Personal Storytelling

Communications 5022-01

February 2, 2025

At 17, I worked a few jobs while attending high school. Living 40 miles away in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I took the train to school. This made for long days, so I needed a job close to school, especially since extracurricular activities often kept me late.

Directly across from the Strafford Train Station, on Old Eagle School Road, stood a grand colonial home converted into a preschool/daycare. It had a majestic entrance and a grand staircase. I thought it would be a great after-school gig, as it was close to school and the train.

I walked through those doors to ask for a job, without a resume. I had confidence, a great work ethic and was a solid babysitter. The place had a smell that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It was a combination of old mahogany wood, bananas, cleaning products, humidity, and diapers.

The school was sectioned into age groups. The infant room with cribs and rockers. The under-2 room had napping cots and developmental toys. There was safety locks affixed to the built-in cabinets in 2’s and 3’s rooms, which were connected atop the grand staircase. The walls were yellow and white, with mahogany trim. The building was incredible, and I felt its history as I moved throughout the space.

The tour was part of my initial interview. I was asked why I wanted to work with children, if I was responsible, and if I was dependable. I started the next day. They trained me be a helper for all ages.

A month into my new job I began to work with the 3’s. It was the largest room in the building. Located on the second floor, it creaked as you entered the room. The space smelled of little kids, crayons, and snacks. It must have been 1000 square feet end-to-end and was framed with built-in shelves from floor to ceiling. The energy was awesome, I knew I had found my place.

I was assigned to work with the 3’s and I thrived. I was immediately trusted by the trained educators, and the children loved me. The feeling was mutual. I was energized when I went to work after school. It didn’t feel like a job, it was play. The kids challenged me, and I challenged them.

I then met Bridget. She was an adorable strawberry blonde girl with a pink puffer jacket who was reserved but full of joy. We immediately bonded. We would color, read and work on puzzles together.

Bridget had a lot going on for a 3-year-old. I came to work to find Bridget distraught, after a month working with her. My boss told me her parents were going through a messy divorce, and her dad had “taken” her from mom, who lived in Maine. The heartbreak of parental fighting is a lot, but for this little girl, it was unimaginable. Then I learned she had a sibling, Matthew, in the 2’s room.

Why did it take so long to learn about her little brother? I was asked to visit Matthew’s room with Bridget. Since arriving, Matthew had not spoken at all. Bridget and I went and played with trucks, dolls and puzzles. This interaction lit a spark in Matthew. The teachers were impressed and encouraged me to work with the siblings whenever I clocked in.

Bridget and Matthew were full of joy when they were together. They shared a light that was truly beautiful. Bridget was the only person who understood Matthew. At the time, this tiny boy created frustration for those who were supposed to care for him. I worked (played) with them for weeks and they were both thriving; it was pure joy.

And then they were gone. I clocked in one day and learned Mom won custody. Bridget and Matthew were back in Maine.

This made me understand the deep complexity of family dynamics. The innocence and vulnerability of children like Bridget and Matthew showed me the critical need for support systems that truly understand unique needs.

Every child deserves a safe, loving, and supportive environment. I am committed to making a positive impact on children by advocating for food policies, education and care.

Here I am, many years later teaching nutirion education in Longmont, Colorado