On the Light Side: I know nothing, sign me up

October 15, 2007|EMILY TOADVINE

Seems like everywhere I go, everybody needs a helping hand. At church, someone slides beside me on the bench. "How about teaching a class on Wednesday night?" I know if nobody commits, the program will fail. I don't really feel qualified, but sure, you can count me in.

I sign my son up for soccer and the calls start coming. "Would your husband be interested in coaching?" My husband and I look at each other with looks of disbelief. Neither one of us knows the first thing about the sport. Our 9-year-old son knows way more than we do, but my husband suggests that I have some of the necessary skills. "You like to run. You do it," he says.

OK. Sign me up.

Then, there's the PTO sign-up sheet floating around with a lofty promise that if you commit to one activity, you do that and it's over. In perusing the list, I see "newsletter" and think, "Hey, that's up my alley," and put a check beside it. Next thing I know I'm large and in charge of a monthly publication and I realize how little I know about technology. Fortunately, another big-hearted mom has carried the weight of producing this jewel of school news. All I've done is make a few cheerleader calls to show my support.

It's kind of a similar situation when it comes to soccer practice. One thing I know how to do is chase down soccer balls and pick up cones at the end of practice. One of the dads and another mom lead the practices and know what they're doing. Of course, I don my red coach shirt for all the games, but my son has asked, "Why do you say you're a coach. You don't really do anything."

Maybe I'm there for moral support.

Enrollment of One

As for the Wednesday night commitment, I received the preschool age group. I don't know how elementary school teachers face 24 sets of eyes upon them every morning. My class lasts one hour and the roster has been less than daunting. I have one student. We did get excited one night as she confided that two more students might come, one who she called, "Hair bear." I didn't realize it then, but now I know there is a boy named Harry. With this influx of students expected, I rushed to the church's copier to make some more activity sheets. It began spitting out 30 copies and none of the buttons I pressed could convince it to quit. Another little technology snafu and we didn't even need the copies. Our enrollment stayed at one.

Another fall challenge is working at our community festival. I've played various roles during the years I've lived in the Forkland community and I insisted my daughter serve beans at the dinner. She thought it would interfere with her good time. "You will serve beans at least one year," I told her, explaining that if people don't work at the festival we won't have one.

I have enjoyed certain festival jobs more than others. Last year, I was told the outdoor toilets needed cleaning when I volunteered a few hours. Currently, I work the cars at the gate where I find myself paired with politicians. I guess this meet and greet area suits them. It appeals to me, too. Seems like once you find your job at the festival, it's yours for life, and this sure beats the year I helped wash the bean pots. I do not want to find my niche in soapy water.

I know it takes a lot of volunteers to make programs run smoothly, but I think my plate is full and next time I'm cornered, I should refrain from sharing my lack of expertise.

Emily Toadvine is features editor for The Advocate.

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