Missouri Life September 2023

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

WHEN I STARTED, I QUESTIONED THE DIFFERENCE A PERSON COULD MAKE IN AN HOUR. The elementary school in my hometown started a volunteer reading program in their classrooms asking community members to come in and read to the students. One hour a week. That’s all? Will that even matter? Mrs. Schnarre’s students were typical third graders. They were inquisitive and rambunctious and always happy to see me. The class selected the books, so I never knew what I would be reading until I arrived. Together, we rode on the Orphan Train and saw what children without parents and homes The Power of an Hour

As adults, we are so busy searching for fame and fortune that perhaps we overlook ways to earn just that. These Tuesday kids holler my name across parking lots and bleachers and invite me to holiday parties and their school programs.

and hope endured. We found the key to the Secret Garden and discovered what was inside. We chased that crazy dog, Ribsy, along with Henry Huggins, Beezus, and Ramona. We spun webs with Charlotte and ran all over the Ozark hills with coon dogs, learning hard lessons about life and love and losing. Not every story ends the way you would like. Every time I read, there are questions because these kids are full of them. What do I do? Where have I been? Do I like the Cardinals or the Royals? Do I wear lipstick to bed and earrings every day? Do I think their teacher is pretty? Do I like cupcakes or cookies better? What they ask is all they need to know. The children never question how much money I make or if I have a college diploma on my wall. They show no interest in my political beliefs or what church I attend. They are not curious about my brand of clothes or what athletic shoes I wear. Questions about the car I drive or what side of town I live on never come up. Always, they ask if I am coming back. In that classroom, there were things that stayed with me far longer than an hour. Shoes were wrapped in duct tape because paydays can be a long way off. I saw class treats tucked away to be taken home and shared. I learned that dads sometimes don’t show up and moms sometimes sleep too much. Little brothers and sisters cry in the night because they are scared, and it is not

because of the dark. Grandmas die and dogs that play in the road don’t make it home. All this in an hour. In their short years on this earth, these third graders have learned some of the harder life lessons, many that I needed to be re-taught. The children never complain about what the world has given them, and statements of misfortune are made as facts of life, and not meant to be excuses. They’ve heard enough of those. As adults, we are so busy searching for fame and fortune that perhaps we overlook ways to earn just that. These Tuesday kids holler my name across parking lots and bleachers and invite me to holiday parties and their school programs. They seek me out in the grocery store, uptown, and in the park. When they find me, I am paid with happy hugs and genuine giggles and sheepish grins. I am rich and famous. Every new school year brings new books, new students, and new fame and fortune. For the hour I give and the notoriety that comes along with it, the pay is life-changing. Over the years, I have read to hundreds of children who grew up to be connected adults with curious third graders of their own. Now, their children are saying my name. What do you do with an hour a week?

BY LORRY MYERS WOMAN OF THE HOUR Lorry@MissouriLife.com

MERIT MYERS

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