Forever Changed: How Summer Programs and Insight Mentoring Challenge Adolescents and Transform Lives - Hardcover

Mornell, Linda

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1629370223 ISBN 13: 9781629370224

Publisher: Triumph Books, 2015

Synopsis

In 1989, while waiting for her children to emerge from their private high school in San Francisco, Linda Mornell observed a young man hanging back from the others. She knew he was a scholarship student and thought that surely he had it made: full tuition, competitive academic school, college prospects. But his body language was telling a different story. Instantly sympathetic, Linda knew her own children, coming from public school backgrounds, also had trouble adjusting. Embarking on summer programs, especially the challenging ones, had made all the difference. Although sometimes reluctant to go, they returned home more resilient, self-assured, and better prepared to face the challenges of the school year ahead. Linda was struck by an idea. Why couldn't low-income kids also have these experiences? Not only would it expand their world but it could help them develop an internal compass that could change them forever. Today, more than 25 years later, that idea and the organization she founded, Summer Search, has transformed the lives of thousands of adolescents from seven different cities. Forever Changed is the incredible true story of courageous students who took on life-changing summer experiences to discover who they really were and what they were capable of becoming. It details the challenges and triumphs of both the students and their mentors as they navigate and interrupt paths that, for many, seemed destined for failure. For families and educators interested in adolescent development, this book documents the remarkable transformation that "going for hard" can bring to all young people.

About this title

About the Author

Linda Mornell is a psychiatric nurse and the founder of Summer Search. She is a recipient of the Bay Area Jefferson Award and the Unsung Hero of Compassion Award, given by the Dalai Lama. She lives in Bolinas, California.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Forever Changed

How Summer Programs and Insight Mentoring Challenge Adolescents and Transform Lives

By Linda Mornell

Triumph Books

Copyright © 2015 Linda Mornell
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-62937-022-4

Contents

1. The Beginning, 
2. Common Ground: Jabali, 
3. What Adolescents Need: Benji, 
4. The Interview, 
5. Insight Mentoring, 
6. Indomitable: Solaria, 
7. The Seeds of Empathy: David, 
8. Unfinished: Myra, 
9. Discounted and Discarded: Levar, 
10. Flipping the Script: Carlton, 
11. Meditation: Vasny, 
Epilogue. No Man Is an Island by Sasha Kovriga, 
Acknowledgments, 

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning

Those who do not have the power over the story that dominates their lives, power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it ... and change it as times change ... cannot think new thoughts.

— Salman Rushdie

It was the fall of 1989. I was sitting in my car waiting to pick up my daughter from school. San Francisco University High School, known as "University," was private and highly selective, admission a sought-after prize. We were one of the few "middle class" families. Except for the students on full scholarships, more than 80 percent of the rest were from affluent backgrounds.

As I waited, I saw a tall and very thin African American student standing by the front door. I knew his name was De'Mondre and that he was there on a scholarship because he shared some classes with my youngest daughter, who was in her senior year. As teenagers streamed by, De'Mondre looked into their faces and called out hellos. Although I couldn't hear his voice, the discomfort evident in his body and gestures was painful to watch. The students politely returned his greetings, but no one stayed to talk. He remained standing alone.

I immediately sympathized with his awkwardness. As a teenager growing up on a farm in Indiana, I often felt like an outsider. And it had been hard to watch my own three children lose confidence as they tried to fit into the privileged, cosmopolitan culture of this high school. We lived in a rural area called West Marin, an hour's drive and a world away from the wealthy community of Pacific Heights. Coming from a small under-resourced public grade school, they, like many of the scholarship students at University, were not as academically prepared as their more privileged peers, the majority of whom had attended private schools for most of their lives. Only years later would my kids talk about how awkward and inadequate this made them feel. At the time, I only knew they were struggling.

To help our children cope during this difficult transition, my husband and I borrowed money from his mother to send them to summer programs away from home. It began with sleep-away camps in middle school. During adolescence we found more ambitious and challenging opportunities. After their freshman year, for example, each one of them participated in a three-week mountaineering and white-water rafting trip in Oregon with Outward Bound.

Our son continued to build his confidence the following summer on a difficult wilderness expedition through the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) in Wyoming. After his junior year, he participated in a community service program in the mountains of Haiti, an experience that shaped his character and values and helped him gain a much broader view of the world.

Our middle daughter was sensitive, with an artistic side. Sandwiched between two athletic and competitive siblings, she learned early on to say, "I can't," and to give in to her many fears: heights, the dark, and extending herself athletically. The idea of going on Outward Bound or any kind of wilderness program was anathema to her. We told her she had a choice: she could go voluntarily or involuntarily. She chose to go involuntarily. I still remember that angry silent drive to the airport.

She returned with a new name, "Sara Can!" The following summer she attended a highly challenging drama program at Oxford University. Today Sara Can is a working actress in Los Angeles.

