Simeon and me

You might recall Simeon from the May 3 post to this blog. I generally like to keep things moving forward rather than revisiting past stories, but I left some business unfinished back there.

You see, there’s a detail I left out of the narrative of Simeon’s and my trip to the ballpark. It was the question he asked me during the drive home. I had told him we were still looking for a committed partner for him, and he said, “Mr. Matt, why couldn’t you be my mentor?”

I can’t recall what answer I gave him that night. I do recall revisiting his question in my mind every single day until the end of the school year, when Simeon’s mom called me to ask if we could make haste getting him paired up with someone. She had concerns about the influences around him and hoped he could get some additional support during the unstructured months of summer.

I told Simeon’s mom, Claudine, I would make it a priority to find Simeon’s match within a week. Then I looked in the mirror and found him.

The list of objections that had played in my head before that conversation went something like this: “I have two small kids of my own who need a lot of attention,” “My wife works, too, and it’s already tricky to coordinate our schedules,” “I need to maintain a degree of separation from the program to allow me to make objective decisions about it,” and “Am I willing to make a sustained commitment to meet weekly with one particular teen? I have a lot on my plate, and we don’t exactly live next door to one another.”

I’m not proud of my objection list. After all, I’m usually the one who, along with Dottie, affirms prospective mentors in their belief that they can do this, that they’re in for one of life’s truly rewarding experiences if they’ll push past the objections that keep them from getting involved and then make good on their commitment. It’s funny how a small dose of perspective—that there is a real and great need—can melt away the objections.

So how are things with Simeon and me so far? Well, we spent our first two sessions throwing things at each other. It’s not what it sounds like, though—he eked out a win when we tossed a pickup game of cornhole at Atlantic Station, then we played catch at a local ballfield and he showed off his pitching arm.

We’ve also discussed Simeon’s goals, which include attending college (preferably at Clemson or Auburn) on a baseball scholarship. I’ve learned that he loves tofu, wants to study sports medicine, enjoys cooking, and feels self-conscious when he stumbles over his words but is willing to talk anyway. I’ve also seen firsthand what I already knew from interacting with a lot of committed partners: that two guys from different generations, different parts of town, and different backgrounds can have a lot in common, whether it seems that way on the surface or not.

Why couldn’t I be Simeon’s committed partner? No good reason I can think of….

Surprise!

I have a confession to make: Last week I participated in a plot. I was sneaky and conniving, and I said things that, while not altogether untrue, were intentionally misleading. And I’d do it all again.

My co-conspirators included Sonya, a volunteer mentor, and Carmen, a board member, and the victim was Ms. Dottie, longtime program director for YES!Atlanta.

My part was simple, really: Do what it took to make sure Dottie was in our program office from 9:30 until noon Wednesday. Of course, we were coming out of a holiday weekend that Dottie had extended by using a vacation day. And she was to be onsite past typical office hours Wednesday evening to process a teen into the program. She was a good sport, though, and didn’t fuss at me too much for insisting on this particular block of time for a program planning session. Neither did she put up a fight that morning when Carmen showed up and asked her to help unload some program supplies from her car.

As Dottie walked out of the Juvenile Justice Center, Karyn Greer of 11Alive showed up to spring a surprise on her—Sonya had nominated her to be the beneficiary of a Random Act of Kindness. The gesture clearly touched Dottie, and she graciously accepted two $100 gift cards along with an admonition that she was to use them on something for herself.

The tribute was fitting. Beyond fulfilling a wide array of duties, Dottie has been there in person to celebrate high school graduations with Coaching for Success teens, and has driven hours to support some of those same grads four years later as they walked across another stage at the conclusion of their college career. She’s cooked food, organized pitch-ins, and given more rides than you could count into and out of neighborhoods many of her peers wouldn’t set foot in.

The conversation Dottie initiated as we headed back upstairs to our second-floor cubicle after her surprise says it all. She’d been interrupted in the middle of a phone call with a mentor she’s actively working to match with a young man in the program, and she was preoccupied not with how she would use her gift cards, but with getting back down to business.

