again with the plea for help
I'm not sure about my last paragraph. I think I need more of a point, but I don't know.... Hellllllllllppppppppppppp.
My mother’s job always provided me with interesting experiences, from when I was little and she worked with design companies decorating malls for the holidays to her current self-employment doing murals and faux-finishes. As a kid I would hang out with her in the basements of malls: watching her paint giant Easter Eggs, seeing actor-less Santa suits, sliding on a futon across the cement floor and splitting my lip open because I didn’t stop like I was told. I began working as her assistant when I started high school, taping and other simple necessities to her job. I learned about the value of money and dedication to one’s work, but I never imagined that I would learn the value of a simple can of paint. Most of her jobs are in large, expensive homes with custom-designed toilets and one-of-a-kind linens, but everyone needs a fresh coat of color every once in a while.
We reached the nondescript building in the rain, and had to be buzzed in the back door by one of the counselors. It wasn’t elegant; it wasn’t even clean. It was a soul-crushingly decrepit women’s shelter, the main hallway of which we had volunteered to paint, and the first woman I saw had a hand that had been crushed into deformity. While we taped the moldings and primed the walls, the residents came and went from their tiny rooms on their way to jobs or meetings with counselors. It was painful to talk to their adorably inquisitive toddlers, knowing that they lived in this place with the holes in the walls and no locks on the bathroom doors. As we made our way down the hallway with our white paint it got visibly brighter, and so did the moods of the residents that talked to us. The walls didn’t look so forgotten, and my outlook began to improve. I thought that maybe the inspirational quote and butterflies being painted on the walls might help some of the residents get through their stays. Then a counselor led a new woman to a room, explaining the rules along the way. The woman didn’t even look at the walls, all she could do was stare at the contract in her hands. It was worse than any of the women I had seen earlier in the day; those women had had hope, had already resigned themselves to the squalor of the shelter with the idea of finding a better life for themselves afterward, but she couldn’t see any of that. All I could do was hope for her, that she could gain strength as the other women had, and that maybe our mural in the hallway might help.
Since that day, my view on life has changed. I don’t take for granted the comfort of sleeping in my own bed, kitten at my feet and knowing that tomorrow will be the same. Having seen the change that a coat of clean, white paint can make, I look for more opportunities to better the lives of others with beauty. It’s not enough to just give something to a charity and call it finished; while donations of money and goods are always appreciated, donations of time are more important, life-changing for both the volunteer and the person in need. I’ve seen what I can do for someone with a simple can of paint.
My mother’s job always provided me with interesting experiences, from when I was little and she worked with design companies decorating malls for the holidays to her current self-employment doing murals and faux-finishes. As a kid I would hang out with her in the basements of malls: watching her paint giant Easter Eggs, seeing actor-less Santa suits, sliding on a futon across the cement floor and splitting my lip open because I didn’t stop like I was told. I began working as her assistant when I started high school, taping and other simple necessities to her job. I learned about the value of money and dedication to one’s work, but I never imagined that I would learn the value of a simple can of paint. Most of her jobs are in large, expensive homes with custom-designed toilets and one-of-a-kind linens, but everyone needs a fresh coat of color every once in a while.
We reached the nondescript building in the rain, and had to be buzzed in the back door by one of the counselors. It wasn’t elegant; it wasn’t even clean. It was a soul-crushingly decrepit women’s shelter, the main hallway of which we had volunteered to paint, and the first woman I saw had a hand that had been crushed into deformity. While we taped the moldings and primed the walls, the residents came and went from their tiny rooms on their way to jobs or meetings with counselors. It was painful to talk to their adorably inquisitive toddlers, knowing that they lived in this place with the holes in the walls and no locks on the bathroom doors. As we made our way down the hallway with our white paint it got visibly brighter, and so did the moods of the residents that talked to us. The walls didn’t look so forgotten, and my outlook began to improve. I thought that maybe the inspirational quote and butterflies being painted on the walls might help some of the residents get through their stays. Then a counselor led a new woman to a room, explaining the rules along the way. The woman didn’t even look at the walls, all she could do was stare at the contract in her hands. It was worse than any of the women I had seen earlier in the day; those women had had hope, had already resigned themselves to the squalor of the shelter with the idea of finding a better life for themselves afterward, but she couldn’t see any of that. All I could do was hope for her, that she could gain strength as the other women had, and that maybe our mural in the hallway might help.
Since that day, my view on life has changed. I don’t take for granted the comfort of sleeping in my own bed, kitten at my feet and knowing that tomorrow will be the same. Having seen the change that a coat of clean, white paint can make, I look for more opportunities to better the lives of others with beauty. It’s not enough to just give something to a charity and call it finished; while donations of money and goods are always appreciated, donations of time are more important, life-changing for both the volunteer and the person in need. I’ve seen what I can do for someone with a simple can of paint.