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| Principal Pamela J. Powell (left front) with students at the Matteson Elementary School in the south suburb and men from the surrounding area and beyond who come to the school to help children read on Thursday mornings with John Fountain. |
By John W. Fountain
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| Melvin Wormely is among the men who read on Thursdays. |
Update on “Father’s Day Thursdays” at Matteson
Elementary School: About 30 men showed up—from far and near this week. Among
them a man named Gabriel. From Village of Matteson Police officers, to a
pastor, to a firefighter, to men of all walks, they filed through the doors to
read to the children of the Matteson School, wearing shirts and sweaters or
ties and uniforms, or a clergy collar.
Hallways were dotted with desks and chairs as
children read to men who sat listening intently, sometimes helping to sound out
words, smiling, encouraging, commending. Inside some classrooms, the children
read to men or a man read aloud, standing in front of the class, students
hanging on every word. These were among the obvious observations.
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"They see themselves and these children as part of “our” village—as being connected regardless of race, class or any other manmade boundary."
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These were not:
That the number of men who have signed on to
read has grown from one to two to three to seven to 20—and now, almost 30. That
the spirit of the men, who have answered my call to please join me on Thursday
mornings for 45 minutes at the south suburban elementary school and BE the
difference they want to see, filled Classroom 3 as they selected books from our
rolling cart.
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| Reading to a child can help make a difference. |
Then there is this:
After I spoke with the men Thursday morning,
before Principal Pamela J. Powell led us to classrooms, one brother, new to our
reading group, needed to say something.
“I’m deaf,” he announced, his voice booming as
other men looked on.
“But I read about what you all were doing and I
wanted to be of some service. I’m a man... I want to do my part to help... And
I figured if you could use me, I want to help…”
His name is Gabriel. I was deeply moved, almost
at a loss for words, by his declaration. Renewed in spirit by his willingness
and also the willingness of all of those who have answered the call in the last
few months.
Despite his deafness, Gabriel said he could read
to the children. Despite his uncertainty of whether his deafness would be
perceived as an inability or impediment to him being welcomed to join us in our
endeavor, he showed up. He showed up.
Like the more than two-dozen men who could have
chosen to do something else early on a Thursday morning—whether working, or
sleeping, sipping coffee or lounging, or nothing at all. Instead they also chose
to show up. Why? Because they care.
“I’m not helpless,” Gabriel continued. “I just
have a problem.”
“As men, we all have an issue,” I responded as
the men laughed. “We’re happy you’re here. We can use you.”
Honestly, I
thought about some of the men who weren’t here: The fathers of the 368 children
at Matteson School. The men I saw in September when I spoke at the school’s
annual Men of Matteson Day. The men who signed “commitment” cards to at some
point this academic year to return to the school and volunteer or read. I
thought about the brother I know who seems to think this is all just a waste of
time.
I thought about
how many more we could use to help us in this endeavor to uplift our community
through education and literacy and the impactful presence of even a few good
men.
Later I also thought
about how having police officers reading with little black boys can help mend
and build a village. How a boy bitter and wounded by the desertion of his
father might smile again and be moved toward healing by the presence of men at
his school on Thursday mornings who keep their promise to show up again and
again and again to spend part of their day reading with him.
I thought about
the smiles on the faces of the boys and girls at Matteson as we read. I thought
about the smiles on the faces of the men, marching through the halls toward
classrooms to make a difference. I thought about the good that could come to
other schools—to us all—if as men at last we stood to reclaim our communities,
one school, one child at a time. I thought about Gabriel.
And I thought: Man, what’s your excuse?
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| One hallway at Matteson Elementary School in south suburban Chicago where men in the community read to children on Thursday mornings for about 45 minutes each week with the aim of making a difference. (John W. Fountain, PHOTOS) |