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In the weird world of dress-up, this story reigns supreme in my book. I never liked to dress up in costumes, and the one story I wrote about a costume was the one where I dressed like a man with a job, which required no special clothing.
This story was about the most difficult time I’ve ever had doing a job. It was a volunteer effort, and it was a good deed done well, but never to be done again by me.
In the late 60’s, I was on the Board of what was then called, “The Association for Retarded Citizens”, a name that is no longer politically correct. However, I was the youth leader for about a year, and I led a group of young volunteers who did good deeds related to the improvement of the lives of mentally challenged people. Many of these young people were brothers and sisters of a challenged brother or sister.
At Christmas time we decided to do a party for institutionalized kids, and contacted the local state facility that housed these children. We were told that they had lots of opportunities for people to help out at Christmastime, and they were overwhelmed by volunteers. Everyone it seemed was willing to help with the children. But, no one was there to help older, mentally challenged adults. We decided to take on this task.
We planned a program, wrapped donated gifts, worked on food, drinks and decorations. We had lots of kids, many adult helpers, and I was the designated Santa Claus, the one who would lead the charge and give out the gifts. Our challenge was a ward full of older women, mostly between the ages of 25 and 65. In hindsight I’m guessing there were about 25 women.
They were quite excited about a party, as this was not a normal event for them. Many were in their pajamas, and many wore diapers. This was a new experience for all the volunteers.
At the opening, in full make up and costume, I was on stage. The costume gave me a way to mentally separate myself from the activities, or so it seemed. It gave ma a persona, so I knew how to act. Above all I was Santa!
I remember very little of that night, it was a mind boggling experience for me. I was Ho, Ho, Hoing all over the place and laughing and talking to everyone. I distributed gifts and ate snacks and talked to so many women who thought I really was Santa.
For most of that evening while I was having a good time, tears were running out of my eyes. Tears of joy for doing something so meaningful, tears for seeing so many challenged women at once, placed out of their own homes and put away forever, tears for my on children so blessed by not having to experience this life.
I was confused and conflicted. There were many others in the group crying as well. This was not a single experience; it was a shared vision and a shared burden.
We did good work, and I only hope it helped those women and all those volunteers as they went forward.
This story was about the most difficult time I’ve ever had doing a job. It was a volunteer effort, and it was a good deed done well, but never to be done again by me.
In the late 60’s, I was on the Board of what was then called, “The Association for Retarded Citizens”, a name that is no longer politically correct. However, I was the youth leader for about a year, and I led a group of young volunteers who did good deeds related to the improvement of the lives of mentally challenged people. Many of these young people were brothers and sisters of a challenged brother or sister.
At Christmas time we decided to do a party for institutionalized kids, and contacted the local state facility that housed these children. We were told that they had lots of opportunities for people to help out at Christmastime, and they were overwhelmed by volunteers. Everyone it seemed was willing to help with the children. But, no one was there to help older, mentally challenged adults. We decided to take on this task.
We planned a program, wrapped donated gifts, worked on food, drinks and decorations. We had lots of kids, many adult helpers, and I was the designated Santa Claus, the one who would lead the charge and give out the gifts. Our challenge was a ward full of older women, mostly between the ages of 25 and 65. In hindsight I’m guessing there were about 25 women.
They were quite excited about a party, as this was not a normal event for them. Many were in their pajamas, and many wore diapers. This was a new experience for all the volunteers.
At the opening, in full make up and costume, I was on stage. The costume gave me a way to mentally separate myself from the activities, or so it seemed. It gave ma a persona, so I knew how to act. Above all I was Santa!
I remember very little of that night, it was a mind boggling experience for me. I was Ho, Ho, Hoing all over the place and laughing and talking to everyone. I distributed gifts and ate snacks and talked to so many women who thought I really was Santa.
For most of that evening while I was having a good time, tears were running out of my eyes. Tears of joy for doing something so meaningful, tears for seeing so many challenged women at once, placed out of their own homes and put away forever, tears for my on children so blessed by not having to experience this life.
I was confused and conflicted. There were many others in the group crying as well. This was not a single experience; it was a shared vision and a shared burden.
We did good work, and I only hope it helped those women and all those volunteers as they went forward.
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