Moments that occur in our lives which can define us.
It is through these little instances that our lives become intertwined with others, where we mix the colors of our life sketches together for short or extended periods with those which may or may not be family members. It is in these small, perhaps seemingly insignificant moments that we mold ourselves—or even those around us—into the type of individuals we will all one day become.
These are the moments which matter.
I switched on my computer this afternoon and logged into my Facebook account—I wanted to check the activity on the site when I noticed that an old student and boy I’d mentored several years ago had tagged me in a photo. I clicked on the link and was a bit surprised when I was greeted with this image:
I scanned the photo and started to read over the descriptions; as I moved the mouse over the picture, I noticed that names would pop up—squares which had been tagged by people, as friends or acquaintances of theirs who’d fit the description of said box.
When I scrolled over one of the boxes a name popped up I recognized.
The name was mine.
I sat, staring at the screen for several moments in bewildered silence.
I was speechless.
I hadn’t seen the young man who’d done the tagging of this particular image for quite some time; but I thought of many of the experiences we’d had in the mentoring program over the years—all of the good times—as well as the struggles and hardships over the five years I’d worked with him as a young boy growing into adolescence.
I have not been his mentor for a few years now. I have not been his teacher for even more of those years—yet there was something I did which made a difference, something he still remembers.
I am still speechless.
I am reminded of what I said a while ago when someone asked me what my future goals were in regards to my life; to this I responded: I plan to one day take the ultimate photograph, to have a student come back after graduating high school because I made a difference in his or her life, to see each kid in my class feel a sense of belonging, and to get up each morning with a smile on my face and project that into the lives of those around me.
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Moments pass in our lives like the playing of a favorite song on the radio. For a brief instant it is there, weaving itself into the fabric of now, becoming part of the tapestry of living. Then it is gone, leaving behind the memory which, like that weaving, can become faded with the onslaught of time.
Today I found myself slipping into yesterday.
I had a visit after school from a boy I had mentored for two years; he’d showed up without warning. It wasn’t long before he was telling me about his recent experiences of life, about his upcoming graduation from high school, and his countless memories of yesterday.
As I listened to him talk of the past, I found myself slipping into the days back when he was shorter than I was; I was his mentor so long ago. It seemed another lifetime, really; back before facial hair and critical life decisions.
As we talked about the moments he’d—or I’d—forgotten, we both laughed. It was a moment where I found myself, just for just a minute, stepping into yesterday. After nearly an hour, this young man left. Yet I found myself still milling over the words of our conversation.
When I came home I did a little digging; it wasn’t long before I unearthed a DVD I’d put together of a camping trip I’d recorded of this young man and two other boys I had been mentor to. As I slipped the disk into the player, and the room ignited with the light of the screen, as also it did with the remembrance of times past.
I laughed out loud. I found myself inundated with memories of a trip with these three boys which was a lot of fun. I missed them. I started to miss all of the kids I’ve been a mentor to over the past decade of my time on this earth.
As the video came to and end, I sat in the dark room; I began to wonder about them all. What were they up to now? How were their lives going? What type of people had they grown up to be?
I could only hope that they had all turned out…good.
“Over the course of the average lifetime you meet a lot of people. Some of them stick with you through thick and thin. Some weave their way through your life and disappear forever. But once in a while someone comes along who earns a permanent place in your heart”
—Kevin Arnold, The Wonder Years
By all means, this collage does not show every child I’ve mentored, but it is a sampling of those who’ve weaved their way into my life throughout this past decade.
Pin It SCENE 1, EXTERIOR. AFTERNOON. MIDDLE-CLASS SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD. A boy—aged eleven—and his mentor from the Big Brother’s program are traveling the streets after the day’s activity of Penny Golf and lunch at Wendy’s. The boy is talking animatedly, leaping from topic to topic as they pull in to his cul-de-sac. He pauses for a second as he notes that of the cars are absent from the driveway. He surmises that his family is not home.
JOEY: You know nobody’s home at my house right now [pause]. I was just thinking…You know, I could take off all my clothes and run naked around the house if I wanted to.
[Joey pauses, in contemplation. He is unaware that the comment is a bit uncomfortable for his mentor. After a silent beat, the mentor responds.]
MENTOR: Well, if you do, just make sure that the blinds are pulled—otherwise the neighbors will talk.
[Joey bursts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter for nearly thirty seconds. His mentor joins in laughing as well. The car comes to a stop in front of the house.]
JOEY:[Quietly, to himself]. That’s funny; ‘the neighbors will talk.’
[Joey chuckles softly for another few seconds. He opens the car door and starts to get out.]
JOEY: I probably won’t do it though…but I could if I wanted to.
[Voice trails off into silence.]
SCENE 2, EXTERIOR. AFTERNOON. MIDDLE-CLASS SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD. Exactly one week later. Mentor pulls up outside same house. Joey comes out, he’s wearing a grin. Opening the car door, he climbs inside. Even before the door closes he starts to talk.
