Getting The Dream Done Keila in a study group with friends EAST BOSTON — The kids at the sixth grade assembly were saying her name, like, Oh, Of Course It’s Going to Be Keila. But Keila Hernandez didn’t believe them. This was a big award—the award for perseverance. It had to go to someone else. Only, it didn't. Mr. Pangburn, her English teacher, made the announcement, and the next minute, Keila was walking down the line of smiling teachers at Excel Academy, shaking everyone’s hand. Her face was all red, and she was trying hard not to cry, but it was only a matter of time. “When I got to the principal, that’s when it happened,” said Keila,14, several months later. “My glasses fell off and everything.” There were a lot of things she felt in that moment—excited, nervous, a little embarrassed, to be at the center of so much attention. But the main thing was proud. This was not an easy school. So many times, she could have stopped trying. But Keila wanted to go to college. Getting The Dream Done Daisy cooks the family dinner after work EAST BOSTON— Drifting is what she calls it. The way one small decision leads to another, then suddenly, the kids are out of school, standing around with friends on the street. Maybe they’re there for a day; maybe they’re there for a decade. Daisy Polanco passes them on the street, and she worries: what if it happens to hers? “I pray every day that they don’t drift to that,” says Daisy, 35, a single mother of three. “That’s my always fear.” Drifting can happen in any neighborhood, to any child. But because they live in a low-income neighborhood, and because they are Latino, and because two of them have special needs, the statistics suggest this: Daisy’s children are at higher risk for dropping out of school. Daisy is not interested in the specifics—that in Boston, 30 percent of Latino students dropped out of the class of 2008; that about half graduated on time, the lowest rate of any group of students in the city, according to the most recent state data. This is the kind of thing that interests local principals and national policy makers; it’s their job to close the gap between kids of different cultures and classes and natural capabilities. It’s their job to figure out how to boost achievement for all children—to get them into college, and to help them graduate. It’s Daisy’s job, nearly every hour of every day, to figure out how to save her own. Strength in the Spotlight The Help-Portrait shoot for at-risk girls ARLINGTON — She was small at first, standing against a white backdrop, surrounded by soft lights, and upside-down umbrellas, and photographers smiling behind their cameras, encouraging her to pose. Then Shanaya, 17, had an idea: “What’s that thing they do on the red carpet?” And everything was easy from there. She turned her back to the cameras, placed her right hand on her hip, cast a pouty look over her shoulder, and suddenly, there was the fun. Whole, long minutes of it, designed especially for her. “It felt good to take my guard down,” said Shanaya, who lives at Germaine Lawrence, a residential treatment program for at-risk adolescent girls. “I went all out.” All around the world last weekend, photographers gathered to take portraits of people who are often overlooked—people without homes, or good health, or a steady income, people who might see portraits as something only others can afford. They had their hair styled. They got their makeup done. And then, smiling like celebrities, they stepped into the spotlight at shelters and schools, churches and community centers. By the end of the weekend, according to the organizers of Help-Portrait, 36,000 people had professional portraits to give as gifts this holiday season. Finding His Way Back to Art David listens as Robin describes what she sees BOSTON—All around him, the museum is in motion, with people walking up to sculptures, and stepping back from them, and absorbing them from different angles. David Kingsbury, 53, holds his ground. He is standing in a hallway at the Museum of Fine Arts, facing a piece of stone he cannot see, waiting for the woman beside him to send some words his way. This is the rhythm of their relationship: She starts the story of what she sees, and he chimes in with any questions. And so she begins, shaping the piece of stone into a portrait, and placing a young boy inside. She chisels the child’s fine features, then moves over to his long flow of curls. “And there’s this little tuft of hair,” says Robin Ty, 30, a volunteer guide with the MFA. “Almost like a rooster’s, right at the top of his forehead.” David considers this. “Reminds me of my first son,” he says. This Saturday marks something of a milestone for David. He’s back where he began, with the work of Italian Renaissance sculptors, the first art he experienced in the MFA’s program for people who are blind or visually impaired. He was beginning a new life then. Nothing felt right. It took time and practice to get here, as things do for David these days. But more than two years later, he is standing in a space he once thought was lost—one visitor among many, facing the work of an artist, feeling something stir in him again. A Guide Through Tough Times Alice in the backyard of her new home CAMBRIDGE—Alice Galvin knew: maybe, probably, definitely, this day would come. Someone would finally say no, you can’t sleep on my couch tonight. Still, when she showed up at that first shelter, at the age of 44, worn down from stress and grief; when she stood before a woman