Since 2005 I’ve been a volunteer driver for the Meals On Wheels program in and around Berkeley, California. I had no idea what kind of impact I could have on people’s lives on a weekly basis when I first started, and since meeting and talking to the dozens of elderly and disabled men and women on my routes, I can’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t be a volunteer in some way or another.
I was once asked by Mrs. C, who lived in a small house on a beautifully tree lined street just North of the Berkeley campus, to hang a picture on her wall. The nail was already in place, and I hung the wire over it and adjusted the picture so it was straight. On my way out, I noticed a framed Life Magazine cover. I asked her about it, and she told me it was of her in the late 1930’s. She used to live in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, and when I told her I grew up not too far away from there, her face lit up and we spent the next few minutes talking about the area she grew up in and the city she loved so much. She moved to Berkeley in the mid-80’s and complained to me every week about the cold. I can still see her wrapped in a blanket and wearing a wool hat in the middle of summer.
I learned to be patient when knocking because Mr. H is hard of hearing and Mrs. G has bad knees. I know Mrs. R will greet me with a “God bless you,” Mrs. W will ask me where I’ve been because she’s hungry, and when I ask Mrs. J how she is, she’ll respond with “just waiting on my meals on wheels.”
Back in 2006, I used to deliver to a Mr. W on the first floor of an apartment building in North Berkeley. Each day he opened the door with a beaming smile, his hands out in front of him ready to receive his food. Mr. W was an elderly black man, blind, and about as happy as anyone I’ve ever met. His forehead showed no wrinkles of fear or concern, his eyes wide and glazed as they wandered, his soul rich with a life and experience I had no knowledge of, but one I’m sure could fill a Dostoevsky size book and tell of Hemingway like stories. Each day, after placing the food on his hands, Mr. W would ask me in for a game of chess. I would tell him I had other meals to deliver, and he would understand. He always told me to come by another day when I had more time. I said I would, but never did. I don’t have many regrets when I consider my years with Meals On Wheels, but not accepting the invitation to a game of chess, and I’m sure what would have been an interesting conversation, is definitely one I’ll never forgive myself for.
Volunteer based organizations are feeling the economic crunch along with everybody else, and they aren’t expecting any bail-outs. With the decline in staff and financial assistance, organizations around the country are looking for new methods of raising the necessary funds.
This last October 17th, I rode my bike in the first annual Wheels for Meals fundraiser for the Alameda County Meals On Wheels program along with my wife and a friend. It was a perfect day for a ride, the cool morning giving way to a warm afternoon in Livermore, California. Over 400 riders registered for the event, and it was a great opportunity to donate to the program while getting some fresh air and exercise on a beautiful fall Saturday.
There are hundreds of rides, runs, marathons and half marathons across the country raising funds for programs like Meals On Wheels and for vital research into cures for diseases like diabetes (Tour de Cure), lymphoma and leukemia (America’s Most Beautiful Ride) and AIDS (Aids Life Cycle – A 7 day ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles), many of which offer training and fitness advice.
The decision to undertake a challenge like riding a century (100 miles) or running a marathon (26 miles) can be extremely rewarding. The hours of training and the sacrifice of time, money and energy seem daunting at first, but pale in comparison to the satisfaction of crossing the finish line knowing you’ve done something not only for the for yourself but for a greater cause.
Want to help out where help is desperately needed? Have some time to give, but not the money? Maybe you have a few extra dollars, but not a minute to spare. Either way, volunteering or donating to an organization is a great way to participate in the age old, and sometimes lost art, of helping someone in need.
Consider volunteering or taking part in a run or ride and become a new age philanthropist. In an era when we rely heavily on donations for what many consider basic necessities, volunteers are the new foot soldiers in an army determined to keep alive the good will behind many organizations that make it their business to help others.
Spending a little time each week volunteering has become such a part of my routine, I don’t think of it as anything more than what I do on Tuesday mornings between 10:30 and 12:00. I may never know what it feels like to write a big check for charity, but I know what it feels like to receive a genuine and heartfelt “thank you” from someone who truly means it. I hope you too can feel that satisfaction and accept the challenge of becoming part of the new generation of philanthropists. Meanwhile, I’ll be looking out for the next Mr. W, and this time you can be sure, I won’t pass up that game of chess.
