Day: February 23, 2018

The story of life is hellos and goodbye, wrote Jimi Hendrix, the story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye.

A couple of years ago, I was pre-occupied with rebuilding my life, something Ali and these boys will never know a thing about.

I didn’t know any of the people at lunch today, or who came to my farm this afternoon. I was incapable of empathy, I didn’t really know what it was.

Today, these people – the refugee kids, the Mansion residents –  are woven into my very soul now, central to my life,  quicker than the wink of an eye. They have connected me to my own life, my own destiny. I feel empathy now, I know what it is.

Ali is my brother now, the brother I always wished for, the brother I never had.

We know each other in ways that seem unlikely, if not impossible. I admire Ali and his kids, I think of a quote I read once, it said you endure what is unbearable and you bear it. That is all.

That is the story of these people we call refugees, especially these kids,  they lost everything and come here to lose everything once more, and they bear it, that is all, with grace and love.

“We lost our home, which means the familiarity of daily life. We lost our occupation, which means the confidence that we are of some use in this world. We lost our language, which means the naturalness of reactions, the simplicity of gestures, the unaffected expression of feelings. We left our relatives behind and our best friends have been killed…and that means the rupture of our daily lives.”  

–Hannah Arendt, “We Refugees.”

Ali knows my love of photography and my need to document this work, so as the van pulled out of the driveway, he stopped and he and the other kids stuck their arms out of the windows to wave goodbye. He knew I would take a photo, he was giving me a gift I would not have asked for.

I was surprised, he didn’t need to do that.

A small act, a thoughtful one, I was standing in the driveway with Fate, she kept jumping into the van to ride to Albany.

Fate and teenage boys were made for one another, they adore her and always ask where she is.

Like Holden Caulfield in Catcher In The Rye, I have never known how to say good-bye in an  honest way. I have never known how to show what I feel when something I care about is leaving me. I am easily overcome with emotion, but I flub goodbye every time.

I want to say something profound, or memorable, and I freeze up, I just sand dumbly waving my hands and think later about what I should have said. I was trying to feel a special kind of good-bye today, I’ve left so many places and people and never even knew I was leaving them.

I remember saying goodbye to my daughter Emma when we left her in her room at Yale and headed home. I just shrugged and waved, and then turned away and cried. She never knew what I was feeling.

I always hated that about myself. It can be a good good-bye or a sad good-bye, but i ought to be able to say it properly and honesty, and fear of emotion is not authentic. Words are my living. It isn’t that I don’t feel things deeply, more that I can’t say things deeply.

I think these people waving at me today as they said goodbye and went down my driveway have changed me forever, and I will not forget them or walk away from them.

I wish I had said that to them, but instead, I stood still and dumb on the slippery driveway, unable to connect my heart to my mouth, waving my hat just like my grandmother waving her handkerchief at me when I drove away, so full of emotion, but with no words to put in my mouth.

it was all in the wink of an eye.

I keep forgetting to add this in many of my posts, but I should say again that your donations make this work with the refugees and Mansion residents possible. If you can or wish, you can donate to this  work by sending a contribution (small ones are just as important as big ones) to my post office box, Jon Katz, P.O. 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected]. If you have a preference just mark the check either “Mansion” or “Refugee” Fund.

All donations are kept in a separate account and monitored by a bookkeeper and accountant. If you are writing to support the blog, you can just say “blog” or “work” Thanks much.

it was a curious thing, at first. Klue, a 13-year-old refugee from Thailand, sat down next to Joan at lunch at the Mansion. It was difficult to see anything these two had in common with one another. And Joan has a number of severe memory issues that sometimes make easy conversation challenging.

I was struck by how Klue handled this. I saw him smiling at Joan, talking to her, listening to her, even when she wasn’t being precise and clear about what she was saying.

Klue smiled, nodded, asked a few questions. He never looked ill at ease, uncomfortable or disinterested. Joan thanked me for inviting him, she said the conversation was wonderful and she was so grateful for it.

Klue is wise beyond his years, and has a great heart. I had the sense this was a good thing for both of them.

They came in Ali’s Magical Coach and left around 2:30, as the afternoon ice storm was coming in. Ali got out just in time, they all got home safely. Yesterday, I went to the Battenkill Bookstore and bought 18 books, one for every member of the soccer team.

The books varied from graphic novels about the Black Panther (a movie they loved) to trivia and quiz and mystical drawing books, there were books about geography and space and history and scary houses.

I used to think when dealing with these boys that we had to choose which book to give each one, so they would not quarrel or be envious of what someone else had. I was worried about squabbling, even fighting.

They get in the van quickly and all find seats, there is no jockeying or complaining, Ali does not tolerate it. The minute the kids saw the books, they put away their cell phones. Although everyone wanted the Black Panther novels, nobody demanded one or fought for one.

They simply distributed the books from one to another, and since they share everything, everybody knew they would get the book they wanted eventually. They each wanted the other to have what they wanted, in seconds, they were all quiet absorbed in reading.

Ali said he never heard a word from them all the way home. They would, he said, share the books with each other, and with their siblings at home. Everyone was part of a community, everyone shared. They all thanked me and waved to me for giving them the books, something I will try to make a habit of doing, money permitting.

I was glad to see these young men, sorry to see them go. They seem a part of me now, a new kind of family. I don’t see that often and can’t even pronounce all of their names yet. That is a goal of mine.

Books are a lovely thing to give them, for all kinds of reasons. It was a lift to see them all busy reading as they pulled away.

Klue is one of the youngest members of the RISSE soccer team, and perhaps the most outgoing. He is 13 years old and in many ways, he embodies the spirit of Ali and the refugee children. Ali teaches the members of the team to treat one another as brothers, and it is striking to see how deeply embedded this idea has become with these young men.

They do not ever ridicule or hurt one another, they treat one another as family, and watch out for each other. They show no signs of envy or cruelty, they spend many hours together each week and I have never seen a hurtful act or cutting word when they are together.

They are a band of brothers, Ali has taught them the power of that.

Klue is a hugger, friendly and cheerful, he always has a ready smile, and it is also clear there is a lot going on behind those eyes. I enjoy taking his portrait, black and white does sometimes capture the soul.

Many of the RISSE kids who came to the farm today had never seen a donkey or touched one.

They pulled out their cell phones to take pictures and send them off to their families. Lulu and Fanny are seasoned greeters, but boisterous and anxious people make them nervous and they back off sometimes.

We asked them to come in quietly, and one at a time, and let nature take its course. They are not used to being quiet, for sure. But it worked.

It was getting cold, and the rain was turning to ice and snow, and the boy were shivering in their hooded sweatshirts and sneakers. Maria soothed the donkeys – they love and trust her totally – and the boys fell in love with them, all the while beaming selfies and photos  home and to their friends.

We love to do this and are good at it.

We took the RISSE boys out one by one. Four were just too anxious to come out, the rest came out one at a time, held cookies, were calm and soothing and Lulu and Fanny warmed to them and came up to get their treats. A sweet sight for me, they will be coming here often when the weather turns.

I realized that the farm is very exotic to them. They kept talking about our views of the mountains and the hills. Several told me they never see green  hills or forests in their new lives. I can tell they miss that. Our donkeys have converted many a nervous kid to the wonder of animals. It is a gift to be able to do that.