Since I was about eight years old, my father would consistently push my sister and me to go out into the community and help others. From handing out water to runners at a local 5K to supporting the Lion’s Club at their annual pancake breakfast, the ability to “do good” has simply become a way of life for me. Now, I cannot imagine life without it. In high school, I immersed myself in volunteer work within my community. I helped create and maintain my high school’s Leo’s Club (a teen version of the Lion’s Club) and held my position as president for three years. As a part of the organization, I worked with community members and even reached out to local families to craft a town-wide Helping Hands Day in which Leos would devote an entire day to painting a fence, raking leaves, and completing everyday tasks for those unable to conquer the tasks themselves (i.e. disabled, elderly, single-moms, etc.)
My senior year in high school, I took a painting class which embarked on a project—one that I will never forget. It is called the Memory Project, an initiative started in 2007. The purpose of the Memory Project is to paint portraits for orphans around the world. Many times these children are without any possessions and more often than not, they do not have access to any mirrors or photos. By way of this initiative, I received a computer print-out of a 12-year-old girl in Egypt. It was my job to paint a headshot of the girl and, upon completion, send it back to her. Initially, I thought the project was nice—the premise was cool. However, spending weeks, day in and day out, studying this 12-year-old’s face, her dark, flowing hair, the coffee-colored eyes, I began to realize that I was doing something much more than painting a picture. Thoughts of this young girl’s struggles, her trials and tribulations, entered my mind. By the time I completed the final strokes of my paintbrush, I felt almost as if I knew the girl—an experience which has completely changed my life.
Weeks went by and I still thought of this girl every day, though I didn’t even know her name. Finally, as high school graduation loomed closer and thoughts of college weighed in my mind, I received a picture and a note from this girl. The picture, composed of waxy leftovers of a crayon, featured a scene of Egypt, her home. In the center was a single image—a heart divided in half. One side said my name, the other hers. To this day, that picture hangs beside my bed forever reminding me of the power one person has over change.
As I’ve gotten older, my drive and willingness to help others has flourished—that fire within me almost seems to grow stronger as I grow myself. Certainly, different people choose to give in different ways—some choose to give money while others choose to give time. Personally, I’ve mostly given time. There is just something intrinsically satisfying about getting my hands dirty and interacting with people that I normally wouldn’t, an experience I would never get by simply signing a check.
Additionally, I think that compassion is a large part of what I have learned through volunteer work. As a journalist, it is essential to understand all kinds of human beings; where they are coming from and what they have experienced throughout their lives which may be different than mine. I think that it is not only an important skill for journalists, but an important skill for human beings. If everyone was just a little more understanding and willing to help another, I think the world would be a much nicer place to live in.
Brooks Randall 