You and Me

It was finally Friday. My Mom was taking me to the center that the program would be held – a school for the mentally ill. I kissed my Mom’s cheek before she left, and entered the building. On the inside, it reminded me more of a hospital rather than a school. Everything in the front area was white and clean, but I'm not really complaining. It’s better than having to go to a place that’s complete trash. The woman at the front desk immediately acknowledged me.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked with a smile.

“Uh, I came here to volunteer for the summer program for the teenagers with mental disabilities,” I told her, smiling as well.

“Oh, that’s great. If you go down that door and follow the signs to the performing arts center, you'll be greeted there and given an application and be assigned to one of our lovely students,” she told me. She was quite nice.

I followed the signs on the walls and found the room with no problems. There were about ten other people in the room that looked to be volunteers, seeing as they had nametags, and other people with badges hanging around their necks by lanyards.

“Hello, you're here to volunteer?” a woman asked me. She had brown curly hair and looked to be really nice. I would suppose that the mass majority of the people here were nice considering that some people who are special can become really emotional if someone only sounds rude even when they're not trying to.

“Yes I am,” I grinned.

“I can't thank you enough for doing this. Even if they can't express it, it means a lot to the kids. Some of them don’t fit in well with other school children, the ones that don’t go here anyway, and it’s really depressing to see that. Now, if you could just fill out this sheet real quick, we’ll start assigning students to the volunteers,” she told me.

I looked at the sheet and it really just asked for basic information. Name, address, phone number(s), sex, if you’ve had a history in working with a special needs person, how patient you'd think you are on a scale of one to ten, and how much free time you had (to know if you could attend field trips and stuff like that). I filled out the form quickly and then handed it back in, then received a name tag. I wrote my name on it as neatly as I could and placed it on my shirt.

“So, Gerard, you say that you'd give yourself a seven on patience. I know just who I want to assign to you,” a woman told me. I glanced at her ID and it read Morgan. “His name is Frank, and he just barely has moderate mental retardation,” she continued.

“Just barely moderate?” I asked, confused.

“Well yes. You see, all children who are believed to be mentally retarded are given IQ tests. When Frank was given his, he was just one point away from mild mental retardation. But, he acts as though it’s mild, but according to the tests, he is classified as having moderate, which I personally don’t think is true. He is very bright, like many of the students here, and many people think that he's just another normal passerby with no illness whatsoever. It’s remarkable, really, but there are a few other students here who are the same, even though they have been diagnosed with mild mental retardation. I still stand by my word, as does his mother, that he has mild and not moderate though,” she informed me.

“Oh. I once had to do a report on that for health in school one year, so I know a lot of information. I just didn’t quite understand you,” I laughed. She laughed too.

“Well that’s good. See, you already know more about Frank than most people do.”

“How old is Frank?” I asked.

“You'll have to find that out for yourself,” she grinned. And with that, she walked away and into another room.

“Okay, would all of the volunteers please take a seat somewhere and I will then explain how this will work out so that everything will go smoothly,” another woman said, speaking into a microphone on stage.

I took a seat at the back. I only sat at the back because I didn’t like people behind me. It was so weird to me.

“Some of you may have already been informed as to who you'll be working with over the next few months, though you haven’t seen them. The students are all very sensitive and have big hearts. They will accept almost anybody into their life with open arms, but unfortunately, ‘normal’ people don’t accept them sometimes. So with that being said, please control your actions, your tone of voice, and what you say to these kids. They have feelings too. Just because they are people with special needs, does not mean that they are a lifeless robot. If you do anything against these rules, you will be evicted from the building and will not be allowed to come back. They are just as normal as you and I. Now, in a few minutes, you will be directed to the art room, which is just down the hall. It is a wide room filled with many tables, and each teenager will be sitting at their own table. Today, and the rest of this week will just be a time for the two of you to bond and become friends; to earn each other’s trust. While it is painful to do so, we can exchange students if you feel that it isn’t working out. When I say that, I do not mean that we’ll switch you just because you don’t ‘want’ the student with a certain illness. The reason has to be liable, such as, you do not have enough patience for the child. We will not tolerate that at all. If you do not have enough patience for that one particular child, you need to be switched immediately because we do not want you to explode, if you will. That will upset them. If you have any questions, please ask them now or wait until we get to the art room where the other monitors will be. I hope that this will be a fun and enjoyable learning experience for both you and the student. If you will please exit through the doors on the right side, there will be a director outside to guide you to the next room. Also, on the tables in the room, the names of the students will be written in bold letters. I say again, most of you have already been told the name of your student, now you just have to find them. Good luck!” the woman said, walking off of the stage.

I was the first one out of the room. I was met with the same director that assigned me to Frank, I think his name was. Once everyone was outside, she led us to the art room, which was indeed huge, and I looked around. I heard names being whispered behind me and then people walking around the room, looking for names. I took that as my lead and walked around as well. I swear I walked around about three times until I finally found Frank. He was near the side in a corner. He was sat there, looking around and smiling.

“Are you Frank?” I asked, smiling as well.

He nodded his head eagerly.

“You're name is G-Gerard?” he asked. His pronunciation was off, but I could still understand him clearly. But then again, that was completely expected.

“Yeah,” I said, taking a seat next to him. “So Frank, how old are you?”

“I-I'm eighteen,” he told me.

“Oh that’s cool. I'm nineteen, so I'm just a year older than you,” I said. Frank dropped his head, still smiling. The director was right; Frank seemed like just another normal kid, with maybe a slight speech impediment. I think that he was just trying to talk too fast. That’s what Selena always tried to do.

“Nineteen,” Frank repeated. I laughed, making him laugh.

“If you'd like to, you can use the art supplies that are at your table in a way to bond better and stay entertained,” one of the directors said.

I looked at the trays and baskets on the table.

“Do you want to draw or color Frank?” I asked him.

“I want to color a picture,” he said.

I nodded and dug out some crayons and found a coloring book that he could look through. Once he found a picture that he liked, I tore it out for him. The picture was that of a dog holding a bone in its mouth.

“Do you like dogs?” I asked him.

“I love dogs,” he said. “I have a… I have a little dog at home and his name is Beanie.” He pronounced every ‘T’ that he said. I thought that was cute.

“I've always wanted a dog, but my little brother is allergic to them so we could never get one,” I said.

“You have a brother?” Frank asked.

“Yep, he's seventeen, a year younger than you,” I said.

I got a piece of sketch paper and a pencil and began to draw Frank. I thought it’d be a nice surprise for him when I finished it. I am kind of basing this off of my knowledge of what Selena likes, and she loves it when I draw pictures for her, especially pictures of her. Maybe Frank would think the same. I'm so happy I did this instead of getting attacked by a hobo… it happened to Mikey last year. It wasn’t a pleasant time for him, but it was funny to me.