Summer is FINALLY over

This will seem silly to most people, but summer is my least favorite season.  I find it hot, humid, crawling with tourists no matter where you go, and it makes me feel lethargic.  Fall is prettier.  I like winter activities more.  Spring has better kayaking.  To add to all this, summer is the most difficult time of year in my job.  Kids have more free time, hotter tempers, and even less motivation than during the rest of the year (which means I have to work harder for less of their effort).

Not that summer is all bad.  Actually, I had a pretty good summer.  I took 3 weeks off work, 1 of which I spent in Montana.  That was great.  I went to a good high school friend's wedding, I visited one of my best friends, I took a trip to Missoula, and I went camping in Glacier.  Plus, summer in Montana isn't hot.  The temperature still comes down to the 50s at night, but it's light out from 5 AM to 11 PM.  Yeah, Montana was definitely worth the while.

My other 2 weeks I had off were spent at Lasallian Volunteer orientation in Romeoville, IL (at Lewis University).  I won't go into all the details, just suffice to say that it was a solid gathering of volunteers and was filled with seminars on all sorts of good topics; plus some epic sand volleyball matches at night. 

Post-orientation, 5 of us also took a few days to volunteer at a middle school just opening up in North Philadelphia.  Saint James School is being reopened as a San Miguel Nativity school, and it was an honor to be a part of this new cornerstone in the underserved neighborhood.  To give you just a brief glimpse into what this school (and all the San Miguel Nativity schools) does, think about the fact that St. James has an income limit.  Families that make MORE than a certain amount can't send their kids.  With no hesitation, this place can lay claim to one of the many mottoes uttered in our Lasallian circle, "the least, the last, and the lost."

That was the core of my summer, bookended by work and work.  Although kids at LaSalle do have summer school, I was gone for most of the summer session.  That means that most of the time I was working was holiday time.  Activities start at 12:30, run to dinner, and continue after dinner until 8:30.  Playing games with kids all day long might not seem like such a burden, but believe me, it can be.  Somewhere between 4 and 8 hours spent swimming in the humidity, suffering the blazing hot sun.  It amazes me that kids came out for activities at all considering the weather, but when I think of the alternative of sitting in their rooms or playing ping-pong, I guess it makes sense.  So, I played a LOT of football, basketball, and softball.  I played a little frisbee, some soccer, some capture the flag, plenty of dodgeball.  I broke up a couple fights.  I provided plenty of emotional support and emotional first aid, plus some physical first aid here and there.  I took kids on a couple hikes, did a camping trip or two, spent some time with them rock climbing and caving, and tried to keep myself and them fairly well entertained all summer long.  It was tough work, but we made it through, and now a new school year has begun.

We're off to a fine start with fall sports, playing flag football 2 days a week, ultimate frisbee 1, and indoor soccer 1.  Indoor soccer was the first event, and tonight was like what might happen if a swarm of bees were to descend upon a crowded petting zoo.  Kids screaming, pushing, cursing, hitting, and kicking each other, all in the name of the game.  Most nights, most activities are not like this.  I could tell from the moment kids walked in the door tonight that it was going to be a difficult one.  Some staff shenanigans didn't help matters, and I was glad to see everybody leave in the same condition as when they came in.  C'est la vie.

I went kayaking this last weekend.  I ran the Dryway section of the Deerfield in western Massachusetts on Saturday, and surfed a pretty pushy wave on the Housatonic near the town of South Kent in Connecticut on Sunday.  It was a pretty good couple days, definitely pushing the level of my paddling.

I don't feel like I've improved all that much since I've been in New York, but I can at least happily say that I haven't backslid.  Like anything, too much time out of the water definitely dulls one's ability to perform, and so even though my paddling hasn't pushed my limits much since I came here, it has at least been consistent enough to make me feel like I'm at least staying or improving slightly.

I don't like life update blogs because I'm never sure what exactly to say or how to say it.  I doubt if anything I just wrote was really very interesting to anyone, but I don't know really what people are expecting to read.  I'm also ending it rather abruptly.  Sorry.

