Using an Army to Save a Dozen
A story of my time with Habitat for Humanity
Slamming the door on my BMW, I inhaled deeply before I took it all in, readying myself for the tasks ahead. I slowly exhaled as my eyes gathered my surroundings, struck in an almost awe at the row of hideously painted homes under construction. Here I was in what could easily be considered a lower income community, faced with the equivalent of a Care Bear’s preferred color scheme in home decor. I locked longing eyes with my iPhone, still in the car, and began my ascent of the overgrown patch of earth in front of me (lawn would be too good a description).
Taking my commands from the head constructor for Habitat, I slapped on some gloves and trudged in my old tennis shoes to the rickety ladder hanging from the last home the lot. Muttering prayers under my breathe, I braced myself for a potential broken spine and began making my way up step by step to the single story roof. This was my second day constructing houses for the financially deficient with the nonprofit Habitat for Humanity of Athens, and today I would be ripping the shingle off the edges of the entire roof.
I swiped a couple hammers and crow bars from the community tool box and began chipping away at the edges of the east side while my new classmate Carter worked on the opposite end. Swears may or may not have been muttered as I wrestled with the worn shingle. As I tossed the torn roofing to the trash below, I noticed that I had a fairly good view of the war beneath me. Lead by head Commander Phil, who can be compared to a shorter, leaner, cursing, Santa of home properties, my university service class waged battle with the elements of a decaying community. Like soldiers, they meticulously shoveled water drainage ditches, sawed wood for the porches, and painted doors and window sills.
The only difference between this scene and one of the front lines was the feeling in the air. Laughter swelled my ears, drowning out the buzz of the saw and the sharp cracks of Carter’s hammer. Smiles flowed across faces, giving visual proof to emotions being exclaimed. There must have been over 40 people working on only 4 or 5 homes that could only fit so many of the needy. Free of a service fee, all these workers were sacrificing their time in the classroom for a cause they were encouraged support through their professor. That’s what struck me as odd as I laid back on the incredibly itchy, angled roofing for a short break. How could all these people be happy to be here?
Grasping for my water bottle, just out of reach, my fellow roofing-contractor made his way to my slumped body and decided it was an opportune time to practice the speech on hydro-thermal vents he would be giving later today in our Communications class, using some sort of magic to summon note cards with scribble writing on both sides. As my new friend began his monologue, I began to zone out of reality, thinking upon my earlier question. Light bulbs flashing in my head, I realized that these kids were having fun for the very reason Carter now felt, in my personal opinion unjustly, comfortable with reading me his speech on this random roof; this job site had become ours.
It was part of us, an extension of our investments. Perhaps not financial, but certainly physical and emotional. Was it not our sweat pooling in the dirt? Was it not our hands that moved pounds of earth to stop the homes from flooding? Where they not our words of encouragement, good-natured roasts, and cuss words that were spewed at a direct result of this establishment? We had just as much riding on this project as any other volunteer there; these were our homes and we were gonna do our best to make them better. Gone were the attitudes of disappointment and confusion towards the reasoning of this effort that my whole class certainly felt the first day, instead replaced with feelings of accomplishment and gratitude.
By now, we had all realized that, had it not been for use sacrificing a few hours of our morning sleep-in, this would have been single mothers mowing the lawn, aged grandmothers painting the walls, children growing under unsafe roofs. Our investments ran deeper than capital gain. We were profiting of the essence of a good heart. Through good natured caring, we were making this home, our home, a better place to live in.
This was the true meaning of service learning, educating ourselves through the simple process of getting our hands dirty. True, we were not learning the Pythagorean Theorem or the names of all the 45 presidents, but instead we were learning what it meant to be human, an idea no classroom can teach. Our university classes do wonders in theory, but applying those ideals, those ideas we learn in the classroom to the real world is where theories turn to accomplishments. This little street of multi-family homes was teaching us more about life than any professor could. And that rested on the fact that we were the teachers, the shovels our homework, the roof shingle our tests, the finished homes our grades. We were teaching ourselves how to be good people.
As my eyes slipped behind the cover of my eye lids, I began to list towards the edge of the roof in the beginnings of a very powerful nap. Upset with my lack of attentiveness, Carter shook me awake before a very certain death. Checking my watch, I smiled. I’ll see you next week Magnolia Terrace.
Click here for the Habitat for Humanity website to learn how you can make a difference today
