HOME

PHOTOS &
CURRENT COLUMNS

FANS' FAVORITE FIVE

COLUMNS BY
SUBJECT

Um. Yes. My goal was to help the kids see the laughing joy in the everyday. But. Was I the one who needed the lesson?

Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2005
How to Make a Homeless Kid Laugh

“Look, Ms. Winter. The mountains look pretty, like a picture!” my eleven-year-old student announced from the back seat of my car.

“No. A painting.” his ten-year-old sister said. “A really big, really beautiful, really long painting.”

Boy pressed his nose to the window. “And it looks like there might be trees up there.”

I’d been a teacher for fourteen years and I’d never crossed the take-a-student-home-for-the-weekend line before. Oh. Sure. I’d wanted to. I’d taught many needy students over the years, but I’d never spent time with them outside the school day.

Till I met Boy and Girl.

Their father had been shot by police nine years ago, leaving them with a huge fatherless hole in their lives. After his death, their mother fought hard to make ends meet, but three years ago her luck ran out. She and her four children became homeless, moving from shelter to shelter. The kids had to learn to sleep on floor mats and give away many of their possessions. They moved each week to a new shelter without showing any signs of anger or need for pity. They accepted their lives; it was all they knew.

But. I found their dilemma hard to ignore. How could I nap on my cozy couch knowing somewhere in Denver four children were deciding which valuables wouldn’t fit into the suitcase and had to be left or given away? Being homeless meant they didn’t have toys, bikes, a television, a video game system or clothes that fit. It worried me that over the past fifteen months I’d never heard them laugh at school. I hoped that they could find more than a quiet, ashamed acceptance of their lives. Could I help them find laughter?

“Look.” Boy called excitedly. “The road is going UP because we’re going UP to the mountains!”

“Yeah. Up to the mountains.” Girl echoed, watching the road for a clue that we were no longer in Denver, the city of her life.

“This is the most exciting day in my whole sixth grade life.” Boy sighed.

Sure. It was no surprise the kids had been busily surviving, leaving no time for meandering drives to the mountains. But it was a surprise to find they’d never even studied the pointy mountains from a far away road.

“Is that Ryan’s house?”

“Or is that red one over there his house?”

I smiled. “His house is hiding from the road. You won’t see it till we drive up the driveway.”

“Oh.” Boy pressed his nose against the glass again. “Is that his house way over there?”

“No. Dummy. She said you couldn’t see the house from the road.”

They were enthusiastic about everything, even sleeping on the floor in my apartment, saying my carpeting was more comfortable than anything they’d seen in a shelter. But. Who would have thought an eleven-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl who’d grown up in Denver would be so culturally deprived? They had never tried almonds. Or made pancakes. Or had a friend over to visit. Or learned how to play cards. Or hosted a party at home. Or ridden in a car to go to a movie. Or used a camera. I’d filled their whole weekend with as many new experiences as I could, hoping they could find brilliance in the everyday.

“I can’t wait to get there.” Girl glowed. “My first hike! Do you think I’ll fall off the mountain?”

“No. Dummy.” Boy insisted, “Unless you jump.” He raised his voice, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh……..”

She spotted the tunnel first. “A tunnel! Can we drive in it?”

I laughed. “We’re going where the road’s going.”

“Yahoo! My first tunnel!”

“Me too.” Girl put both hands over her mouth, voicing a soundless giggle. “Ok. I’m going to try to hold my breath the whole time we’re in the tunnel.”

Boy called from his seat. “Ok. You hold your breath. I’m going to see how far I can count.” He yelled loudly. “Ok. The tunnel’s closer. Closer. Closer….”

As soon as her noisy inhale finished, the backseat was quiet until we sailed into the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Twelve seconds. The tunnel is twelve seconds long.”

“Wow. Ms. Winter. Did you know I could hold my breath for twelve whole seconds?”

We arrived at Ryan’s mountain home. After quick introductions, the kids ran from room to room at top speed. They opened every cabinet, crawled under beds, and called out to see if there was an echo in the biggest bathroom they had ever seen. (There wasn’t.)

“You’ll never, ever meet anyone more enthusiastic about your house.” I said as the kids pushed past us and ran outside.

They jumped on every rock in the yard, rearranged the furniture on the deck so they could have a better view, and tried unsuccessfully to climb a tree. They buzzed around the yard again and again like a ball stuck in a pinball machine.

Boy called over to Ryan. “How come you have such a big yard?”

“You sure have a lot of trees.” Girl added.

“I’m a lucky man.” Ryan folded his arms.

“No.” Boy called as he climbed a boulder in the yard. He stood on top and held his arms over his head, victory style. Laughing a long, hard laugh while balancing on top of the rock wasn’t easy. But, he managed to laugh out, “I’m the lucky man!”

We all laughed with him.

After a few pulls and tugs, giggling-Girl managed to push him off the rock then scrambled to the top. “No.” She laughed and laughed before she could manage, “I’m the lucky man.”

If this weekend was at all good for the kids, it was ten times better for me and my friends. Maybe we were the ones who needed the reminder on how to find joy in the everyday, since everything made the kids happy. We got to experience Girl’s big-eyed-sit-down amazement when my friend, Ralph, gave her a one dollar set of hair ties. Shirley taught them how to play War, their first card game. Girl learned how to braid hair from Teresa’s hour long clinic. Sean let the kids paint him picture after picture, which he promised would decorate his refrigerator at home. Lanie listened intently to what life in the shelter was like.

“Dinner: Fake mashed potatoes mixed with corn and hamburger meat.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“No dessert?”

“Well. Sometimes we can have a cookie.”

I got to hear the wish Boy whispered as he blew out a candle. (I wish I could have a house one day with beds.) I got to watch them discover the mountains, mix lemonade, write their impressions of a weekend at a teacher’s house, and make pancakes. Each activity was recorded in their journals, because they didn’t want to forget anything.

The kids taught me that it’s the little things in life that matter, with or without joy. Owning a car. Making your own pumpkin pie. Eating grapes and pineapple in the same bite. Taking photos of the adults while one kid sneakily sticks up ‘Bunny Ears’ behind the subject’s head.

Boy blew on his hot chocolate then turned to Ryan. “Did you know Ms. Winter’s rich?”

“No.” He said slowly, knowing my major debt.

“Really. She is.” Girl added.

“…cause…” Boy started. “She has her own place, her own car, her very own refrigerator filled with any food she wants, a whole real bed with a big mattress for herself and even a T.V. that doesn’t work.”

“Yeah.” Girl added. “And she even has two doors.”

I lifted my tea cup, sipping quietly. I hadn’t considered my bed as part of my net worth. “You’re right, Boy. I am rich.”

Ryan laughed. “Oh, really?”

I motioned for them to lift their cups with me. “I’m rich in friends. And if you ask me, that’s a really big, really great, really cool way to be rich.”

Or send a blank e-mail to Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Subject: Subscribe Me.

Comment on this column in The Forum

Or

Send Holly your comments. Tell her what you really think! Your comments might be published on her website, or in her weekly Yahoo Group e-mail. Send Comments

Wanna vote for your favorite column? Fan's favorite column picks will be added to the Fan's Favorite Five page. Send your pick for your favorite here. Fan's Favorite Column Pick

Copyright © 2004 by Holly Winter
www.livingthelifeofholly.com
All Rights Reserved