As always, if you have any comments, suggestions for topics, or thoughts for the good of the order, please feel free to post them here or send me an email.  I hope I get to hear from you soon.

Alex

It Began as an Icon - LVs Ride

It Began as an Icon 

Al Cassidy Reflects on LVs RIDE

Re-posted from LVsRide.com/social

I got the call late one afternoon in September 2010. I had recently completed work on a new Lasallian Volunteers’ website, and was on to other things—primarily any assistance I could offer with the LVs running in Memphis, TN, for their upcoming annual marathon fundraiser.

“Al,” Mari Anzicek began, always mispronouncing my name Ale with her Michigan accent, “Mario and I are planning a cross-country bike ride and need a logo. There will probably be more to follow, but for now, we really need a logo. Are you in? Can you help?”

I’ll admit I was a bit burnt. We put a lot of energy into that new website, and there was a whole host of other things since early 2010 we created new to help promote the future work of this 20+ year program. I needed a break. But, I cannot say “no” to a challenge… albeit slightly unclear.

“Why don’t you and Mario do some additional planning, then check back with me in, say, November?” I suggested as my temporary mental leave.

No good. They already had a rough route planned, were getting in touch with a friend who led bike tours, and picked the brain of Brother Ed Phelan about his 2001 ride across the country (the Spoke ‘N Word Tour). We needed to get going right away simply because this thing was really going to happen.


So, I put my head to it and came up with a few options. After some discussion and tweaking, we had our logo. Let’s move on, we said: we need a website, we need flyers to promote the ride, we need email blasts, sell sheets, business cards . . . whoa whoa whoa! Slow down!

“I’m actually not crazy about this logo,” I told Mari one morning.

“So,” she said, “we’re announcing the ride in the newsletter this month, and it needs to go to print by Friday.” And in typical Mari fashion, she followed with something like, You have until the end of the day to come up with something new or we’re just sticking with this one.

Gotta’ love Mari. To the point. Since we (Mario, Mari and I) had already pored over enough biking logos to give us a lifetime of dreams about cranks, derailleurs, and cogs, I had some additional ideas sitting around. After a few sketches and some tweaking, I switched the logo to black and red, and voila! — it was complete.

“Looks good!” said Mari. “Let’s get this newsletter to print!”

With this new logo icon established, it really set the groundwork for how all the advertising materials were going to look. A website came together quickly and roughly by early November (just after the arrival of my 2nd son). Right after Christmas, we had a well-formed brochure telling about our journey, the cause and the need for funding. Come March, we had enough riders to start the trip. Bike jerseys and t-shirts with the icon emblazoned on them were ready to out the door. We were ready to leave our mark on this country. Things were going fairly well. But what was that about the well laid plans of mice and men?

Mari gets the call from the courthouse. She is summoned for jury duty, a major case. Could be a long one. I take the helm on the communication efforts, among other things. While trying to encourage additional fundraising pre-ride, finalizing the bike jerseys and t-shirts, I helped solidify a van & trailer with graphics, secured a videographer capable of creating a remarkable documentary of the trip, and planned a basic road map for capturing the day-to-day ride through an online journal. It was a lot of work. Then came some relief.

I already had the brain of Brother Ed by my side whenever I ran out of fresh ideas, now I was getting another brain familiar with communications. Elizabeth Jodice, from the D.C. office, was tasked with securing media attention and (as if that wasn’t enough) she even volunteered to update the journal on a regular basis. A break from the daily grind (not a single cyclist left for Oregon at this point mind you) of LVs Ride was in sight!

Once Mari was released from her jury duty and I saw the van wrapped with new graphics —then helped Tom Ludzia off from St. James School in North Philadelphia in a freshly-packed van filled with camping and bike supplies—all I had to do was get behind the wheel of my email and phone for updates along the route. But they never came. Silence.

