high note. I picked flowers with Katie, gave Martin one last “Piggy Ride”, and played Peek-a-Boo with Luis. I had finally begun to understand these kids. Hilary and I were sad to leave, feeling as if we were abandoning our friends. I will never regret my decision to volunteer at First Step. Never.