I’ve been volunteering and fund-raising for four or five years in schools where there are refugees and assisted care facilities where there are older people. There are some consistencies and some constants.

I always have to get a security check, I always have to produce rabies shots for Zinnia, and I always ask for and get permission for every photograph I take and in writing.

I volunteered first at RISSE, a non-profit refugee center in Albany.

It was a bad match;  they were hostile and xenophobic; I got the sense they didn’t like people like me and didn’t want me around.

And I sure didn’t like them, although the kids suffered from this squabbling, as always. (If you want to do this work, and I hope you do, be prepared to spend some time looking for the right place and be rejected and frustrated.)

So I switched gears. I started working on getting full scholarships for refugee children who had worked so hard and were successful; I got eight of them into some of the best schools in the area, and all expenses were paid.

And then, at the recommendation of a headmaster who liked my work, I  connected with Bishop Maginn. The Principal, Mike Tolan, knew of my work and invited me in immediately. They badly needed help, and I wanted to help. This helped expand the Army Of Good.

I found my home for refugee work.

I  became close to Sue Silverstein, the sister of another mother.

We became lifelong friends, and when the school closed and she moved to Notre Dame-Bishop Gibbons, there was no question about whether I would be with her or consider some of the other school requests to bring the Army of Good to them.

I get requests like that often. But I’ve learned that the more I focus, the better we will do.

My reply is always the same. I go where Sue is; that is always where I will do this work.

She understands, gets, and likes me; we work beautifully together. It was just the opposite of RISSE. I was welcome, and we got to work with no  BS or posturing. Sue was always happy to help her babies, as she called them. The work I was trying to hard to do got underway.

In a sense, Bishop Maginn, a troubled place with very few students who could pay full tuition, had been in decline for some time. It was a matter of time. It was like the Wild West, with few rules, restrictions, or paperwork. Mostly, they were hanging on.

That,  oddly, was part of the fun. There is no better cause than a helpless one.

I saw and read that Catholic Dioceses everywhere, battered by years of revelations and accusations about the sexual abuse of children, were getting very serious about teaching everybody who works there – volunteers and teachers, everybody – how to spot and stop troubling behavior and how never to permit any to flourish.

When everyone is paying attention, abuse is much more challenging to do. So everybody attending a Catholic School to work regularly must take some tests.

 

 

I wish the Church had done it years ago, but I admire them for doing it so consistently and seriously now.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a message from Bishop Gibbons asking me to take an online course about protecting children and spotting troubling behaviors or signs of abuse or neglect.

They didn’t ask me; they told me.

The hard part was that I was told that Maria and I couldn’t come to the school without taking an online course that included three videos and some tests afterward.

Although nobody used the term, we were banned.

I was taken aback to be banned. Trucks pull up daily to the school with art supplies, metal objects, and books for Bishop Gibbons. And we’re just getting started. Maybe I was waiting for a parade.

I had to cancel my planned visits until I took these classes and passed three different tests.

My ego was twitching and saying bad things, but my better side was much louder: suck it up and do it. It can’t be bad for me. And I’m not famous, or even a celebrity anymore.

If I’m serious about helping these kids, isn’t this very important? I am very committed to this work.

I have a long and bitter relationship with bureaucrats,  bureaucracies, and paperwork, and I’ve gotten spoiled by being in schools that need the kind of help we offer and have welcomed me with open arms.

Every teacher and volunteer in the Catholic  School system has to take these tests, and the correct response is that it’s about time, not why I should be bothered.

I grumbled and stewed a little; then, I decided to ban some things of my own in my life instead: whining, complaining, or ever letting my fear or ego make bad decisions.

This paid off almost immediately when I patiently and courteously negotiated with my health insurance company and the hospital whose doctors I see for health care.

Because I stayed calm and courteous, people on both ends wanted to help deal with a $670 bill that I couldn’t understand and seemed to be a mistake.

We’re working it out. I was proud of myself for treating everyone involved with dignity; a few years ago, I would have wanted to strangle somebody. This is what corporations put far away people in between them and us.

Of course, I had the usual Dyslexic trouble figuring out how the online instruction works at the Catholic training hub, but my friends Sue and Trish White at Bishop Gibbons gently but firmly guided me through it.

They said we all must do it and need you at school. It was presented as a simple thing that would take a few minutes. Of course, it was more than that, which was a good thing.

This morning, I set aside two or three hours and signed up for the Catholic national training hub, which focuses on sexual harassment, abuse, and neglect. I thought about it. It is an honor for me to be permitted to do this work. I should be saying thanks for the chance.

