I’ve never considered myself, in any sense, altruistic. My idea of generosity is letting someone taking a bite of my sandwich, giving a friend complete control of my car’s radio during a long drive, and sometimes holding a door open for a pregnant lady at a drug store. You won’t find me giving blood (I’m fiercely terrified of needles), volunteering for Greenpeace (I’m fiercely afraid of people who don’t wear deodorant), or ringing a Salvation Army bell (I’m fiercely afraid of big hanging red coin tins).
However, I am a human being with a heart, and because of that, I do have one soft spot: old people. Sometimes, if I see one a cute one roaming the streets looking a bit lost, or smiling blindly as she waits for the bus, or needing help picking up a bag of bread at the grocery store, I can literally feel tears well in my eyes. They are just so cute. So precious. And they are so old. All of those things make me sad.
Since graduating from college, I’ve had some free time on my hands. And beyond that, I’ve been looking for creative ways to meet new people that don’t involve getting drinks (I’m already a skilled expert at that way of socializing). When my cousin suggested I volunteer, part of me instinctively recoiled since, as mentioned above, I am not a do-gooder by nature. It’s not that I’m bad; I’m just fairly neutral. Kind of like George Washington and foreign affairs, I have a strict hands-off non-interventionism policy towards volunteering, mostly because I'm afraid I’ll screw something up. If I worked in a soup kitchen, I figured, I’d devour the chicken noodle; if I worked with children, I’d probably drop one.
I haven't volunteered since high school, when service hours were mandatory, but I decided to check out the website my cousin sent me. I found a hodgepodge of events throughout the month that I could volunteer for just with a click of my mouse, which I liked because I'm lazy. I could help a high school make their student newspaper (at my urging, there would most definitely be a gossip column). I could help teach children how to read, something I truly enjoy doing myself, especially in baths. And best of all, I could help senior citizens feel happy. I signed up, and for good measure, begged one of my friends to join me in my crusade to make seniors smile.
On Saturday, decked out in a Santa hat and accompanied by my friend in her elf hat, I met a group of strangers at a local college. We were loaded onto a bus and given books full of classic Christmas music. We were going caroling at the old peoples' homes.
We practiced singing on the bus so that the sounds of our unprofessional voices would not burn the eardrums of cute grandmas and grandpas. Despite my four years of high school Spanish, our rendition of “Feliz Navidad” was, at best, frightful. But we found some gems that made us smile: "Let It Snow," "Winter Wonderland" "Jingle Bells," "Jingle Bell Rock," and "Deck the Halls."
Our presence alone made everyone smile, and our singing made people dance, clap, and sing along. It felt very rewarding to bring people happiness in a completely innocent way. My friend (Alex the Elf) and I hadn't made people smile this much in a long time, not since we yelled "Hey baby, how you doing?" to cute boys hanging out in movie parking lots in high school. That made them smile because we were hot then. Now, they just think we're crazy.
Anyway, I digress: Santa and his elf (Alex and I) were a huge hit, performing their own Home Alone-inspired version of “White Christmas,” complete with the Da-Da-da-DUH-DUH-Da-DA-DUH harmonies. We channeled Michael Buble and did our best to sing and spread cheer. Even when our low voices cracked with the high notes of “Silent Night,” we persevered. No one’s ears bled. No one's dentures fell out. No one asked us to leave. A woman in the front row rocked and swayed to the music, clapping her hands eagerly in delight.
It made me feel very young, like the age I was when we put on Christmas shows at my Catholic grade school, and I wore embarrassing sparkly dresses and begged for solos, yearning to be directly in the spotlight. I felt that I was around that age, maybe eight, and even the older woman, their hair wrapped in babushkas, sitting comfortably in pajamas, looked that young too as they mouthed the words.
After traveling to three different group homes, my elf and I were tired and beyond starving. All that do-gooding really makes girls hungry. We stopped for eggs and cheesy potatoes, rewarding ourselves in calories for the good we had done. We kept our Santa and elf hats on, and people around us might have stared at our not-so-stylish headgear. But it didn’t matter—we had done good. And I realized that I might even be able to work at a soup kitchen—just as long as I ate a cheesy, egg-filled breakfast before, not after, reporting for duty.
What makes you feel good? Let Ashley know and maybe she’ll try it.
Related post: The Diary of Ashley Spencer: Keeping Up Traditions
By: Ashley Spencer
Topics: Life
Tags: volunteering, the diary of ashley spencer, santa
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