“What happened?!” I wondered aloud. The ride planning was off to such an amazing and providential start, and then darkness settled above, clouding the promise of progress. The ride seemed to go dormant within the first few days. I was so completely concerned that somehow we had failed to do something right. The icon we created and placed on every last bit of material was lost in the mountains of Oregon, never to see daylight again. Okay, I wasn’t that concerned. But it had dawned on me that when you create a campaign based on a single icon, and you hope it will reach many eyes so that it reaches a purpose, you tend to get a bit frantic when it disappears.

But after learning how blessed (perhaps cursed) some of us are to live in these highly connected cities where internet and cell phone signal peak at a constant, I learned that the upper midwest is quite dark and free of such modern-day triumphs. I look back and realize how the riders truly struggled from more than just aches, pains, sleepiness, thirst, hunger, lack of motivation and more. I also realized how unimportant that icon really was in the grand scheme of things, but somehow it found a new role. The icon wasn’t just to simply identify the ride, it helped many remember they were pedaling for this common cause.

Cycling the final two days of the ride—no, I wasn’t biding my time to await the final glory, mind you, it was just convenient for me living in the Philly area—it made me realize how incredible it is that we received any update at all from the road. Riding your bike can be a lot of fun on any given Sunday—the wind gently blowing through your hair, the sun beaming in the midday sky, swans swimming in the pond as you pass by. But try cycling for upwards of 12 hours a day, and add continual requests for stories and videos on how you are feeling about it all, you would probably be about ready to toss your cell phone into a ravine or push the camerman down a dirt hill.

From the time I began working on LVs Ride until the day I joined them in dipping our tires in the Atlantic Ocean, my 2nd son is almost a year old. In the time they set out to ride, so much more happened than just a stop in some new, unkown city greeted by complete strangers every day: my fist son recently turned 3, I spent my 4th of July with family in Virginia, I visited a camp for Philadelphia children a few days per week, I got to see “The Bean” in Chicago and watch a tv show filming, I celebrated with my father his 81st birthday, my sister her expected daughter, and I spent time with my own family nearly every single day of the week. That’s not a terrible summer when you consider that the team of riders dedicated 60+ days of their life to pedal nearly every single day of the week until they felt they could do no more. And each day when they were done, they slept. And when they were done sleeping, they either got up and did it all over again, or they went to a most needed part of the city where they helped aid people who in need of assistance. I only did the riding part for two days, and I was still recovering days after. If you were include even one of those service days in between my two days of riding, I’d be out for a week I think.

My two days riding next to the national team made me realize a lot of things, but mostly that I’ve missed a ton of opportunities to be selfless in some important ways. I learned that life will work out the way it is supposed to (thanks Brother Rich) so long as you are willing to put in the effort each and every day (thanks Tom Ludzia). I learned that when things get really difficult, you need to: get a song in your head (thanks Kenny Latta), shush your restless soul and consider how others are feeling (thanks Beth Ford), have a laugh and smile (thanks Alyse Gay, Zac Ufnar, Melissa Spahr, and Glenna Krzyzanowski), take a quiet moment aside (thank you Karen Giroux), think and reflect and respond delicately (thanks Tom Cook), stick together through the thick and the thin (thanks Mike & Stacy Leard), keep it loose (thanks Kelly Towns and Casey Wilson), worry less about the end and be in the present moment (thanks Mario Ragghianti), be positive, hilarious, and insightful (thank you Ed), take the lead even if everyone can’t stand what you are about to say though you know it may be best for the group (thank you Mari). I also re-learned that no matter what icon or imagery I come up with to help reach an audience, what lies beneath a sunburst of gears, spokes and a red star is the heart and soul of every person who gave whatever they could to make this thing real.

I have also continued to reaffirm my forever belief in “providence.” I’ve called it many things in the past: coincidence, karma, fate. But it all means the same to me. All roads lead to the same place, and so long as you are willing to allow the road to take you there—you will be cared for. Though the cue sheet may lead us astray from time to time, the destination is always the same, and we must have faith we will eventually find our way.

