Open Letter from a Volunteer

One of my favorite parts of this project (there are many, but this is honestly one of my absolute favs) is having an excuse to get to know some of the most kind-hearted people around: my volunteers. Check out who they are and what they've been doing for this project in our updated blog sidebar/ Facebook info tab. And now, it's with total gratitude that I share a few words from one of them:

I first heard about the “The Best Day of My Life… So Far” project when I received an open email from Benita Cooper asking for volunteers to transcribe the writings of the seniors in her class. I immediately was drawn to the project for its intrinsic value to, not only future generations, but to the seniors who have so much to say and to few of us are listening; you have only to read the stories to understand. I have always thought that, as a society, we have sadly neglected our seniors and have failed to recognize what wonderful anecdotes they have to share from their life experiences.

Like so many others, my grand-parents immigrated to this country just after the turn of the century. Although both my grand-mothers died before I was born I still had my grand-fathers with me until I was a teenager. How many times I have regretted the fact that I never asked more questions and talked more with them about their experiences; coming to America, living through two world wars, the great depression and so much more. How wonderful it would have been to know why they decided to make the journey across and ocean and leave behind family and friends for the unknown. To have had their stories written down in their own words would have been a legacy beyond value.

Through the “Best Day” project our seniors have an opportunity to get their stories out there for everyone to appreciate. The value of this project goes way beyond any personal or private gain but is clearly a viable way of preserving our ancestry and more importantly a value beyond measure to our seniors who now have a voice, and through that voice gain a renewed sense of worth.

- Arlene LeVine

Beatrice (A Different Kind of Weather)

I’ll always remember this story because of what Beatrice said afterwards, in response to my exclamation: “I can’t even imagine experiencing changes as drastic as this.”

And this is what she said, laughing (she’d already started laughing before she said it): “If you’re around long enough, you WILL!”

How could I not laugh with her? It’s scary and beautiful at the same time. To know that one day I will know a lot of things that, right now, hey, I just don’t know. Really scary and really beautiful.

Beatrice Newkirk
A Different Kind of Weather

The weather today is altogether different.  In the olden days, we could tell the difference in the weather.  We knew when it got cold, it stayed cold.  When it got hot, it got hot and stayed hot.  In the days of cold, we would put away summer clothes until the next summer.  We did not have to go back and forth. 

Nowadays, we don’t know.  Cold one week, hot the next.  Nowadays, you have to keep summer clothes, winter clothes altogether.  We never had to go back in the summer to get summer things out of the closet because it was a change in the weather.  Sometimes we think it’s going to be hot, then it’s cold.  We can’t change the weather, but we can change ourselves.

God is in charge of the weather.  Whatever is put on us, we have to bear.  Without the weather, where would we be?  A different kind of weather.

Mo (A Criminal Act)

Mmm, looking through the past few blog posts and noticing that they are on the serious side. How about kicking it with a funny post today? But first, some sound effects. Before reading out loud in class, Mo whispered, "It's the first time I've ever confessed this." Around the table, the rest of us gasped, squealed, magnified our eyes and huddled closer.  And then, finally, Mo began: "The… Cr…iminal… Act!" The gasping, squealing, magnifying and huddling happened all over again...

Mo McCooper
A Criminal Act

When I was little my mother had a number of stays in the hospital. She never complained but it was tough on her. My Aunt Helen and Uncle Joe, a police sergeant would keep me at their house a few blocks from mine.  I was about five years old and had spent a week or so with my cousins, my Aunt Helen baked a lemon meringue pie for me to take home to my parents.

About halfway home I noticed a thick bushy tree in front of a neighbor’s house. The smell of the hot pie overcame my sense of right and wrong. Just one bite led to another and soon all the pie was gone. I hid the pie plate under the little porch behind me. A few days later Aunt Helen called my mom to ask me to bring the pie plate back. The gig was up and my life of crime had been discovered. I have never lived that event down but they laughed too hard to sentence me.

On Selfishness

Mo as you know is one of my senior buddies. This week, he and I were scrolling through the class’ Facebook page, and I said almost without thinking, see how you are inspiring all these young people?

Guess what he told me? “Oh, I don’t know about that aspect of it. I just know what this means to myself. This class got me to do something I really should have done a long time ago. Write things down. Think about things. And you know, all this got me thinking that I should’ve taken the time to have these conversations with my own grandparents before they passed.” We talked for a while about all this. “Like I tell my four daughters,” he added, looking straight into my eyes, “it’s ok to be selfish sometimes.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said in the past few days. I don’t think he was trying to be modest. We're too close for that. He was being honest. His fuel is personal.