Our extroverted and competitive youngest daughter found her Outward Bound experience easy. The next summer however was different. She struggled through a lonely and challenging horseback riding program with a critical coach in England.

Even with the ups and downs that all three faced, those rigorous adventures had the intended effect, which I began to call, "going for hard." By making hard choices in places where no one knew them, my children had the chance to stretch themselves and experiment with different identities. They learned to retell and then rewrite their stories, as well as to regain the confidence they had lost as a result of feeling so inadequate and academically behind in school.

I wouldn't have used these words at the time, but participating in these summer programs also increased my children's "self-efficacy." Self-efficacy is the belief in one's ability to succeed in specific situations. People with high self-efficacy — that is, those who believe they can perform well — are more likely to view difficult tasks as something to be mastered rather than something to be avoided. Research also shows that people who approach challenges with what Carol Dweck calls a "growth mindset" — the belief that they can change and grow through application and experience — have much better long-term outcomes.

During the physical, emotional, and intellectual explosions of the adolescent years, developing self-efficacy and a growth mindset is critical for teenagers' identity formation and healthy outcomes as adults. As Albert Bandura, a Stanford psychologist who did pioneering research on self-efficacy notes, "Adolescents expand and strengthen their sense of efficacy by learning how to deal successfully with challenges." Completing a lengthy wilderness expedition of three weeks or longer can make almost anyone believe they can — that they are, indeed, strong enough to do anything.

Summer wilderness programs not only increased my children's efficacy, but they also helped them develop agency — the opportunity to act on one's behalf. They hiked six miles a day while toting a 60-pound backpack, learned to navigate using maps, and to speak up in intimate group conversations, all the while continuing to challenge themselves to master other new skills and new ideas. The choices they were constantly making mattered, the consequences of which they could see immediately. Back at school, their renewed self-efficacy and agency gave them a new sense of balance; they could see their academic deficiencies as well as possibilities with a much broader perspective.

Sitting in my worn Volkswagen on that day in front of school, watching that lonely boy, a thought began to form in my mind: What if he had the chance to go on a summer trip? That was the beginning, the first moment I caught a glimmer of something. The thought flew out of my head as my daughter, Mara, came bounding outside, waving and eager to get home.

Mara graduated and went on to college like her older siblings, but the image of De'Mondre returned along with the thought, Why not a summer program for him? A year later I started a small nonprofit organization to offer summer experiences my own children had found so helpful to low-income students. I decided to call it Summer Search.

For most of my life, in my different roles as student, nurse, wife, mother, and a counselor in private practice, I tended to define myself through others. Starting a program by myself in my mid-forties? Becoming vulnerable? Raising money? Reaching out to new people in new communities? All pretty alien actions for me. Surprisingly, I did those things and more. Early on there were some lucky breaks. As the daughter of a parent with a gambling addiction, I was raised to believe that nothing is permanent and that good news will always be followed by bad. When the unexpected opportunity to interview and film a prominent athlete to advocate for Summer Search came my way it was something I found hard to believe. Yet it was real.

Dave Stewart grew up in an impoverished area near the Oakland Coliseum and knew firsthand the poverty of spirit that pervaded that community. He also knew that the summer camps that got him out of that dangerous neighborhood and provided him the athletic coaching he needed had a profoundly significant impact. In 1990 he was at his peak as a star pitcher for the Oakland A's. In addition to his 100 mph pitches, he was also known for his desire to help young people escape the poverty he experienced growing up. To offer full scholarships to summer programs to low-income high school kids was right up his alley. Without hesitating, he agreed to do an introductory promo for the first Summer Search fund-raising video.

I had never been to a baseball stadium before. The dark labyrinth of stairwells at the Oakland Coliseum seemed confusing, even scary. Unsure and worried about being late, I decided to pick one randomly and began climbing upward.

At the top, there was an explosion of light as I looked down at an enormous blue-green expanse of a baseball field. There was just one person standing in the middle of that field. It was him!

A large African American man in a white uniform that shimmered in the intense afternoon sunlight, even from such a great distance, Dave radiated charisma and power that matched his fastballs.

I hurried down the long aisle between the bleachers. At the bottom was a railing. Without thinking, I climbed over it. Too late, I wondered if I had broken the rules. There was nothing else to do but to keep walking. With each step, the vast green seemed to swallow me up. I had never interviewed a celebrity before. My mouth was dry, and the questions I'd so carefully prepared flew out of my head.

Dave stood watching without moving. When I reached him, he looked down at me, squinting. "Why'd you start a program like this for kids?" he asked.

There must be something deep, something memorable to say at such a significant moment. The right words escaped me. "It seemed like a good idea," I finally said.

The squint became a frown. Dave stared at me for another timeless moment. Then, with an almost-imperceptible smile, he nodded. He turned and we walked together across the field toward the waiting cameras.

This was the beginning, the start of something that would forever change the lives of thousands of kids as well as my own.

CHAPTER 2

Common Ground: Jabali

Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.

— Alexander Pope

"My name is Jabali."

