Poverty in our own backyard

It's no big secret this area doesn't reek of affluence or opulence. Mere miles away from our idyllic, picturesque campus lie dilapidated areas replete with sagging houses, beat-up cars and dinner tables sparse on food. And it's no secret many students on the campus don't seem to care.

As a Big Sister in the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America program for the last year and a half, I've worked firsthand with kids who feel the effects of poverty daily. You think you understand the concepts of poverty, but there's nothing like experiencing it, even for an hour, to make you realize that you had no idea.

Meet K., an 11-year-old at a local elementary school. K. is bright and funny, with sandy brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her youthful face, and is persistently upbeat despite her home situation. Murmurs from school officials have hinted to me that K. lives with her uneducated, apathetic mother, who may have a drinking problem and who cares little about her daughter's education. K.'s mother has five children, ages 2 to 24, with no father in the picture. I have also been told that when K's mother blows through any money she comes across, K doesn't eat - at least not nutritiously.

K.'s biggest problem in school is not her work, it's her attendance. She lives three blocks from the school but is absent at least one or two days a week. Subsequently, she has fallen behind in most grade-level work. K. will be going into sixth grade next year, but she cannot spell words like "wheel" and "certain," doesn't know what 3-dimensional means and cannot use the Internet.

All of this already struck me as a sad situation that, as a Big Sister, I was brought in to mollify. But after another day of K.'s absenteeism, one of the school administrators pulled me aside. "Let's go for a ride," he said. "To K.'s house, so you can see what we're dealing with."

We pulled up outside a tiny, drooping house with peeling white paint and various lawnmower parts scattered around it. We stepped up the makeshift steps onto a small cement porch with the overpowering smell of dried urine and unwashed bodies emanating from the small enclosure. I knocked.

A large, unkempt woman came to the door, peering at us suspiciously from the small window, which was covered by a stained blanket. She opened the door.

K.'s mother opened her mouth before we even said anything; clearly, these visits were not new. She proceeded to defend K.'s absenteeism, saying she was sick again.

"Last week," I said, "K. told me her tonsils hurt. The week before, she said she had the flu, yet she was turning cartwheels on the playground the day before."

K.'s mother surveyed me with defensive eyes, and I instantly knew who told K. to lie. Her mother went on, in grammatically incorrect English that made me cringe, about how she didn't want her kids and how they were all troublesome and no good. Her kids were standing on the stoop with her.

Three kids of school age, three kids standing in the house on a Thursday at 10 a.m.

We left after K.'s mother begged me to take K. some afternoons, to just take her. A child no one wants. Of course the girl is struggling.

I left with a profound feeling of shock. Growing up in an affluent New Jersey suburb sheltered me, and having seen what this girl calls daily life made me angry that I wasn't doing more. Should I be sneaking her food? Vitamins? A one-way bus ticket out of there?

Sadly, K.'s is not an isolated story; in fact, many kids at this nearby school have it much worse. Last week, we brought 100 of these kids to the campus to show them college is a viable option if they work hard enough. Volunteers led the kids on a tour and through a college-planning activity.

We also had athletes from the national champion men's soccer and women's field hockey teams spend time with the kids, answering their questions about college athletics. These wonderful athletes, Robbie, Jackie and Kate, donated their time, for which I was incredibly grateful, and afterward, they came up to me beaming. They had gotten just as much out of it as the kids did; answering simple questions about their life experiences put into perspective just how much good they did in an environment short on positives.

How can you help? E-mail me to find out more about becoming a Big Brother or Big Sister. It only takes one hour a week, and all these kids need is someone to listen to them. We are particularly seeking students of color to get involved, as you are perfect role models for many of these kids. Many of us take for granted the textbooks we have to lug around, the dinner plates full of food and the social support networks we have. Don't these kids deserve a fair chance to attain those things, as well?

Nikkee Porcaro is a junior journalism major. She can be reached at cole120@umd.edu.