It was the first major event for my new job. After working for ten years at a busy nonprofit publishing house in Chicago, I thought I could easily handle media coverage for all parts of the massive event, held in conjunction with a well-respected event partner organization. Things were going well—as well as they can when your office is understaffed and knee-deep in paperwork—until I sent out a press release without the approval of the event partner organization.
Within minutes of the release, the director of the partner organization was on the phone with my boss:Did we not know they needed to approve all press releases before sending? What kind of place were we running over there and who let this happen? My boss smoothed things over with the director, but I knew he was still upset. A few days later, on my way to the kickoff reception for the event, I noticed the partner organization's director walking through the the building lobby. Swallowing my pride, I walked up to him and introduced myself, launching into a stammering apology for my mistake. Not breaking stride, he half-turned his head toward me and said, "You know the thing about press releases for events where partners are involved is that … oh, nevermind."
I stopped walking and the director continued on through the lobby and toward the reception. Oh, nevermind. It hit me like a truck. Not only was my apology not accepted, but I wasn't even given the benefit of any constructive criticism. Only later did it occur to me that, had the director the presence of mind to actually consider his actions, he could have turned a negative experience for both of us into something positive. That's what a good mentor would have done.
One of the greatest contributing factors toward success for people in American society is to have someone who believes in you and cares for you: a mentor. Everybody has a specific memory in which they can recall a person who has touched their life in a meaningful and powerful way. Mentors offer guidance, support, wisdom, and a safe place for us to expose our uncertainties and grow as perpetual learners.
Usually a mentor is an older individual, a person with more experience who helps and guides another individual's development. While it is important to note that this guidance is not done for personal gain, there are major benefits to mentoring. An investment in this kind of relationship can yield returns for many years to come. These kinds of mentoring relationships, while beneficial to the professional world, are essential to the development of younger people. Certainly research has shown that the one-on-one relationships forged through formal mentoring programs make a real difference in the lives of young people who are struggling to succeed in today's complex world. Common sense should tell us as much. Parents, teachers, coaches, national youth organizations such as Big Brothers/Big Sisters, Youth Service America, and Boy Scouts, as well as local religious and community programs and program leaders all have direct and powerful influence on young minds.
Yet, mentoring doesn't always involve telling someone what to do, or even how to do it. It's more about sharing your time and experience. This process can be formalized or a more subtle one, invoked with a hand on the shoulder or a gesture of approval from afar. In this way, anyone can be a role-model mentor by making learned choices and positive everyday actions. While the Wisconsin Youth Mentoring Council notes that a whopping 88% of the Wisconsin youth ages 5-19 who could benefit from a formal mentoring relationship do not have a mentor, I think it's safe to say that all children—and most adults—could benefit from a mentor. Mentoring another should be a core requirement of American citizenship.
Sometimes, the mere presence of a positive influence is enough to provide much-needed support. When my wife Liz and I lived in Chicago, we volunteered at a transitional shelter for homeless youth. Many of the teenage residents at the shelter were runaways or were cast out of their homes because they were pregnant, gay, psychologically troubled, or simply because they (some with infants of their own) were an additional mouth that could not be fed.
My wife and I were there ostensibly to do art therapy with these youth, but often times we would just let them talk about their lives and dreams while scribbling on paper. When we got down to the work of art, what the youth most often created were drawings of cheery, red-brick homes surrounded by green grass and azure skies. Some youth were reticent about getting involved in something as frivolous as art. They would hang around the periphery, uncertain of how to approach either my wife and I or the project at hand. In the end, almost all of them-—even the toughest and most-jaded—succumbed to the simple pleasures of multicolored glitter and a glue stick.
I suppose some could have complained that, without a degree in art therapy (or any real therapy training at all), Liz and I weren't qualified to do what we did. But everyone involved knew that we weren't there to teach these youth about art. We were there to hear their stories and not judge them for what they've done—or what was done to them. We were there because at the end of the day, lying in a bed she'd never slept in before and not knowing where she'd be tomorrow, a young woman could go to sleep knowing that someone was thinking about her.
