|
By Rosemary Schlidt
I am a Saint Joseph Worker assigned to Homeboy Industries as a case manager for my year of service. Ignacio is one of my clients. A few days ago, he ambled up to my desk, dropped himself in a chair and said, “I’m in a situation.” Oh boy, I think, this could mean anything.
He continued, “I lost my EBT and Medi-Cal.” I responded with sympathy, adding that I know many homies whose benefits have been taken away recently. Once I finished explaining the steps to re-enroll, he clarified, “I was riding my bike at the protest, and they must’ve fallen out of my pocket.” At this point, I realized that he didn’t mean he got his benefits taken away; he meant he lost the physical cards that allowed him to access these benefits.
As if he’d entirely forgotten his distress over misplacing his wallet, he quickly pivoted, “But did you see me on the news, though?”
Before I could answer, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened it to a clip of him at the protests, pedaling in circles on a small bike, dressed in a Mexican soccer jersey and flying a Mexican flag from his backpack. In the video, he’s surrounded by police with expressionless faces, a sharp contrast to the pure joy strewn across Ignacio’s face. We watched the video together, laughing as we noticed the small bike and that Ignacio was lost in the giddiness of the moment, entirely unconcerned with the impression he made on those around him.
As I sat there, I was reminded of the child-like wonder and joy a life of service and justice requires—not only an ability to laugh and have fun but a commitment to being our true selves, riding a bike that’s too small because it's funny, embracing who we are—flying our flags.
I was filming an Instagram takeover for my university that day, so I asked Ignacio if he would participate. He agreed. I explained what he should talk about: his name, how long he’s been at Homeboy, and a fun fact. This was the first time he’d heard of fun facts as something to share in an introduction, so I clarified the concept: something interesting about him that we wouldn’t necessarily know just by looking at him. I gave my example: I am left-handed.
He nodded, saying he was ready, and started with his name, continuing to his experience at Homeboy, and to the fun fact portion. He paused momentarily, reflecting, and then said, “A fun fact about me is that I am humble. I am kind. I am a good person, and I love giving back. No matter where I am, I always like to help others out.”
Behind the camera, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face as I wished this was the direction we all headed toward when discussing the fun facts about ourselves.
These moments with Ignacio sum up much of what I’ve learned in the six months of my year of service. The long, winding road of justice can be tiring and challenging, especially when we get bogged down by its seriousness and lost in the reality that there is no concrete destination. But for justice work to be sustainable, it requires those moments along the way—the moments of humor and joy, unbridled individuality and confidence in what makes us ourselves, our fun facts.
When we share these moments with others, we learn more about who we are individually and collectively, and the slow work of justice continues.
| 
