Originally posted at
Safety Net For Youth Blog.
In his "I See the Promised Land" speech, Martin Luther King, Jr. expounded on the famous Biblical parable known as the "Good Samaritan" and had this to say:
[T]he first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?".
I have spent a lot of time waxing philosophical to any who will listen about the impact that joining AmeriCorps has had on my life; I quit a job I genuinely enjoyed, left the big City, my friends, my apartment, the life I had built for myself and traded it for a car that b/rarely works, a miniscule income, a strange town, and a profound sense of uncertainty. I can even go on and on about why I did it: restlessness, a desire to give back, my passion for education, an urge to reprioritize my life. But at the end of the day, I have to remind myself that these things really shouldn't matter very much.
The week before this past Christmas, I found myself in Homeward Bound's rec room, a guest at a party that was being thrown by a group of community members for the youth staying in the shelter. The space was full of people: employees, kids, volunteers, cheer-bringers. In the middle of the festivities, a policeman appeared at the door with a young man in tow, a runaway who was far from home. The shelter coordinator, Kate Arthur, went into immediate action, rallying together the shelter employees to process the new addition. The young man not only received immediate counseling and support but was soon in the thrust of the party, receiving gifts as just another member of this unorthodox family.
I don't know what the future has in store for that young man, but with
an unfortunate number of runaways trying to survive on the streets, I think it's important that he was able to sleep on a bed, under a roof, surrounded by people with a genuine concern for his welfare.
What is my role in all of this? It feels so small. When I hit constant road blocks, see constant disappointment, I feel as if I have done nothing to help youth like that aforementioned young man. I wonder if it is even worth me being here. These are the moments, at the end of days such as this, when I must remember that it does not matter why I have chosen to be here, why it does not matter how this makes me feel. I was the first person to open the door for the policeman that night and it is easy for me to take on the attitude that anyone could have done it, that others would have been more initially helpful to him, but if it had not been me, who would it have been? Who should it have been?
As MLK day quickly approaches, it is easy for me to stop to consider how fortunate I am to be an African-American female with a college degree, to be thankful that I can sit in the front of the bus, eat at a lunch counter, use a public restroom, etc. and I do believe that it is important for me to do so. I also believe that it was part of Dr. King's dream for all to be so fortunate and, as it stands, there are still youth of myriad race, class, intelligence who don't have a chance to live so safe a life.
Because this chasm has been naught to me, it is my responsibility to turn around and help to build the bridge for the youth who follow, regardless of how good or bad the effort makes me feel at times, regardless of whether or not, in the end, I gave up everything only to be the person who opened one front door for one young man.
Marian Kelly is the Safe Place VISTA at the Homeward Bound Runaway Shelter in Covington, KY.
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