Stitched: Community Service Narrative
When I was in elementary school, we all had to take Home-Ec: Giving modern students the essential tools of life, such as the proper method for scrambling an egg, how to balance a household budget, and the basics of sewing and tailoring. The eggs I grasped quickly, budgeting was dull but relatively simple, but somehow stitching together two pieces of fabric completely eluded me. When we were asked to hand-sew, the teacher showed us repeatedly how to loop the string on a needle, I could never get it to knot no matter how many times I tried. When we moved onto the machines, we were drilled extensively on its parts, how it worked, and how to operate it (we were even given written tests); Despite that, I distinctly remember waiting until the teacher was out of sight before covertly applying Elmer's glue to the edges of my stuffed animal.
I ran it under the machine but the stitches were, for all intents and purposes, entirely superficial.
I don't know if I ever really fooled the teacher but, as I was 10 years old, she was merciful and I didn't have to try again. Once the class was over, I never returned to sewing, confident it wasn't a skill I was likely to master.
It wasn't just eggs that I showed an aptitude for in school, but also writing. Since an egg-only restaurant didn't seem to a sustainable career choice, I transitioned from school into freelance writing (granted, with the occasional 9-5 here and there). In between commissions, I found a great meaning in offering my skills pro bono to various charities and non-profits which were still in the start-up phase of their growth, looking for help as they began their journeys.
Some notable programs I contributed to include Project Gutenberg, which transcribes texts for a free public library, as well as multiple organizations looking for transcription, communications, and professional proposals through Zooniverse (arts and literature) and Points of Light: Engage.
Each of these directories remain servicing communities all around the nation today, with opportunities available for any skillset to get involved. It was such an incredible experience to know that my work was truly being used to improve the lives of others, either by giving them access to significant texts or by aiding them in communicating their mission to others. The work done with these programs gave me the motivation to work less remotely with organizations in my area, such as the Diversity Center of Santa Cruz (focusing especially on LGBTQIA+ and Black Lives Matter events), #GilroyStrong campaigns, and Our World Peace Park.
When the world became faced with a global pandemic, the chance to work directly with others became limited. At the recommendation of the CDC, on-site operations were closed down to avoid endangering those within our community and we attempted to shift into an internet-exclusive direction for social change. As things progressed it seemed to become clear that while the mission to promote equality, justice, and the arts to people remained noble, it would mean nothing if there aren't people to experience it. It became very clear that the communities hit the hardest by COVID-19 were those who did not have the resources to keep themselves and their loved ones safe, namely the Latino and Black communities. I had to acknowledge that while there was still work to be done, and plenty of words still to be written, there must be something else—something less abstract, more direct; With that, I resolved myself to buying a sewing machine.
With guidance directly from the regulation templates supplied by the CDC along with the sourcing and distribution from the Santa Cruz Shelter, I started making face masks. There can be no doubt that in the beginning, I flash-backed to the same struggles and annoyances I had with the craft all way the back in Home-Ec; The machine never seemed to work when I wanted it to, and when it did, the stitches were crooked or weak. More than once I intended to create a face mask, only to end up with a butchered piece of fabric that had no value besides becoming a cleaning rag—and after many failed attempts, I almost gave up. Yet the same way that I wanted to give up when a paragraph wasn't coming together like I wanted, I reminded myself how worthy the struggle was and continued to try. It was such a simple task, but the first regulatory face mask I produced felt like completing the Mona Lisa: I was proud of myself and of my perseverance, yes, but it especially contented me to know that this mask—a single mask, made in my living room—could save countless people. It could be the barrier between life and death for not only the wearer but for all those around them, and the people that those people would be around. It may not save the entire world, but it would save some of it and, when we all commit to protecting our neck of the woods, we commit to protecting the global collective. I have personally created nearly 100 face masks for donation, and coupled with the work of other volunteers who sew and distribute them, we have managed to serve the surrounding areas in the a fight against contagion which deserves our pressing attention. Not only do we give others the materials to protect themselves, but we supply the knowledge needed to appreciate the significance of such a small act. In all of the work I've done with writing, there is nothing that I have been more proud of than the work done with that second-hand sewing machine.
It reminds me how capable we all are to rising to a challenge when it is needed the most and how important it is that we remember how valuable even our most humble efforts are in the face of something seemingly so looming. It has taught me a priceless lesson about the strength of my own abilities, the dedication of my community, and the power that humanity has when it comes together. It has also taught me the economic benefit of buying Band-Aids in bulk. Ouch.