As we’ve heard it all before, it is the journey—the people met, the places seen, the food eaten, the games played, the needed helped, the curious entertained—that matters. But it doesn’t hurt to have an icon at your side.

Struggle

Is it weird to struggle with not struggling?  It sounds weird, for sure.  I just have this feeling like everybody around me is working so hard, and I'm not.  It's like they're all running into the wind, trying to get to someplace in particular, and I'm running with the wind at my back, but nowhere to go.  Or something like that.  People all have these goals that they work toward, and they work so hard, and they seem fulfilled by the working, and I think that's great.  But I don't feel like I have goals, and I don't feel like I work that hard, and I'm not sure if I feel fulfilled very often, or ever at all.

For example, I am currently a Lasallian Volunteer.  It's this awesome volunteer program associated with the De La Salle Christian Brothers that places recent college graduates in ministries around the country for 1, 2, or sometimes 3 years.  The volunteers are mostly teachers, teacher's aids, tutors, or something like that, though my job is a little different.  I'm a recreation coordinator for court-adjudicated boys in a residential placement facility (less politically correct, you could read that as delinquent teenagers in a no-bars form of juvenile detention).  My job is great.  I'm responsible for organizing after school and weekend activities for the 70-80 boys living on campus. These activities range from football, softball, and basketball, to rock climbing, caving, and camping; plus whatever else I can think of and convince kids to try.  The job is perfect for me in a lot of ways.  I love to play these games, I like kids (I think), I got to move to someplace I had never been, and the financial end does not place me in quite such dire straits as the word "volunteer" often makes people suspect. 

So what's wrong?  Nothing.  Nothing, that is, until I start to look at the experiences many of my fellow volunteers are having / have had.  The pain of leaving home, of moving into community life, of teaching, of trying to build relationships with coworkers and students, of trying to meet almost impossible expectations, of despairing at the truly dismal prospects for some of these kids.  I don't seem to have those pains, and I kind of have to wonder what that means.  I wish it meant I'm just well-adjusted and a good fit for the job, but that seems pretty unlikely.  Good though I may be at carrying out the technical end of the work, my relationship building skills leave a lot to be desired, and that's the heart of what we do.  I think my mile-wide independent streak might have a little to do with it, but I'm pretty sure it's not the whole answer.  I think the truth might be that I have somehow settled into a sort of complacency (also called comfort), and that this is turning into a form of indifference.  It isn't that I don't care about whether or not these kids lives are changed for the better, it's just that I'm no longer sure this place has the tools to be the catalyst for that change.  As a result, I think I'm gradually seeing myself less as an agent of change, and more as a member of the status quo.  Recidivism rates for youth in residential placements average 70%.  That's HUGE!  That means 7 OUT OF 10 of the boys I work with will end up back in the justice system, probably incarcerated as adults at some point.  My school keeps being recognized by the State of New York as one of the best at this work, and yet I look at the numbers and can't help but feel like we are just another oppressor, restarting the cycle over and over again. The tragic truth is that the wind is coming out of my sails and I'm not sure it's coming back.  My peers are full of enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm is the source of their pain (after all, the struggle can't hurt you if you don't care about how it ends).  My enthusiasm has so waned that I no longer share their pain, and that realization is the source of my pain right now. 

What's more, this suspicion of indifference I have isn't limited to the Lasallian Volunteers.  I feel a little indifferent about the future of my life, too.  I have a loose plan for where I'm headed in the next couple years, but I don't feel like that plan is in the true form of goals, and I don't feel like I'm working toward it that hard.  I feel like everything is just kind of slipping by me, like I'm failing to notice life as it happens, and I don't think there could be much worse a way to be.  If you aren't noticing life, you aren't living, and if you aren't living, you're dead.  I'm becoming the walking dead, a 21st century zombie. 

So, for all those peers of mine currently struggling through the pains of trying to be good teachers, maybe of failing at that, of being unemployed, of being dissatisfied with their statuses, know that at least that pain is a form of life.  It may not be the best form, but it's better than indifference.  Good luck finding your way to happiness.  Please wish me the same.