The Ace of Hearts

Mrs. Cozzie assigned an in-class grab bag for our final project. We chose names from a hat and I got my friend Quinn. I talked to my friend and found out she loves Flaming Hot Cheetos and Skittles, so I got her those, along with two Eos chapsticks. She loved her gift and texted me later, thanking me. 

Over the past month or so, I have learned more about myself and others than in the past few years of my life. I've learned that people despise asking for help. I had to figure out what they wanted or needed, because they would never come out and say it. I've learned there are eight sides to every person, similar to the Chinese proverb about eight sides to every story. Just because someone looks fine, doesn't mean they are fine. I've learned that I like helping people. Whether it is strangers or my friends, I enjoy helping others. 

Marist students love each other and help each other whenever possible. We guide each other along the right paths and encourage each other to do well. Through this experience, I learned to love strangers as my friends. Everyone is equal, therefore everyone should be loved equally. 

The Ace of Spades

Again there was the collective groan when Mrs. Cozzie announced the stipulations for the next assignment. Here we thought the ace of hearts was challenging... We now had to do a random act of kindness for a complete stranger. "This won't be creepy at all," the class thought collectively.

It's funny how life works itself out sometimes. The day after, Deacon Neu asked if I would like to go to the St. Blase soup kitchenlater that week. Who can look Deacon Neu in the eye and say no to helping others? That's right, no one.  

The next day we drove to St. Blase in Summit. What I was expecting were people getting in line, us giving them food, them sitting down, eating, and then leaving. I pictured families of nine or ten sitting together in second-hand clothes or without shoes. Completely stereotypical, I know. I was in for a very rude awakening. 

I was wrong on various accounts. Mostly older couples came to eat. We served them, not the cafeteria style I assumed. They wore decent clothes, not Prada and Gucci obviously, but definitely wearable. Also, when they were finished eating, Santa Claus came to give the children presents. The look on the childrens' faces was priceless. They each received a gift and I could tell that one simple gift meant the world to them.

We served a total of fifty-three adults and eleven children and teenagers that night. I served sixty-four people. 

Sixty-four strangers. 

Sixty-four people in need. 

I learned more from them than they will ever learn from me. I learned to love like a Marist student. The people I served loved each other more then life itself. I saw when the children said what they wanted for Christmas, it seemed almost as if it physically hurt their parents that they might not be able to give them exactly what they wanted. I learned exactly what the phrase "loving someone so much it hurts" means. That is how every Marist student is loved and should learn how to love others. 

I served like a Marist student. Not only did I serve those that came for food but also the nuns who ran the soup kitchen. They were so grateful that we came and if we didn't, they knew their soup kitchen would never be as successful as it is every Wednesday. Serving others is more than helping those in need; it is helping anyone and everyone.    

   

The Ace of Clubs

Similarly to Ed Kennedy in I am the Messenger, I dreaded yet anticipated the third "good deed" I had to preform.  When our English teacher said we would have to do something for a member of our immediate family, there was a collective sigh of relief throughout the classroom.  "Oh, this will be easy," we thought.

"This must but done secretly, without anyone knowing.  This is due Monday," Mrs. Cozzie announced.  With that, we went on our merry way.  Then came the hard part: What does my mother, father, or sister need that is significant? The answer would be nothing, nothing at all.

We live in a normal sized home in Evergreen Park, not a mansion in Orland Park or tiny apartment downtown.  My mother is a cross between Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart on metaphorical steroids. Needless to say, our house is nearly spotless.  I say nearly because after looking around I realized my mother despised cleaning the chandeliers and we have three.  That was my task.

Most people spend their Friday nights at parties or hanging out with friends.  Myself, on the other hand- I spent two hours cleaning crystals on lights by hand.

My mother still has yet to realize I cleaned them.

Marist students serve others.  I am beginning to realize that because I am doing these acts of kindness, there is no pressure; I am simply doing what I feel is necessary or what would be helpful for others.  I may or not be recognized for preforming the good deeds but it still feels good to help and serve others.

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