Making a home in Newark

Photo by Halashon Sianipar.

Sunday elementary schoolers…

My kids wanted candy for school. The PTA was collecting candy for the upcoming “Trunk or Treat.” The class who collected the most candy would get a party.

I said I was tired and couldn't take them to the store. I had a lot to do that day.One cried in disappointment. I assured him we would go later in the week but he wasn’t satisfied. The other turned to face us and asked, “How can I help?”

I finished folding their clothes and suggested that they could help put them away. They  carefully put their shirts, shorts, and pants into the drawers. “What else can we do?,” they asked as if their little hearts grew three sizes that day. They lugged a loaded laundry basket down to the basement to start the next load of laundry. 

They even requested a list of chores, a kind of training manual for managing a house when they were older.

It was so sweet. They turned a small disappointment into an act of support, a perfect example of the mutual aid I had just spent my morning meditating on.

My day started with a prayer service outside Delaney Hall, an immigrant detention center. I attended because Anthony Diaz was the guest preacher that morning. As a board member of Newark Water Coalition, I thought it would be nice to learn more about our Executive Director. He spoke on the Beatitudes.

Many families traveled hours to visit relatives held in the facility. They seemed eased at the sight of volunteers. Some waved and smiled. A woman in Crocs was denied entry due to her shoes. Volunteers helped her find a pair of approved shoes that fit. I was happy to learn the Newark Water Coalition regularly supplied the water for the outreach. The service was a great way to ground my morning.

On the way home, I picked up bagels for my kids.  At the table, they asked about my morning. I told them what was happening at Delaney Hall. At first, they thought it made sense. “They can have their country and we can have ours,” they reasoned. But when we started talking about the right to choose to move or stay, whether to be with family or somewhere safer, the logic broke down. They started to see things were unfair.

“I think families should get to stay together.” 

“I don’t want to move to another house. I like our house.” 

“Even if it’s a fancier house, I like this house and our neighbors.” 

The abstract concept of immigration, displacement, and home was suddenly personal and real. They related it to a story of a childhood friend who lost their home after their parents died. Home is not just a location. It’s also a sense of belonging and support.

When I recommended we go to the park, they suggested  “the one we always go to” - Weequahic Park - another vote for the comfort of the familiar. I jogged while they biked the loop around the fields. I joked about the boys wanting to keep me in shape. That must have been the challenge they needed.

Now they want to run, too. I kind of doubted them. I planned to do three more laps and said that we could do one together. But they were determined. We ran the first lap, then I heard, “only two more." They got a real kick out of proving me wrong. On the last lap, they were doing burpees and cartwheels. I noticed their big grins as they ran past the ladies for the last time.

The day was a gift of learning - the solidarity I saw outside the detention center, the empathy I heard in my living room, the physical endurance displayed on the track. But the deepest lesson was at the end of the day when I was tired and the kids were disappointed. They saw my exhaustion and acted on the lessons of the day.

They didn’t just put away clothes and start the laundry. They enriched our lives by turning a tedious task into a time of bonding and care. I am unsure if this newfound eagerness for chores will last but certain of the power of their gesture. They proved that the things we do for others, whether it’s handing out shoes or folding laundry, are what makes a home and a community.

I honored their request for a list of chores. It reminded me of a request to write about my experiences as a father. So here goes.