Daniel - Life in Community

February 18, 2008 “That’s a lot of estrogen”

Saturday, February 16: I sit in my living room, wrapped in a blanket, eating chocolate and watching a romantic comedy with four green-faced women. No, they have not all come down with the flu or a bad case of food poisoning, but rather, all have decided to indulge their skin with avocado-based face masks.

The wait is over—I have decided to spill the beans on my life living with five women. With a female to male ratio in the East this year of nearly four to one, it was bound to happen. In fact, it’s occurred twice this year, with Boston sporting a house of five girls to one guy. You’re my boy, Chris.

Monday, February 18: Jim Carey is appearing on Oprah today as I write this blog. He scans the audience and declares, “That’s a lot of estrogen.” His reaction takes me to last summer when I received the Newark community bios in the mail, which read: Alison, Francesca, Jacqueline, Jenna, Claire and Daniel. –You said it Jim, “That’s a lot of estrogen.”

When I inform people that I live with five women - it doesn’t matter if they’re family or friends, male or female - the reaction is always the same. “Ooohhh, man!?!? How is that? That’s got to be rough.” This is accompanied with a look of sympathy, disbelief and a little bit of horror. It’s as if I just told people that I was living with a pack of wild, ravenous wolves.

I can tell you right now that the women I live with are---brace yourself---normal people. Five women living under one roof do not turn into a vicious monster. Actually they turn into five—kidding. I honestly thought that I was in for a rude awakening. I grew up with four brothers and two sisters. The television was dominated by Oakland A’s baseball, Notre Dame football and ESPN. Testosterone prevailed. When I received the roommate list, I pictured God snickering. I felt as though I was entering the female version of “How the Other Half Lives.”

When I think about living in community with five women, the image that comes into my head is of us talking. I know it sounds common, but that’s it. We talk during breakfast, at work through emails, g-chat and phone calls. After work, during rides home, in the living room before dinner, for well over an hour during and after dinner we are talking. Ohh—and how could I ever forget pillow talk?

If you find yourself in a similar situation, get ready for a marathon of talking and listening. A helpful hint: don’t just listen with a blank stare and nod of the head…it doesn’t count. Be ready to offer advice, insight and your feelings on an endless list of topics, including: news, weather, celebrities, men, male and female stereotypes, feminism, books, men, bras, clothing, movies, doing dishes, not doing dishes, men, music, siblings, relationships, families, parents, ex-boyfriends, boys that happen to be friends and of course, the boys we want to be more than friends.

But—isn’t that what people do? We talk about issues in our lives, things on our mind, people we like, we don’t like, what happened during our day, insecurities we battle and compliments we try our best to believe. We are people; communication is our tool---male, female, it doesn’t matter.

So—when I tell people that it is going well, this is the image I have. I like the talking and I am learning to appreciate the level of description that goes into stories. Now, I know I might be walking the dangerous line of gender stereotypes, but what I am learning is that women are all about detail. A story’s minute aspects are dissected, prodded, rolled over, turned upside down and inside out over and over again.

I’m learning. They have been patient with me and I with them. We are people. We are a community.

Learn more about Daniel here.

Daniel - A Day at LINK

The other day I was having the typical morning at LINK Community School. I arrived barely on time, cold and hoping to learn from the mistakes I made the day before. I kept telling myself that today I would actually give a detention to every kid that said, "shut-up" or rolled their eyes or sighed when I gave directions to the class. Or, today I would make sure that I was constantly present in every conversation I had with a child. These seem like pretty strait forward goals, and yet, they become so difficult. I'm halfway through my day and I realize that I've lost. Conversation after conversation become one long day, and at the end, I stand in front of an empty class asking myself, "Did I reach them today?" "Did I make a difference?" Will I ever know the answers to these questions?

These are the thoughts that greet me each afternoon, but thankfully I have found a release. Beginning about two weeks ago I began working everyday with the 7th and 8th grade girls and boys basketball teams. (For those that don't know me, I love basketball. I have been playing competitively and for fun for nearly 14 years, beginning in the 3rd grade). My role on the LINK staff is the assistant coach, a position of authority--but the role of disciplinarian and all-around tough guy is reserved for Coach Jones. It’s at this point that I can talk to the kids about something they love and make them appreciate it even more.

