One crisp, fall morning a few years back, I boarded a bus full of preschoolers on a field trip to a pumpkin patch. There, the kids scurried around picking out the familiar orange gourds. Soon we were back on the bus.
Sitting across from me was a girl who was crying and jumping up and down in her seat. I asked her what was wrong and reminded her that she had to stay in her seat. But she was inconsolable.
The driver called out, “Children must remain in their seats! I am going to pull this bus over if she doesn’t sit still!” So I sternly said, “Pretend your bottom is glued to your seat. Don’t get up again until we’re back at school.”
She calmed a little. Then a co-worker leaned toward me and whispered, “Must have been a bad night.” The four words that followed shook me for weeks to come: “You know she’s homeless.”
What? This did not compute. Working for seven years in downtown Seattle, I had seen homeless men and women. Never small children.
“She’s one of our lucky kids,” added my co-worker, who explained that every day after preschool, the girl rode a bus to a stop where her mother waited in a car, and they would drive around visiting friends and were lucky because they usually ended up with a couch to sleep on.
I thought: What were this girl’s days like – and her nights? At home, I looked at my three boys’ toys, games and books. I envisioned the little girl carrying a backpack with a toothbrush, a stuffed animal and PJs.
One evening two weeks later, my family finished watching a video program, and I sent my boys to bed. I told them to go upstairs, get their pajamas on and brush their teeth. They ran to their bedroom to get their pajamas on and into their bathroom to brush their teeth. I began to sob.
My boys had run off with confidence, comfortable in a place where they felt safe, their home. Did the little girl feel safe? Was she comfortable to get up and brush her teeth? Did she have a place to store her stuff and change her clothes?
I couldn’t imagine the daily stress she must have felt, not knowing where to go or to sleep, living in constant chaos, with no peace of mind, no time to be carefree like a child should be.
What I did know, however, was that for three hours, three days a week, she had a place to go. Walking through our doors with other students, she had routine and consistency. She played, laughed, made friends and received a nutritious meal and snack. She was treated with respect and compassion, surrounded by staff dedicated to making her life the best it could be.
Recently, one of our teachers drew a smile on a piece of paper. “I try to bring a smile to every kid, every day,” the teacher explained, “because I know that for some of my kids, that smile will be the only smile they see all day.”
Each year, with state support, we provide 36 free preschool spots to children who live in families below poverty-level income. The faces are different, but the stories are similar – lives full of stress, hardship and chaos.
This time of year, Encompass seeks donations to Respectful Giving, our food and gift-card drive that supports such families in crisis. You can donate money, bring a bag of groceries or volunteer time. Donations are due Dec. 15, and volunteer dates are Dec. 15-17. We also will receive donations and hand out hot chocolate the evening of Dec. 9 in downtown North Bend. Join us!
When our Respectful Giving campaign began years ago, we provided food and gift cards to 35 families. Last year, we served 160. How many will need our help this year?
Stacey Cepeda is Community Activities manager for Encompass. To learn how to become involved, call 425-888-2777 or visit www.encompassnw.org.
