Did you ever want to give back to your community? One of the ways of doing this is to join a service club and get involved in its community projects.

Sometimes you end up getting as much or more than you give. This was the case in . . .

My Buddy: A True Story

“2014”

     As a retiree, I wanted to give back to my community. So as a member of the Rotary Club of Lincoln, CA, I volunteered to be a “Book Buddy.” How hard could it be? I thought—just sitting with children and listening to them read. So I calendared the two Thursdays a month I would go to the Creekside Oaks Elementary School to engage in reading with a third grader, one who would cherish the time spent with me and listen closely to the reading skills wisdom I would provide.

     That first Thursday arrived. I felt both confident and anxious at the same time. I parked my car in the school lot, made my way to the office, and signed in. I proudly placed the visitor’s badge on my shirt, not once, but three times, as it kept falling from my body to the counter. When I finally succeeded in getting it to stick, I was directed to the school cafeteria, where I would be paired with a child eager to read with me.

     Upon entering the cafeteria, I was instructed by the “Book Buddy” coordinator to take a seat at one of the eight-foot long tables. So I climbed over the bench, sat down, and waited. Then my world exploded. Hundreds of third graders rushed through the doors of the cafeteria. Well not quite hundreds—maybe twenty-five. They were told to stand in line facing the tables. Then the school principal spoke, “Boys and girls, the adults sitting before you will be your buddies this afternoon and will help you to improve your reading skills. Now, in the order you are lined up, I would like you to choose one of them to read with.”

     This frightened me more than a little bit. Who would pick me? I’m old. These are little kids. I became antsy as I awaited my fate. And then she appeared. A bubbly brunette, with a wonderful smile, gushed, “You’re the one I want to read with.” Taken aback, it took me a minute before motioning to her to sit on the bench to my right. She scampered up next to me and blurted, “My name is Olivia. Who are you?”

     “Uh, I’m Alan. I see you’re holding a book in your hand. May I see it?” She placed it in front of me and I read the title, “Crazy Jim’s Adventure.” I scanned a few of the pages. It looked okay—not too difficult, but somewhat challenging. Seemed appropriate for a third grader. “Let’s begin on page one.” But before I could give the book back to her, she posed a question I had not anticipated.

     She inspected me up and down, took a deep breath, and hesitated for a moment. Gathering her courage, she exclaimed, “How old are you? My mom is thirty-five, but you seem older than that.” She gave me a funny look. “Oh!” she shouted. “You must be my grandfather’s age.” Then she reflected, “But he’s only fifty-five, so you must be at least  . . .”

     Before she could complete her sentence, I chanted, “Let’s read.” And that began my relationship with Olivia that ran to the end of the school year in late May. Each day started with her interviewing me. During this time, she discovered my real age, found out I was married to a redhead, learned I liked the Oakland A’s and the Sacramento Kings, and realized I ate a lot of pasta.

     Now mind you, we did get to read on occasion. That is, when she wasn’t staring out the window at cloud formations, crawling under the table to see what kind of shoes I had on, or reading the signs on the cafeteria walls. A ball of fire with a large grin, she lit up my life for the brief forty minutes I spent with her at each reading session. That being said, the year ended all too soon. And as I told her how nice it had been to get to know her and how well she had done, she turned to me and whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

     “I’ll miss you, too,” I said softly. She gave me a big smile, handed me the bookmark I’d given her at the beginning of the year, and disappeared from the cafeteria and my life.

     I dropped the bookmark face down on the table. To my surprise, on the back was a picture of a girl she had drawn, with the inscription, “From Olivia for Alan. So you won’t forget me.” At that moment, if I could have been granted one wish, it would have been to see the future. For I truly believe, this bright, talented, energetic, inquisitive young girl will be destined for greatness.

Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.