It’s a chance for me to talk about something I love and know. I feel like that's major part of being a successful teacher - when a teacher is passionate about a subject, not because they have to teach it, but because they love the subject itself. When the time comes for them to share their knowledge, it’s not a class/teacher scene, but a conversation between people. They bounce ideas and questions off each other to find the best understanding.

I've had one of these "conversations" recently. Cassie is not your typical/ideal student. She is not eager to pay attention to a teacher lecture about algebraic equations or scientific theories. But, mention basketball, and she is all ears. Sort of. She is a 13 year old girl, born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. You can't tell Cassie what to do; you just hope when you give her an assignment, all you get back is a sigh and a role of the eyes. It’s that, or she is out the door ready to do her own thing.

During a recent practice Cassie was taking several jump shots, becoming more and more frustrated with each subsequent miss. I walk over to the basket and begin rebounding for her. She misses again and is ready to chuck the ball through the ceiling. Luckily, I retrieve the ball first and calmly walk over to her. I hand her the ball and remind her that Steve Nash shot 1-9 the previous night and he has two MVPs under his belt. She nods her head reluctantly, takes the ball, and then we begin to talk about her form. We decide on a comfortable shot for her and test the results. She makes the first shot from twelve feet out. She makes the second. I pass her the ball and remind her to use her legs. She hits a third shot in a row. She begins to smile and quickly hides it, because for Cassie, she expects to make every shot. We work for another 25 minutes. She takes nearly 60 shots. When practice ends, she jogs over to me and asks if we can work on her shot tomorrow after practice. I say yes, of course--trying to hold back my own beaming smile, less she find out exactly what that means to my heart.

Learn more about Daniel here.

Daniel - Orientation

A little after midnight on August 16, I boarded a red–eye flight to Baltimore with my best friend. We both had chosen to dedicate the next year of our lives to living in service with the Jesuit Volunteers, fighting for social justice, and growing spiritually.

Our flight brought us to Texas and then to Baltimore, where we caught a taxi that would take us to the Hagerstown Greyhound bus station. We anticipated meeting other JVs at the bus stop. My thought was that we would arrive, chat with other JVs, maybe meet my first housemate, and then board the bus that would take us to Blue Ridge Summit for our four-day indoctrination into the JV community.

That was the plan. But—as I and nearly thirty other JVs learned, plans have a mind of their own.

The wait at Hagerstown, which was supposed to have been about a half hour, turned into a 5 hour ice breaker. Greyhound decided that it best to over book their buses for that particular day. Looking back, I don’t think that I would have had it any other way. The long wait forced many of us into those early awkward conversations of asking each other where we were from, where we went to school, where our placement was located. As ordeals often do, it bonded us in our hatred of a common villain—the Greyhound bus depot. I should really send them a thank you card.

We were finally rescued by members of our support staff—Beth, Katie, and Stephen. So instead of riding in a cramped bus, filled with strangers, we were able to travel in style, crammed in three 12 seater vans in the company of those who, just hours before, were nothing but strangers.

Once settled in our rooms, the thought on most minds was lets have some food—or was that just me?

Over the next few days, I met amazingly gifted, goofy, and interesting people from all parts of the United States. Many from schools I’d heard plenty about, but never visited. It was a chance to put faces to names, and shake off the anxious feeling of wonderment as to what your housemates were going to be like.

I remember thinking to myself, both on the way to the retreat center and during, that I wanted to be active and step outside of my shell. This was an opportunity to share my gifts of spirit and laughter with others who had chosen a lifestyle similar to my own. I told myself that I wanted to be present in every conversation, mindful during every prayer, and open to new ideas and outlooks on life.

I don’t want to ruin the surprise for future JVs, so I’ve decided, will all the restraint I can muster, not to go into any real detail about the activities we did, prayers we offered, masses that were held, people that spoke, games that were played, or food we ate. When Sunday rolled around, I found myself driving with two of my housemates on our way to Newark, New Jersey, a place I had often heard about in the news, but had never stepped foot in. As we drove I noticed something really amazing. After only three days, I already felt so close, not only to my housemates, but to the mission of JVC.

For all those that were concerned, Greyhound did refund most of our tickets. You can rest easy now.

Learn more about Daniel here.