"Yes, I know. The director of Summerbridge told me about you."

Dreadlocks dangled from all over his head in different directions. His smile was wide and his eyes dancing. A lively boy. On one shoulder was a large and impossibly full backpack. He wore a checkered shirt, and his jeans were worn but pressed and clean. As he sat down I caught a whiff of fabric softener. He let out a big breath and said, "So I guess you know that I am here on a scholarship?"

"Yes, I do."

There was a brief silence. It was unclear which of us was more nervous: me, a middle-aged white woman from the suburbs, or Jabali, an African American teenager who lived with his mother in a small apartment in San Francisco. I sensed his eagerness; I could already tell that he was determined to get a scholarship of some kind. He didn't know what. I had one hour to assess his strengths and weaknesses before making a decision — a challenge even for a relatively experienced interviewer and therapist. I wanted to sit quietly, but the back of my neck felt stiff and the top of the small desk was pressing against my ribcage.

Starting a nonprofit had been harder than I expected. After getting the idea, I had gone to see a lawyer. Bill Hutton, a parent of one of my son's classmates, offered a free consultation. He sat listening patiently as I explained that I wanted to give full scholarships to low-income kids, so that they could attend the kinds of summer opportunities usually available for more affluent students. The kind of opportunities that the kids at University took for granted.

"You know," I told him, "I think bringing in diversity could impact the whole field of summer experiential education as well as helping individual kids."

I was naïve, and we both knew it. Bill frowned then cleared his throat. "The first thing you will need to do is find some people to serve on the board of directors," he explained. "The next step is to find a sponsoring foundation. You could, of course, get your own nonprofit status. That would take about six months. However, since you are so inexperienced, I strongly suggest you find a sponsoring organization. They will handle the paperwork and just take 7 percent of the funds you raise."

Seven percent of nothing seemed like a lot. To my surprise I heard myself saying, "I think I'll get my own nonprofit status. It's called a 501-something, isn't it?"

Bill frowned again and his face reflected skepticism. "If you hire a lawyer it will cost $3,000." There was a brief pause. "It's called a 501(c)(3)."

I began to blush. I should have known this. The next thought: where was I going to get the money?

Oddly enough, an opportunity was right in front of me. A few years earlier, a family had moved into our little counterculture town on the coast of West Marin. They purchased 40 acres, moved into a cabin without electricity or running water, and planned on starting an organic vegetable farm. The mother from this particular family was whispered to be from one of the wealthiest families in American history — literally a Rockefeller.

She and I had daughters in the same class at the local grade school, so we were often thrown together. One day, while we were volunteering, she told me about some of the complexities — as well as the loneliness — of her background. Her parents were often unavailable due to constant travel and heavy social obligations. She used to wander around their large mansion by herself, feeling invisible. If, for example, she dropped her sweater on the floor on the way to take a shower, by the time she returned it was gone — folded perfectly and put away in a drawer.

I told her what it was like for me growing up on a small farm in Indiana. And as we become closer, I even risked telling her about my father's gambling addiction and how it affected our family. To our mutual surprise, we discovered that, in spite of our different histories, we had something in common: both of us were trying to break free from the limitations of our past.

As our girls got older and went to high school, we started running together two mornings a week. My friend often talked about her philanthropic activities and interests. As a Rockefeller, there were her extended family traditions, but she also wanted to start her own family foundation. Her particular desire was to provide seed funding for innovative solutions to persistent social problems.

With some hesitation, I explained my dream and she quickly offered an initial grant of $10,000. This woman's generosity not only covered the cost of getting the 501(c)(3), it taught me I could overcome my fears and ask people for money. This skill would be, I soon found out, critical for becoming successful in the nonprofit arena.

Once the mechanics and the funding were in place, I needed to find students. I sent out a flyer to principals in high schools from all over the Bay Area to inform them about full scholarships to summer programs. There was little response. I sent out another to guidance counselors to distribute to interested teachers. That effort brought only two responses: Georganne Ferrier, an English teacher at Oakland High School; and Lois Loufbourrow, the director of Summerbridge.

Summerbridge (now called the Breakthrough Collaborative) was an academic enrichment and tutoring program for low-income middle-school youth that used office space at University. It was actually a fruitful partnership — graduates from Summerbridge often got full-tuition scholarships to University and other private high schools across the city.

As Lois was describing some former students who might benefit from the opportunity to step out of what were usually limited environments in the summer, I looked out the window of her large, airy office. At first glance, the kids walking by seemed casually dressed. A closer look showed that they were wearing carefully chosen designer jeans and expensive looking sweaters. Many had braces on their teeth and their skin was clear — signs of affluence. Lois saw me looking and nodded. We both understood the challenges surrounding the scholarship kids at University.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Forever Changed by Linda Mornell. Copyright © 2015 Linda Mornell. Excerpted by permission of Triumph Books.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Triumph Books
• Publication date: 2015
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1629370223
• ISBN 13: 9781629370224
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 240