To find an organization to donate to or volunteer with, visit:
www.volunteermatch.org
http://serve.gov/
http://www.allforgood.org/
http://www.mtv.com/serve/
http://www.truist.com/
http://socialactions.com/
To find a ride or run visit:
http://www.teamintraining.org.
http://www.bikethewest.com/
http://tour.diabetes.org/site/PageServer?pagename=TC_homepage
http://www.aidslifecycle.org/
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Me, U.S.C. and Notre Dame – 1986-2009
As a kid, I waited with great anticipation for Christmas morning and my birthday, and the days my family went to Disneyland. They were the special days that I looked forward to, the big days the rest of the 365 simply got in the way of. In 1986, I was 12 and my life consisted of elementary school, Star Wars figures and break dancing pants, and if I was good, the Cosby Show once a week. Then on November 29, 1986, I watched as Notre Dame kicked a field goal with 2 seconds left to beat U.S.C., and fall Saturdays would never be the same for me. I felt something new that day. It wasn’t the pain I felt when I crashed my bike and scraped my arm. It wasn’t like when the bell rang and I had to freeze but I had to pee so I did, and well you know, kids can be cruel. No, it wasn’t even like being hit in the shins with a baseball bat. The pain was much, much worse.
I knew about college football, watched games with my dad and tried not to get in his way when he stormed out of the TV room. He’s a U.S.C. alum and played in the band during the “Glory Days,” like he used to say. I liked the U.S.C. uniforms and that band that looked like it was always having so much fun. Over the next few years my passion for college football and the Trojans grew, and I found new days to look forward to every year. The U.S.C. - U.C.L.A. game was big, especially living in
After watching U.S.C. lose in 1986 by 2 points, I watched them lose by 11 in 1987. In 1988, U.S.C. and Notre Dame were undefeated and ranked #1 and #2. It was before the internet, and I read every article in the L.A. Times a dozen times. I was sick that Saturday (and so was U.S.C.’s quarterback Rodney Peete,) and we couldn’t go to the game, but I’ll never forget watching Tony Rice run the option up and down the field as Notre Dame went on to win 27-10.
I remember thinking that God could not allow me to feel that pain again, that I had paid in tears and anguish for three years, and U.S.C. would surely prevail in 1989. But what I failed to realize, even though my dad would often remind me, is that God was on Notre Dame’s side, and Touchdown Jesus was more than just a mural. The ball bounced different for the Irish, and if it was super natural assistance I was looking for, I needed to find a new religion. Consequentially, 1989 was one of the worst losses I can remember. That year was especially painful because I had been arguing with some friends at school who were big Notre Dame fans. The following Monday morning as I sat in homeroom, I could hear them chanting my name from down the hall. Needless to say, they let me have it. It was a close game. Todd Marinovich threw an interception in the end zone at the end of the first half, and U.S.C. came up short as they tried unsuccessfully to score late in the 4th quarter. That night, some Notre Dame fans who were friends of the family stopped in front of our house and honked and shouted for a few minutes. I was in bed, the house was dark, and the pain was unbearable.
In 1990 U.S.C. lost 10-6. I remember the long walk back to the car from the Coliseum, and that it was raining, or was it just the tears running down my face? In 1991 U.S.C. lost 20-24 and thus ended my junior high and high school years – 1986-1991; U.S.C. 0 – Notre Dame 6.
Things were different in college. I was on my own, living in the dorms with co-ed bathrooms and having the time of my life. But some things didn’t change; U.S.C. 23 – Notre Dame 31. In 1993, U.S.C. lost again 13-31, and in 1994, Keyshawn Johnson and Coach John Robinson led the Trojans to South Bend with S.C.’s best chance in years to beat the Irish. But late in the first half U.S.C. got stopped at the goal line and the result was a 17-17 tie. You would think I was happy U.S.C. didn’t lose to Notre Dame, but expectations were high that year for U.S.C. with Keyshawn on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and the pain didn’t go away. In 1995 U.S.C. got to the Rose Bowl for the first time since 1989, but they lost to Notre Dame that year, 10-38.
