By Andrea ApplegateJames and I got off to a rocky start. If you had asked any of my Chamber colleagues to rank the mentor matches at the time, James and I would likely have landed at the very bottom, the Least Likely to Succeed. Now that we have completed our third school year together, there’s no question that we have a fantastic relationship.
It was the beginning of the 2007/2008 school year when a handful of Chamber staff signed up for
Project Mentor, a program that matches volunteers—primarily from the business community—with 8th graders in Columbus City Schools for long-term mentoring relationships. Ideally, mentors will continue through to see these students graduate from high school in 2012. It seems like a big commitment, but it’s actually very easy. Students and mentors meet as a group once a week at the school during the students’ lunch period. (The Chamber was assigned to a middle school less than a mile from our office.)
To keep each other on track, my colleagues and I block off that time on our calendars, and we carpool over to the school. The school-based coordinator facilitates planned activities. Essentially, all we need to do is show up.
Who knew that a simple action—just showing up—could have such positive impact? Upon receiving my mentor match assignment, I learned James was autistic. I had no idea what that meant for James—or for me. I anticipated that he might have trouble interacting with his environment and maybe it’s difficult for him to establish relationships with people. I decided to take it slow, be patient, and take my lead from James: supporting him in things he wanted to do, not pressuring him into things he didn’t want to do. And I counseled myself not take it personally…whatever it was.
The first day, James refused to come to the library where the group was meeting. The second week, when he again refused to come to the library, they suggested I go to the classroom to sit with him and his teacher. That worked well, except he didn’t acknowledge my presence. By the third week, James came to the library, but would not engage in conversation with me. He’d speak to everyone around me, but not to me. I bagged the activities the school-based coordinator had planned for us. Instead, James and I played games: Connect Four, Apples to Apples, UNO. Though I gradually learned some things about him (he’s the youngest of three, his parents are married, and he loves to play video games), I did most of the talking. He alternated between ignoring me and rolling his eyes.
One day, I pulled a dictionary off the shelf, randomly paging through it, stopping on words that caught my interest. “You know, James, I believe that magenta is the greatest word in the English language.” I waited a moment to see if he would take the bait. Nothing. “Magenta is one of those words that makes you happy just to say it: magenta. Try it with me. Magenta. Magenta, magenta, magenta.” He winced and shook his head slightly, as if to say this observation was so stupid, it barely warranted acknowledgment.
I am nothing if not persistent. Every week for the rest of the school year, I managed to toss magenta into our mostly one-sided conversations. One day, however, I forgot. But James was paying attention. When he stood to go back to his classroom, he turned to me and asked, “Aren’t you going to say magenta?”
James is in high school now. He just completed the 10th grade and successfully passed all five parts of the Ohio Graduation Test the first time he sat for the test. James wants to be a computer programmer creating video games, and he plans to attend DeVry University after high school. I have every confidence he will achieve that goal.
I don’t tutor James. That’s not the purpose of our time together. We don’t talk about anything all that serious, nor do I make it a point to give him advice or guidance. In fact, most of the time, we simply play cards. But, we have a great relationship.
Early on, when the bell rang, James would call over his shoulder as he leaped out of his chair and headed back to class, “Goodbye forever.” But, it wasn’t forever. In fact, I came back the next week. And the next. And the next after that.
I can’t recall a day that James has missed, either. Indeed, this year, even though his birthday landed the same day as Project Mentor, he came to school that day—an impressive feat, considering his mother lets him stay home from school on his birthday. Our commitment to each other is reciprocal.
I encourage you to participate in Project Mentor. If you are a supervisor or a business owner, please allow your staff to get involved by giving them release time. Many more mentors are needed.
It's easy. It costs nothing but your time. And you get so much out of it. As do our kids, our schools, and our community.
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