As a senior in college, I don’t have much free time. Readings, worksheets, seminars, labs, classes, studying for the GRE, and a part-time job fight for my energy and time. After all of that, there is not much time to spend on myself, much less on others. I know I am not alone in feeling bogged down by the weight of all that demands my attention because many of my friends’ sentiments echo my own.
The busyness of college life leaves little time for volunteering, but I find one particular volunteer opportunity especially and uniquely rewarding: Respite. Respite is a monthly ministry offered by a local church where adults, college students, and high schoolers spend a few hours watching children with special needs. The few hours of free childcare grants the parents or guardians a morning of rest, of ‘respite’. Each Respite child is paired with an adult or student for the morning. Sometimes, you get Owen, who runs around all morning; sometimes, you get Josh, who sits in one place; sometimes, you get Andrea, who eats anything and everything she can get her hands on.
Most recently, I was paired with Toby, a little boy who loves to build rocket ships, boats, and towers out of cardboard. We started our rocket ship with a cardboard box, using a marker for a flagpole and Christmas lights for the blast of lift-off. We made sure that our rocket ship had big fins and little fins, a flag and a launchpad, a coned nose and a name: the USS Toby. Toby and I created for the better part of our three hours together, while I answered Toby’s endless stream of questions about space flight and turbines.
I found myself sitting at a too-small table in a too-small chair making paper doll astronauts to run the ship while in flight. The process of turning colored paper into a human figure fascinated Toby in a way that stunned me. Though Toby repeated each of his questions easily four times, Toby immediately recognized what was missing from the paper man taking shape in my hands: “He needs a mouth,” Toby insisted, “He needs eyes.” So I added a mouth and two eyes. “He’s an astronaut,” Toby declared. Indeed he was.
All true space adventurers need aliens, right? Because Toby and I believed this to be true, I found myself making a green figurine much the same way I made the astronauts. Being the comic lover that I am, I modeled my alien after the Martian Manhunter, with his elongated head and slender physique. I completed the look by adding his super suit, purple cape, and slanted smirk.
But I couldn’t stop there, so I added the Flash, Superman, and Green Lantern to the crew. I thought I as being so clever in creating a portion of the Justice League, embracing my inner geekiness. Yet, Toby seemingly missed it all. Even with all of the recognition, paraphernalia, and publicity of superheroes in our current pop culture, here was a boy who didn’t even recognize Superman, arguably the most recognizable superhero of all time. Though Toby did not recognize the characters, he certainly knew what a superhero was: "Are the superheroes going to help? Are they going to save the ship?" To Toby, the superheroes were there to save the day, to fight the bad guys, and to help.
As I sat there fashioning paper doll superheroes, my heart broke as it always does when I volunteer for Respite. I sat on that too-small chair at that too-small table for far too long. Yet as I watched Toby, I thought, “This is why I am here.” Because I can give up just a sliver of my time. Because I may not be a superhero, but I have the capacity to help. Because sometimes, you just need someone who will make paper doll astronauts and superheroes with you.