“I have a soft spot in my heart for Michael,” she confided. “He’s a good kid.” (Dottie’s demonstrating that soft spot by enlisting Michael’s help with odd jobs to give him the opportunity to earn some money.) “I told [the mentor] if he’s not going to commit to doing right by him, I’ll find someone who will.” Noting my ever-so-slightly raised eyebrows, she continued. “I can talk to him a certain way, Matt.”

That she can.

So here’s to a remarkable lady whose systematic acts of caring make her such a deserving recipient of a Random Act of Kindness. Bravo, Ms. Dottie! And thanks for all that you do!

At last!

The story of Je’Mia’s involvement with Coaching for Success reads like…well…like life just is sometimes.

She started attending the weekly tutoring sessions at the Villages at Carver last fall along with several other young ladies, all of whom knew one another through school or proximity in the neighborhood or blood relation. She’s been a fixture at those weekly sessions ever since, missing only occasionally and never without cause.

Je’Mia has a wonderful personality. She’s bright, enthusiastic, outgoing, and interacts well with peers and adults alike. But for no apparent reason, when it comes to her experience with would-be mentors, she has been snakebit.

Back in the fall, we found a match that looked solid—common interests, right geographic range, compatable personalities—and it got off to a terrific start. Je’Mia’s face is a good barometer for her feelings, and she was all smiles when she was with her mentor or talking about her. Then, a few months in, something happened. I wish I could be more specific about what that “something” was, but it’s so far proven to be one of the unsolved mysteries of this program year.

Suddenly, Je’Mia’s check-ins about her time with her mentor changed. “We went ice skating” and “We’re planning to do such-and-such” turned into “I haven’t been able to reach her” and “When will I get to see my mentor again?”

Since that match terminated prematurely, we’ve made a few cautious attempts to place Je’Mia in another mentoring relationship. There was the month or so Dottie spent trying to coordinate a meeting with another prospect before she, too, fell off the radar. And the more recent case of a potential match we explored who lived just a little too far away.

Through it all, Je’Mia has been remarkably patient. She’s frequently asked “When am I going to get a mentor?” but she’s been unwavering in her commitment to attend program activities.

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Melanie’s involvement as a volunteer with YES!Atlanta began with a flourish. Before she even completed the screening and training process required before a mentor is matched with a teen, she was all in. She attended a volunteer support session, met and interacted with some veteran mentors and some fellow newcomers to the program, signed up to help staff our YES!Atlanta booth at a community event, offered to lend a hand with social media….

Melanie attended last month’s Second Saturday session, and she met Je’Mia. Theirs was only a brief first encounter. They spoke a few words to one another during the lunch break. It was enough.

Melanie told me before leaving at the end of the session that she’d really like to be paired with Je’Mia. She’d been struck by that short conversation and by Je’Mia’s sustained engagement with the group in the morning session. Two days later, at the weekly tutoring session, Je’Mia inquired about the possibility of a match with Melanie.

The rest is history. Melanie completed her training two weeks ago, and Je’Mia’s mom hosted the match meeting this Wednesday. Today marks the first one-to-one meeting of this brand-new committed partnership. Je’Mia’s telltale smile is back, and I believe it—and her new mentor—is around to stay.

Graduation

Yesterday evening at the Georgia Dome, I had the privilege of seeing the lone senior in this year’s Coaching for Success program walk across the stage and claim his high school diploma. LaMontae graduated with honors, and will be attending Georgia State this fall.

I’ve been to a lot of graduation ceremonies over the years. They all seem to have in common that they’re not really occasions for speakers to make life-changing or controversial speeches. Survey the attendees afterward about the content of the valedictorian’s speech and you’d generally get responses ranging from “It was nice” to “Valedic-who?” The next time I see a proud parent or guardian of a soon-to-be grad pull out a pen and paper to take notes about the key points of a commencement address will be the first.