In 1996 the madness finally ended as U.S.C. needed the newly introduced over time to beat the Irish. I fell back in my chair and let out a sigh more than a decade in the making. I was 22 years old. From 1997 -2001 U.S.C. and Notre Dame traded punches until a wet November evening in 2002 when Carson Palmer and U.S.C. unleashed years of built up angst and beat the Irish 44-13.
U.S.C. beat Notre Dame by 31 points from 2002-2004, and in 2005 the two teams provided us with one of the greatest games in the history of college football. I remember watching in silence as U.S.C. faced a desperation 4th and 9 with time running out, and I refused to let out any emotions as Dwayne Jarrett snatched a pass from between the arms of a Notre Dame defender and ran down the field. I remained stone faced as Matt Leinart fumbled the ball out of bounds, and it was only when Matty fell into the end zone and the referee’s arms went into the air that I threw my hands up and screamed like I was 12 again and riding Space Mountain. In 2006, U.S.C. won 44-24, and in 2007 the Trojans handed Notre Dame their worst defeat in the rivalry, 38-0. Last year U.S.C. continued to punish the Irish winning 38-3.
I should feel vindicated. The lopsided victories, National Championships and Heisman Trophies should be enough to balance out the years of losing, but as old wounds healed, new ones emerged. The 2005 game was exciting as Notre Dame tried to break the losing streak to U.S.C. and the Trojans were in the middle of a championship run, but lost in the hype of the Bush-push and the N.B.C. jingle was Desmond Reed. In 2004, Reed was a stand-out special teams player who returned kick-off’s, punts and even forced a fumble while rushing the punter. He was a back-up running back that looked as exciting as any player I’d ever seen at U.S.C.
In 2005, while fielding a punt, Desmond Reed’s cleat got tangled in the grass at Notre Dame Stadium, and he sustained an injury that not only derailed his career, it left him with lingering nerve damage. Reed does not blame Notre Dame or Coach Weiss, and much has been written about the length of the grass that day and the motivation behind why it was so long. All I have to say is the grass was long that day, and now Desmond Reed has to wear a brace when he runs. I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t think the Trojans have either.
This Saturday U.S.C. and Notre Dame will face off for the 81st time. Writing about my experience with the rivalry stirs up many emotions. I have great memories of watching the games, wins and losses. As sports fans, we spend money on tickets and jerseys, time sitting in the rain through media time outs, and energy as we ride the roller coaster of the game for four quarters. When our teams are winning, the sun shines brighter and the beer tastes better, but for those great moments of ecstasy, we pay with last second losses and sometimes a decade or more of disappointment.
While Christmas day and my birthday have lost their luster over the years, I know I will have some trouble falling asleep tonight, and I’ll probably wake up early tomorrow. I’ll enjoy the moment right before kick-off as the two teams line up, the dark blue jerseys of Notre Dame and the bold cardinal helmets of U.S.C. I’ll look for a glimpse of Marcus Allen on the sideline and Dr. Bartner as he leads the Spirit of Troy. I’m even looking forward to seeing that silly little leprechaun. I’ll savor the images and the sounds regardless of the outcome, knowing I’m lucky to have 23 years of memories, good and bad, and I’ll go to sleep Saturday night with a smile and already anticipating next year when we get to do it all over again.
Looking back on my 23 years of watching the U.S.C.-Notre Dame game, I don’t regret the pain, the tears or the agony. I relish the moments of glory and triumph. I’ll watch this Saturday with the emotion of a 12 year old combined with the experience of more than two decades of watching the storied rivalry. Thanks dad for introducing me to college football, thanks Rodney Peete and Johnnie Morton, Junior Seau, Tony Rice and Rocket Ismael. Thanks Coach Robinson, Coach Tollner, Coach Smith, Coach Holtz and Coach Carroll. Thanks Matty and Reggie and thanks Desmond.
Fight On and Beat the Irish!
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