from the old neighborhood whose children she once babysat; when she had to ask that woman for the charity of a shelter bed—it did not feel real. “I was numb,” Alice says, from the living room of her new apartment in Everett. Those were disorienting, demoralizing days. But other homeless women helped Alice through, pointing her toward clean shelters and friendly staff, warning her where to steer clear. Now, three years later, she’s contributed her own insights to a guidebook for homeless women, published with support mostly from the Cambridge Health Alliance, and distributed this spring in shelters and clinics around the area. The idea for the project came from Pat Maher, a nurse with Health Care for the Homeless. She's always been inspired by her patients, women like Alice, who so easily give support. For years, she's listened to them dispense advice outside her door. “It would choke me up sometimes, the kindness and the generosity, from one woman to another,” said Maher, 56. “These were women in a hard place.” The 45-page pamphlet offers an exhaustive list of resources, from shelters to job training to rape counseling. But the goal was also to capture the words of the women themselves. On nearly every page, there is advice and reflection from homeless and formerly homeless women, who participated in discussion groups for the project. The bright colors of their artwork line the pages. Most of the women chose to remain anonymous. But their voices come across strong and clear, guiding the reader through three distinct stages of homelessness: the shock of the early days, the difficulty of navigating services, and the challenge of moving into a home. At some point in the sessions, the question came up: how on earth do you get through? One woman’s simple answer became the title of the guide: “You Find Your Strength,” she said. Here is how it happened for Alice. Moving Men Forward: Dalton Skerritt speaks with a student ROXBURY—Other men are fidgeting, staring out the window, waiting for their time at Whittier Street Health Center to end. Not Charles. Charles takes a seat in the second row, a 29-year-old man in a crisp white T-shirt. He leans forward. He asks questions. He’s required to take this class on men’s health, as part of a prison release program. But this is helpful information right here, about disease and how to prevent it. One thing, he already knows: “Black guys die early.” For years, Whittier has been trying to change that, working in one of the neediest neighborhoods in the city, and using these Wednesday night “rap” sessions to introduce low-income, men of color to healthy living. One of the main goals: connect them to the health care at Whittier, and keep them coming back. Dalton Skerritt, director of Whittier’s Men’s Health Clinic, can tick off the facts: higher rates of diabetes hospitalizations, higher rates of death from AIDS. In Boston, black men are about three times more likely to die of prostate cancer than white men, according to the city’s 2009 Health of Boston report. What he wants to know from these students is why. Bad eating habits, lack of exercise, genetics—all are factors, he confirms, when the men call those answers out. But there’s something else, something bigger. “Oh!” comes a call from the back of the room. “Check-ups!” One Mother's World Michael and his grandmother WEYMOUTH- At the center of all their loss, six-year-old Michael Sampson is smiling--running around the banquet room at the Elks Lodge, making dizzy circles on the dance floor, grabbing hold of the hands of his friends. It's a gift to the adults in the room to see the way he smiles. He is so clearly his mother's son. "I just love looking at him," says Saquora Lowe, a family friend. Several months have passed since 25-year-old Heather Smith died in a car crash, leaving this boy behind. The dozens of people at this fundraiser remember well what "Mikey" meant to her. Of course they do. He was her reason for rising in the morning. The $20 ticket for tonight's dance is not easy for everyone here to afford. But these people already put years into raising Heather, from a shy, awkward shell of herself to the strong, single parent she would later become. These are the people she loved the most- the sister she protected from bullies, the friend she kept close after his brother died. They are here, now, to take care of her son. | About This BlogWelcome to The Small Story, a blog about the lives of everyday people in Massachusetts- the challenges they face, the celebrations they make, and the communities they like to call home.
It’s a natural extension of the eight years I spent as a newspaper reporter, first at The Hartford Courant, then at The Seattle Times. Time and again, the small story pulled me in: the first day of school for a boy displaced by Hurricane Katrina, the final months of foster care for a tired teenager, the slow road to recovery for an injured Iraq War veteran and his mother. I work full-time as an editor now, and write this blog on the side. In the rush of reality TV, and minute-by-minute media coverage, the small story still says something important to me, about who we are, and how we live in this country. Here’s hoping you feel the same. - Cara Solomon Email:cara@thesmallstory.com Twitter: csmallstory Become a fan of The Small Story on Facebook, or shoot me an email and I'll put you on a "new story alert" list! Thanks for reading...  CategoriesAll ArchivesFebruary 2010 |
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