I was surprised at how good the presentation was. It was straightforward, not judgmental, helpful, not pedantic and honest, not glib or false.

The Catholic Church has learned a lot in the past few years, and I learned a lot from them this morning.

It was odd because I know and have always known sexual abuse is an evil wrong and that child abuse is a horrific crime and that children often suffer from neglect when they live in troubled homes, and that neglect can be as damaging as abuse that is sexual or physical. It’s one thing to know; it’s another thing to see.

Even though I knew it and had read it, I didn’t fully understand how widespread these issues are and how many children suffer terribly. Teachers see it all the time.

As I watched these videos and took these tests, I realized that my understanding of them was intellectual, even though I have suffered from some of them. I left it to the school and the teachers to look for troubling signs.

I also came to an even greater appreciation of teachers, who are almost universally underappreciated and harassed by ignorant baboons.

All I was asked to do was to be conscious of the signs and symptoms of a child in trouble and to let someone know when I saw any danger signs.

What a small thing to ask for. I remember working with a person who worked with these children and feeling uncomfortable at how close this person was to them, how much time they spent with them, and how much touching and hugging there was.

Since I didn’t send of abuse, I didn’t think of it or think I had any right to mention it. What if I was wrong? I had no proof. I know now that what I saw is often the birth of abuse and that professional and trained people can evaluate the dangers. I didn’t know enough.

The kids loved this person, and I didn’t understand that it was not an appropriate thing to be happening. I was right, as it turned out, and I regretted not having said something right away. I would say something now, especially after watching these videos and listening carefully to them.

I take care about these things and always have.

I am never alone with any of the children I interview or help without a teacher being present and a parent giving permission. I do more fund-raising than anything else except occasionally teaching a writing class or mentoring students who want to improve their writing or learn about blogging.

I have never taken a photograph of anyone without written or verbal permission.

I saw myself as more of a fund-raiser than a volunteer, yet I do more. And I am more, and so is Maria. I’m teaching and mentoring.

Sometimes I teach and try to support a child’s culture and education.

So it is appropriate and essential for me to get the training and education about dealing with children that Sue Silverstein or Trish and anybody else working in the building receives and knows. I want to know it too.

I don’t do and ever do any of the things I was learning about in these videos, but neither was I as aware of what so many children are going through as I want to be and will be. I nod to the Church for making sure those awful horrors don’t happen to the children in their children again.

More and more, I am learning to put aside my anger and hurt, be patient, listen and learn, and always treat other people with dignity and compassion, even when some people make it difficult or impossible.

I felt grateful that I had to take these courses and spent some time focusing on how to spot suffering in children and how inappropriate touching, tickling, and rough-housing can often be a sign of sexual abuse (I don’t do those things, I have sometimes seen it).

I understand now that if I pay more attention, I see what might be behind a child with body odors, unkempt hair, wild mood swings, no warm clothing, or other signs of abuse or neglect. And I’m banning whining and complaining. We are becoming a nation of whining, self-pitying victims.

I will remember that I’m no trained shrink or social worker. What might trouble me could be poverty, a work crisis,  or other perfectly innocent things. But I can let a teacher know when I’m bothered by something and leave the rest to the schools and professionals.

That is not too much to ask of me.

We’re not talking about Orwellian invasiveness, just alertness, and common sense. But it is a different and somewhat more sensitive way to look at these kids I admire, some of whom I have come to love, and to pay more attention to what I see. I could do more good than I ever imagined.

I’m in a position to save a lot of children from years of suffering if I see something wrong and just let a teacher know. It can be as simple as that. I have to take responsibility for that.

I messaged English Teacher Trish and asked if it was okay for me to buy Killian, who I am mentoring, a book by his favorite author Stephen King, or if that might be inappropriate. One can be too sensitive, as the videos warned. But I wanted to make sure.

I said I would give the book to her to give to him if that was better.

She said it was appropriate for me to do that and give it to him.

I think it’s always best for her to know about it, as was and is the case with Sue. I always ask. I trust them, and I want them to trust me. That has to be earned, not dictated or assumed.

Maria is away at a sculpture museum; I texted her that I had overseen the videos and taken the tests. I told her I had forwarded the links to her so she could take them whenever she wished. Oh, she said, that must have been a grind. I could almost hear her groaning a little as I did.

No, I said, the videos are excellent and helpful. I’m glad to have taken them. They were worth every minute to me.

I took the tests and passed their tests. I’m no longer banned. I can’t wait to get back.

She was startled and messaged back.

“Oh, that is good news,” she said. “I want to hear all about it when I get home.” She will.