I can’t remember ever feeling so physically tired or emotionally spent. Neither can I remember ever feeling so fulfilled.
I recently participated in Challenge Day, which non-profit organization Younity (formerly Serendipity West) brings to Central Oregon every year. The program is designed to combat bullying by challenging preconceptions and encouraging kids to be the agent of change at their school. According to their website, “The Challenge Day mission is to provide youth and their communities with experiential programs that demonstrate the possibility of love and connection through the celebration of diversity, truth, and full expression.” Other promotional material invites people to “Imagine enemies finding common ground and making peace; friends healing past hurts and making amends; people igniting their passion for service and leadership; adult and youth joining hands to create a world where everyone feels safe, loved and celebrated. This is the work of the heart. This is the work of Challenge Day and the BE the Change Movement.”
To be honest, I didn’t have much of a clue about what volunteering entailed when I signed up. I just knew that I was committing most of a day to a good cause that would help kids. That was enough.
“We want to rock these kids’ worlds so they have no idea what’s going on,” one of the two organizers told me and the 24 other adult volunteers. “We want you to create two lines–like they used to do on Soul Train. As the kids pass through, clap, high-five them, give them a pat on the back, break out your worst dance moves, stamp your feet and hoot and holler. We need to hear a lot of noise.” With that they cranked up the decibels on the rock-and-roll to a positively blaring level and let in the kids.
The 100 seventh-graders who would be participating in the day’s activities made their way single file through the gym looking appropriately confused and sheepish, especially when they spotted several of their teachers rocking out. Once the last youth had made it though the adult gauntlet, we all grabbed a seat. “Look around at all the people in this room,” said the male organizer, who like his organizing cohort looked to be in his late twenties. “Remember your reaction, because we’re going to do this again at the end of the day.”
We didn’t sit for long. A series of ice-breaker games followed, most of which involved running into the circle at the center of the folding chairs while yelling as loudly as possible, finding a partner based on a varied set of criteria such your shoe color, and then linking arms back to back. The task that followed usually involved some kind of dance move that was virtually impossible to do well, especially when linked up with a stranger you couldn’t even see.
The laughter that ensued would be echoed throughout the day. So would making big noise, running around and dancing. Hugging was also encouraged. A lot of hugging.
These activities not only helped bring the group together, they offset the day’s quieter, more introspective moments during which students were encouraged to “drop the waterline” and to share their true selves instead of hiding who they are to fit in at school or in their community.
“We’re not going to ask you to do anything we wouldn’t do,” said the female organizer. “So we’re going to tell you our stories.” Both young adult organizers had overcome tough upbringings. Both shared emotional challenges they were still dealing with. By the end of their accounts, at least a third of the kids and several of the adults were crying.
The tears reappeared regularly that morning during small group discussions focused around themes like: If you really knew me, you would know that __________. It’s hard to hang onto biases when the three other people in your group–people you’re not close with or perhaps have never met, are sharing at such an intimate level and offering so much support when you share. Larger group discussions centered around oppression and why we pass judgment on others.
The Challenge Day experience culminates in the Cross the Line exercise. All the participants and volunteers stand behind a line marked with tape. Then they’re directed to cross over to another line about ten feet away whenever a particular situation that’s announced by the organizers applies to them.
“Cross the line if you’re under 18,” the organizers directed. All the kids crossed and the adults stayed behind, raising their hands to show all those opposite them the sign for love, familiar to surfers and all those who know sign language. “How does it feel to have no power?” the organizers asked. “How does it feel to know that an adult can legally hit you?” Then the kids were asked to cross back.
We all crossed the line a lot that day. Some of us crossed because we had lost someone close to us. We crossed because we–or someone we knew–struggled with substance abuse problems. We crossed the line because we–or someone we know–had been bullied. We crossed the line if we had been unkind to someone we didn’t really know.
“Cross the line if you or someone you know ever been the target of violence,” said one of the organizers. To my horror, about a third of the kids and a number of the adult volunteers crossed. “How does it feel to never know what to expect when you get home? How does it feel to be afraid?”
By now at least half the kids were crying openly.
“Cross the line if you’ve ever been homeless, placed in foster care, run away or thought about running away.” Again, at least a third of the group crossed, including two of the brightest, cutest, most energetically outspoken girls in the group–the kind who pop up or wildly wave a raised hand every time they have the answer which is almost always. And as 30+ kids crossed, tears streaming down their faces, they looked around in amazement at all those crossing with them.
“I thought I was the only one,” one of those two girls told the group once the exercise had ended.
The final activity of the day involved having kids and adult volunteers alike write a note to someone in their lives as a way of synthesizing the day’s experience. I chose to write to my mother, whose death in 2001 still makes me feel as if I’ve been hit by a medicine ball hurled into my gut at full force. I wrote:
Dear Mom:
I miss you so much. You are everything good in me. Your love, your warmth, your compassion, your understanding, your humor molded me. I know I shouldn’t strive to be you. I am my own person, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. But I do know that the bright light I carry is you, and that makes me feel grateful and fuller–more whole–because I know you’re part of me forever. I love you, my Mom.
I had expected to help raise awareness about bullying among kids that day. I hadn’t expected to experience a day of laughter, dancing, banging on chairs, sharing, crying and increased self-knowledge. I hadn’t expected a day of awakening. I’m guessing neither did anyone else who was new to the program.
Since its inception in 1987, Challenge Day has touched the lives of more more than one million young participants. There’s no telling how many other lives have been impacted indirectly, as those youths have returned to their schools and their families, and the adult volunteers have returned to their communities.
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