Becky Mita was my first mentor. I was six years old and out of school for the summer. Because both my parents worked, my mother hired Becky who lived at the end of our road to baby-sit. Becky was great. Possessing a substantial frame and a sharp wit, Becky could be intimidating if angered, which my oldest sister Jody, who chronically wised off, managed frequently. This I admired about Becky. I desired to quell my sister’s onslaught of words as Becky could, but chose instead to take refuge from them in her shelter. Becky and I had a connection
While my sisters played outside, Becky and I would sit in front of the TV watching soap operas all morning while she practiced French-braiding my corn-colored, waist-length hair. In the afternoon we’d take a fieldtrip to the corner store and Becky would let us each pick out a 25 cent package of garbage pail kids. I adored Becky and hoped she liked me.
When I was in highschool, Coach Defo was my hero. Tall and round, he had a belly competing with Santa’s and probing eyes. Defo was the reason for showing up to track practice and running through ten miles of snow and ice while my eyelashes formed tiny icicles above my eyes and my scarf became soggy with my breath. He was a source of inspiration and his presence could evoke a stream of happy chatter or an outpouring of frustrated emotions.
His attitude towards coaching was “winning isn’t everything, but wanting to is.” He believed it was important to have goals and to strive for improvement, but it was never the bottom line. He also understood the ups and downs of wildly uneven adolescent girls and used praise and encouragement to tame their moods.
An average runner, I little fancied becoming more. Defo however didn’t agree and began instilling in me the idea of greatness. For two years I remained an average runner, occasionally placing in a race and scoring a few points, but still relatively undetected and unwilling to believe I could achieve anything substantial. For two years Defo gently encouraged me. Attempting to alleviate the pressure and anxiety of competition, he would say: “Just do your best. That’s all anybody can ask of you, Christy. And always believe in yourself.”
Under his influence the number of good days outnumbered the bad, and when I ran races, I was constantly improving. People knew my name and reporters wrote stories about me. Who was this girl who crawled into the light from far away obscurity? Defo guided and supported me as a mentor should, showing me the way to success. Without his influence, this story could not be told.
It seems throughout my life I have always had someone by my side, who encouraged and supported my efforts, dispensing sage-like knowledge when I (often) was unsure of the answers. For a long time I never appreciated or recognized this presence in my incomplete awareness of the processes of life.
Lately I look around in both my personal life and within the University and discover opportunities for mentoring surrounding me. Just the other day a co-worker mentioned there was a Big Brothers recruiting table set up in the Woodbury Campus Center. There are so many individuals who aren’t privy to the pool of potential mentors we are privileged to be surrounded by here in a University. I think it’s safe to say everybody wants to have a positive effect on another life. Think about the people who have helped and are still helping you along your journey, and consider where you might be without them. My guess is you probably wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far.