Graduation is, plain and simple, a night for a family to celebrate an important accomplishment by one of its members. The roll call portion of the program is my favorite part—a unique blend of gravitas and gaiety. Whether the assembled cheering section for each grad chooses to express their support with full-throated whoops and hollers or reserved golf claps, there’s something I will always enjoy about the whole experience of being in a crowd like that.

I sat beside Gordon last night. When LaMontae’s name was called, he vocalized an affirmation. I’m quite certain the sound didn’t carry from midway up section 130 behind the end zone to LaMontae’s ears on the 40-yard line, and I joked with Gordon that I had expected him to break out twin air horns and make a big scene. But neither he nor LaMontae’s mom needed air horns to demonstrate their support last night. They were there—just as they’ve been, just as they’ll continue to be.

I’ve really enjoyed getting to know LaMontae through his involvement with Coaching for Success. I’ve enjoyed watching as Gordon has stimulated LaMontae’s interest in math and helped him navigate the process of applying for schools and scholarships.  I’ve enjoyed hearing about the pair’s exploits together outside the weekly group tutoring sessions (see the February 15 post in this blog for one of the more memorable ones). And I’m confident this young man has a bright future ahead of him.

We caught up with LaMontae after the ceremony and congratulated him on his achievement. He seemed ready to get out of cap and gown and move on to a small family celebration at his favorite restaurant, P.F. Chang. I said good-bye and watched as LaMontae and his party of supporters—his girlfriend, his brother, his mom, and Gordon—walked off together into the night.

Second Saturday

Last Saturday we re-instituted a YES!Atlanta tradition. For the first time in more than a year, we invited all Coaching for Success participants together for a group session. Mary Mitchell, one of YES!Atlanta’s co-founders and a recent addition to the board of directors, facilitated the session.

Mary insisted on students’ participation and engagement from the outset. Once everyone had stood in front of the group and announced their name, grade, and school, she told the teens the first order of business would be to read through and discuss a set of five basic ground rules for Second Saturday sessions.

Mary made it clear that she’d be seeking a volunteer to read each of the rules, and, anticipating that most of the teens would wait for someone else to step forward, promised the first volunteer the chance to read the shortest rule.

A quiet seventh-grader among a mostly high school-aged group, Mike would have topped my board as the odds-on favorite to resist participating the longest. But he quickly reminded me that I am a nonprofit executive, not a handicapper. Buoyed by Mary’s promise that the early bird would get off relatively easy, he practically jumped out of his seat to read rule 1: Be on time.

This rule was a good entry point for the morning’s conversation about the importance of keeping commitments. We had announced a start time of 10 a.m., but the last of the participants didn’t arrive until almost 10:30.

Mary had confided in me beforehand that the students would get a free pass—this time—on rule 1. Good thing. The way a few of our teens came in made me wonder how they make it to school early in the morning five days a week. My first glance at a particularly bleary-eyed girl reminded me of a teen truism once set out for me by a program participant: “There’s no such thing as a Saturday morning.”

It was slow going at first, as the rules of engagement were set and re-set. Mary had to remind students at nearly every exchange that she expected them to raise their hand to be acknowledged, stand while speaking, and acknowledge others’ contributions.

If you’ve spent much time with teens, you can probably imagine the non-verbal cues they were giving out to display their resistance to the format—loud sighs, rolling eyes, contorted posture, and a pace of movement more befitting residents at a senior center than students in senior high school.

The change started taking root maybe ten minutes into the session. One by one, as they reached the conclusion that Mary was going to stick to her guns, the teens began complying with the ground rules and genuinely engaging in the conversation. What started as one or two outliers quickly developed into a majority, and voilà—the beginnings of a mutually supportive peer group.

It’s a delicate seedling at this point, but I expect it’ll flourish with the right tending. That’s what Second Saturdays are for.

Ice cream social

This past Monday, we offered the students at our newest tutoring site a treat to acknowledge them for their effort and consistent attendance this semester: an ice cream social. Students got to dress up their sundaes with a variety of toppings—cookies, candy bars, chopped nuts, whipped cream, chocolate sauce…even a cherry on top.

That’s how the evening ended, but it took some work to get there.

