Growing
up volunteering was second nature to our family. My father owned a local
business and was forever giving back to the community. I can't remember
how many fund raising BBQ's we were dragged, lovingly went to and
assisted my Dad with the cooking. Every Christmas the Lions Club would
ask my father to sell their fruit cakes in his store, which he did every
year. What they did not know is that whatever my father did not sell he
would personally buy and then give to his staff. My father was awarded
the Melvin Jones Fellowship Award from the Lions Club for everything he had
done over the years, even the Rotary Club gave them their highest award and he
wasn't even a member. (Yes, there is a purpose to this blog, stay with
me).
When
my father was murdered (yup, going to be blunt here) my Mother asked the local
Lions Club to help with the food after the funeral. We knew that there
were going to be a lot of people attending. People were flying in from
all over the world, myself included. Our family was dealing with this
horrific tragedy and literally thank God for my sister-in-law, V, who
kept us all sane, my Mother thought that this small request would not be a
major issue. The response my Mother received from the Lions Club was
"It was too short notice for them to do anything, but they would all be at
the funeral." SHORT NOTICE are you shitting me!!
Fast
forward to the day of the funeral. I cannot tell you how many people
there were at the funeral, but outside the Church there were speakers and lots
of extra chairs as well, suffice to say there were hundreds. My Mother made
sure that all of us children had taken a Xanax before the funeral and let me
tell you, Xanax and Scotch Whisky are the bomb.
As
I approached the Church hall I noticed some people from the Lions Club in their
jackets weighed down with all their badges and accolades, I marched, okay
stumbled a titch, but finally made it to their little group as they were
stuffing their faces with food and slurping down as much wine as they possible
could. I then loudly said "Enjoy your last meal on my
father." I would have said more, but my dearest cousin who had flown
in from Australia whisked me away as fast as he could. I think I also
yelled something about the 'gravy train'. It comes back in flashes.
I
am passionate about volunteering, I will do whatever to help a cause I believe
in. Don't give me awards or accolades, just work along side me to
help. I BELIEVE my father deserved more from an organization that he
devoted much of his time to and I know that my father would just shake his head
at me and give me a hug and just tell me it's okay and to remember why we
volunteer.
Why
this blog rant? Currently I am volunteering for an organization in
our new home town and am gobsmacked at the egos involved. I have learned a huge lesson, I guess one I should have learned a
while ago from my fathers funeral. There are people who show up and do
the tough volunteer jobs (like BBQ in the rain and buy the unsold fruitcakes)
and then there are those that are all about stuffing their faces and putting
badges on blazers and puffing up like peacocks.
I
can just see my Dad's face right now, shaking his head and saying "Nubian,
just remember why you are doing this." I do Daddy, it is just at
times like this I dearly would love to just reach out and bitch slap someone
and then present them with another badge for their collection.
