Essay by Chase Smith, Wilton High School, Grade 11

[Note: This is not the article where you should vote for this contestant. This is essayist No. 10, so in the voting article, which is here, just post a comment that says ‘10' to vote for this student. Voting is limited to one person per finalist per day, and closes at 8 p.m. on May 13. The finalist essay follows.] 

I believe that the beauty of community service lies in its ability to connect us all closer together. My most touching volunteer experience has been at Wilton Meadows, a senior care center in town, and specifically in the Alzheimer’s Recreation Room, where special care patients gather to watch movies and play games. As soon as I began talking with the seniors, I realized that many of these people were so terribly lonely – their families only visited them occasionally, and otherwise they had very few people to talk to. This is what keeps me coming back: a sense of duty to be a friend and listener.

To certain residents I’ve become a regular kid to talk to on Sunday afternoons, and they seem genuinely happy to see me each week. I remember one Sunday when I sat down next to the most talkative lady in the group. She described to me how she grew up in Lansing, New York: “My father taught me how to drive the tractor and he dared me to drive it to the end of the field and back!” I laughed, and she chuckled, “That certainly went well…” She then changed the subject, asking me if I liked my job. When I responded that I was only volunteering, she seemed not to notice and began to give me some career advice. Next, she cheerfully pointed me out to a nurse: “This is my teacher!”

And yes, while the Alzheimer’s Recreation Room can get a little hectic, I can still feel each person’s distinctive personality through his or her illness. These are mothers and fathers, aunts, uncles, neighbors: they have lived through so much and have so many stories to tell. These are women who waited anxiously while their fiancés fought in the Second World War, and who rejoiced (and promptly married) when they returned. These are grandmothers whose daughters have their own daughters. These are human beings.

When I listen to the stories of the elderly, they seem to grow young before me. Their minds awaken as they describe a time when their hair was blond, or when they were employed by a prestigious university, or worked as a nurse at a hospital. I can see them remembering, and that makes every minute extraordinary.

Sometimes, though, they don’t remember… I asked one lady in what year she was married, but her eyes glazed and she began to look into the distance, “…I’m sorry, but I can’t recall.” And I said, “That’s ok.” But I was stunned that sometimes even the most important things can be forgotten. My experiences in the Recreation Room have reminded me that life does have an end – I will not be here forever, and neither will my friends here at Wilton Meadows. Life is ephemeral; we must all live cheerfully, tell great stories, and listen to the tellers of these tales. Only then will we come closer together.

I am honored to be a listener.