Larry is the Resident Services Director for the Villages at Carver community and the initiator of our sundae-making party. He’s been a great ally as we’ve gotten this new program site up and running in the past year. Recently, Larry has been a regular fixture at Monday night tutoring sessions. He’s built a rapport with the teens using his unique way of cutting up with them even while laying down the law.

A few weeks back, Larry and one of the young men at this site exchanged a few words about the importance of respect and making the most of opportunities. Things didn’t get overly heated between the two, but as an offshoot of that conversation, the young man (an every-week regular since January) didn’t attend the following Monday.

This week, he returned. Larry and I took him aside for a quick conversation in a side room. At first, his eyes were down and his guard up. He had muttered a few choice words on his way out the door last time, and this became the first topic of discussion. It took him a minute and a little bit of coaching to engage, but once he did, things started to take a turn for the better.

Larry made a few points about this being a critical moment to really take in some of life’s lessons about how to successfully interact with others. His tone was firm and his words direct, but they were followed by a sincere assurance that he cared for this young man and wanted him to be here.

I reminded the young man of a conversation we had in his home last December that concluded with my inviting him to join Coaching for Success, not because he was a bad guy or because he really needed someone to fix him and his
problems, but because he has such potential to make it in life.

We talked for a few minutes more, and once everything was “straight,” we rejoined the group and finished out a productive tutoring session.

Then came the ice cream social. It was a real pleasure to get to sit around the table with this group of young people, at ease and enjoying themselves. We’ve gotten to know one another pretty well since last fall, but there was something nice about being able to set the books aside and just share a treat.

I suppose that’s how it is sometimes—you come for tutoring (and maybe even a challenging conversation) and you get ice cream. It takes hard work and commitment to get to the payoff, but when you do, how sweet it is!

Take me out to the ballgame

I recently had an unexpected bonding opportunity with one of the young men in the Coaching for Success program. My chance came courtesy of Dan, a friend who offered up some Braves tickets he had gotten from work and was unable to use.

With a pair of the tickets I took Simeon, a ninth-grader who is currently waiting on a mentoring match, to the ballpark. Simeon plays catcher on his high school baseball team and is an avid student of the game. This was not his first trip to Turner Field, but he was still wide-eyed at the experience.  With his mother’s blessing, he insisted on staying to the very end, when I snapped the attached photo of him.

Throughout the evening, Simeon was strikingly gracious. I was detained at a meeting and didn’t get to pick him up until the game was already a few innings old. He waved off my apologies, saying he was just happy for the chance to go.

It’s been a little while since I last visited a Major League ballpark, and as we passed booth after booth staffed by concessionaires and souvenir vendors on the way to our seats, I found myself wondering how my two young daughters would have reacted had they been there. Given half a chance, I suspect they would have overloaded with cotton candy, popcorn, foam tomahawks, and the like before ever laying eyes on the diamond. Not Simeon, though. He was there to see a game, and he quietly and confidently took the lead navigating to our section.

Like Simeon, I love a good ballgame. For my money, America’s pastime is the best among the major sports as a backdrop for meandering but meaningful conversation.  As the game moved along steadily, we talked our way easily through a number of topics—cherished memories at the ballpark, favorite players, the relative strengths of each team’s lineup, how to hit an off-speed pitch, the duties of a catcher who’s not starting, the progress Simeon’s making toward pulling his grades up, his knack for talking his way out of trouble, plans for the summer, and so on.

All in all, it was a wonderful night. The weather was perfect, the good guys won 3-2, and, with a little coaching from Simeon, I got the chance to perfect my tomahawk chop. Most importantly, a young man got a tangible reinforcement of a message we consistently work to get across—that he’s valuable, and there are people in his life who want the best for him.

I told Dan afterwards how much I appreciated his sharing those tickets. To him it was a simple and natural gesture, but for Simeon—and for me, too—it really meant a lot. Dan has a lot of responsibilities at work and at home. He may not have an hour every week to devote to mentoring a young person, but he made a valuable contribution nonetheless.