JOEY: I didn’t do it after all—you know, running around the house naked. I thought about it, but then changed my mind. I just thought I’d tell you.
MENTOR: Thanks, I was wondering all week....
JOEY: [Spoken quietly]. But I could have, if I wanted to.
It was Glen Phillips, the lead singer of Toad the Wet Sprocket, who’d once said, “You can take me down, you can show me your home. Not the place where you live, but the place where you belong.”
That’s where I went.
When I finally left Hurricane I was debating whether or not I should take the I-70 cutoff and head to the San Rafael Swell. Taking this course of action would be somewhere around 150 miles out of my way, and the day was well half over.
As the interchange loomed steadily nearer at Cove Fort, I made my decision.
I turned.
I passed through several rainstorms along my way, and a building worth of a few photos. As I traveled, I breathed in the beauty of southern Utah. It was well over an hour before I began to see the familiar sandstone cliffs, arrayed with vermillion and amber about me.
Into the playlist went Nickel Creek, and it was official.
I was home.
I can’t express the feeling I had seeing memorable landmarks as I traveled. I’d taken the boys I mentored there once, I’d gotten lost out in that area, there’s the canyon where I’d run out of water, that’s where I’d taken that one photo…
The memories seemed to swirl around and consume me.
I took to a dirt road and began to head into the heart of the Swell. It was much colder than I’d ever known—usually since most of my excursions took place between April and October. It now being the tail end of November brought a distinct chill with it, but this was not unwelcome as I was usually roasting on my visits to this hallowed place.
I took the opportunity to capture a few images as the sun was setting. I’d hoped that I’d be able to hike to Little Grand Canyon and sit at the edge of the sandstone cliffs to watch the sunset, but unfortunately daylight was waning, and there was no way I’d be able to make it there in time.
With this prospect out of the running, I instead decided to try my hand at a few night images with extended exposure. I tried several variations of these images, however, I soon found that my 2,000,000 candlepower light was nearly dead—I should have recharged it.
Curses.
I instead tried something I’ve only recently gotten into: using an external flash to light up the subject of focus with a decreased shutter speed and medium aperture. In other words, I would leave the shutter open and move all around the tree, lighting it up with the flash. For each of the images I used the flash about 14 times. This is what gives the images a ‘ghostly’ glow similar to what I imagine the tree of life would have looked like.
When my shots were finished, I found myself standing alone in pitchy darkness. The aged cliffs rose all about me in silent, shuddering awe. In the sky, an ocean of stars took to their nightly journey across the heavens.
It was absolutely overwhelming and yet welcomed…for I knew that I was probably the only person within a 20 mile radius of my current location. One couldn’t get more alone than I was at that time.
Before long I continued onward to find a panel of petroglyphs to try out extended shutter time and painting with a flashlight, but alas, my “super” flashlight—being near dead—only allowed for one image before dying altogether.
It wasn’t the best shot, but not the worst one either.
The journey home was uneventful, and it was well into the evening that I arrived home, falling in to familiar covers to wrap myself away from the relentless chill of night.
It wasn’t long before I fell into a slumber which held me captive until this morning.
I decided to read up on emails and to get ready for the day when I noticed I had an email from one particular woman who had requested a copy of a video I’d posted on YouTube. She wanted to use it for a Christmas party, and had written to inquire if I would be willing to send her a copy on DVD she could show to a large group. I checked my backup drive for the master video and discovered that I had deleted it some time ago. I remembered that I’d archived it on a DVD though.
I began to look around for the sleeve of said DVDs, remembering that that was the case I’d taken with me on my trip. As I began to scour the house for it, it soon became apparent that it wasn’t with the things I’d brought in last night, so it must have still been in the car.
A quick inspection of my vehicle told me at once that the case was NOT there. Panic started to well up inside of me. That case had master video files AND photography images I didn’t have anywhere else!
I concluded that the case had fallen out of my car when I went off for my night photoshoot and, not realizing it was missing, I’d left it behind on the ground. I double checked everything and my worst realizations were confirmed.
The DVD sleeve was indeed gone.
I quickly began to pack a few various and sundry items, and took them to my car. I knew where the case probably was…the only problem was, it would be a five hour round trip to get it.
I said a small prayer and packed the last few items I’d need in my car. As I put the final necessities onto the backseat, I had the distinct feeling that I should look—yet again—under both of the front the seats.
Grudgingly I did so, and what did I see?
Popcorn…
Just kidding.
It was the case. Somehow or another, it had gotten tucked back under the seat and it was impossible to see it when looking from the front. However, from the back, it was more readily noticed.
I have to be honest, while a part of me felt trepidation at traveling all the way back to the San Rafael Swell, another part of me wishes I’d gone anyhow. I never did get to sit on the edge of the cliffs and watch the sunset.
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I wanted to do a post about my experiences with mentoring in the past and what an effect it has had on my life. However, tonight is not the night...it is much to late. So in lieu of a post about it at this time, I'd like to share the poster I created about a year ago for the Safety Net Mentoring Program.