There is a sweet spot when selfishness equals personal drive. I think that's what Mo meant. So I've been thinking, if it’s ok to be selfish, what is my fuel? What keeps me pumped about our storytelling class week after week? Why am I so excited right this second as I'm typing on this blog?

For me it comes down to something very simple. I love talking with my grandma on my phone. I live in Philadelphia; she lives in Seattle. Our ages are fifty-nine years apart. But on the phone, distance disappears. It feels like we’re two schoolgirls giggling side by side on a swingset. Our friendship opens my heart up, and I want to do everything I can to hold onto that feeling and grow it bigger. In Chinese, which is the language we talk in, “open-heart” translates to mean happy.

If all it takes for me to feel happiness is to get on the phone with my grandma every other night and hang out at the senior center once a week, if it’s that easy, of course I’ll do it! If along the way, other people get “inspired” to listen along and reach out to the seniors in their lives, awesome. If along the way, seniors gain joy in any way, amazing. If along the way, it has taught me and any of my peers to think positively about aging and even look forward to it (I am turning thirty this year, not old but not young), hey, why not. If along the way, the project grows larger than myself (at last check our blog readership has reached 400 a month), larger than I can wrap my head around, I’ll challenge myself to grow with it.

Because if it’s ok to be selfish, I’ll go ahead and say it: I am collecting seniors’ stories and sharing them simply because it makes me happy.

Ronald (The Family)

The other day in class, Beatrice unfolded a sheet of paper from her purse and handed it to me. On it was a poem in bold font. “Who wrote this?” I asked. “My son,” she says, “He wrote this several years ago, and everyone in the family has a copy.” She asked me if I could tape it up where it was ripped at the folds – clearly she's been carrying this poem in her purse all these years. Then, she asked if I could read it out loud for the class. I remember feeling so honored as I read, and I remember the pride that kept pouring out of her eyes as I looked up between the lines.

Ronald Newkirk
(#3 of Beatrice’s 7 sons)
The Family

When it’s family
you forgive them for they know not what they do
When it’s family
you accept them, ‘cause you have no choice but to.
When it’s family
they’re a mirror of the worst and best in you.
and when they always put you to the test and
you always do you best, and just pray for GOD to
do the rest.

when it’s family
some are preachers, some are gays, some are addicts,
drunks and strays, but none are turned away
when it’s family.
some are lucky, others ain’t, some are fighters.
others faint, winners, losers, sinners, saints
It’s all about family.
And when it’s family you trust
them and your heart’s an open door, and when it’s family
you tolerate what you’d kill others for.
when it’s family
you love and hate and take, then give some more.
somehow you justify mistakes, try to find some better way
to solve the problems day to day in the family.
you take the trouble as it comes and love them more
than anyone, good or bad or indifferent it’s still family.
You choose your lover, pick your friends,
not the family that you’re in, they’ll be with you
till the end cause it’s family

and when it’s family
you forgive them for they know not what they do
when it’s family
they’re a mirror of the worst and best in you.

When it’s family,
Let me be all I should be to
The Family…

Beatrice (The Dinner Table)

Beatrice has run one good family. That’s for sure. Here’s a piece she wrote about the importance of the dinner table. Ironic, right? As pressure mounts these days on parents to accumulate (classes, books, magazines, toys, irresistible little onesies), turns out all parents need to do is to clear the table. But... the real proof of a top-notch parent is her son’s family values. (You guessed it, that’s my effort at a cliffhanger - stay tuned for a poem from Beatrice’s son in the next blog post!)

Beatrice Newkirk
The Dinner Table
  
Had to feed a family of 12 kids and two grown-ups.  Planning a meal was not an easy job – making sure everything was planned right.  I always cooked a full meal.  I always cooked greens, beans, macaroni and always something hot.

Breakfast was always a must.  My kids never went to school hungry.  In the fifties, my kids came home for lunch.  So at 12 o’clock, they came home, went back to school at one o’clock.  Nowadays, they have lunch in the schools.  Things are so different now and better.

Another good time at the table was on Thanksgiving.  That was when we cooked that biggest meal.  Everyone at the table at one time.  The dinner table was the best.