Snuggling close to my 7-year-old granddaughter, I surveyed the school cafeteria packed with the flowering faces of children and the most important men in their lives.
On her opposite side sat her father, my son, Brandon. The room echoed with the refreshing laughter and chatter from hundreds of excited children.
We males had shown up at Fayetteville's Happy Hollow Elementary School early that morning to share "doughnuts with dads" and learn about the innovative volunteer program called WatchDOGS.
Since its bare beginnings in 1998 with a good idea and handful of volunteers in Springdale's George Elementary School, this valuable program has expanded into 4,049 grade schools in 46 states (soon to be 47) and five countries.
As WatchDOGS (Dads of Great Students) continues to swell, its worldwide headquarters remains in Springdale.
I still find it difficult to fathom any volunteer program enjoying that kind of remarkable success, especially over such a relatively short period. Perhaps it was the increase in school violence that triggered protective instincts among men. Maybe it was simply a need among fathers, grandfathers and other male relatives to become more involved in the lives of children they love. Perhaps both.
I'd not come for the doughnut this day, rather because I wanted to become more involved in little Elizabeth's life. I'd watched her own father so quickly blossom into manhood and how my pigtailed daughter, Anna, also seemed to go from her Big Wheel into motherhood overnight.
We listened as Chris Dannenhauer, the senior program director for WatchDOGS, paced the stage while explaining how much good comes from men becoming involved as volunteers. As such, they show up at their child's K-12 school every so often to participate for an hour or two in a variety of ways.
He said volunteers provide positive male role models for all students. They also become an extra set of eyes that enhances security and reduces bullying. They can spend their time participating as observers and a reassuring presence during lunchtime, recess or in the classrooms on any tasks a teacher may need. There are numerous choices.
When the talk was done and those wolfed-down doughnuts were a sweet memory, men lined up at back tables to enlist. I felt the calling, so I scribbled my own name on the sheet and officially became a volunteer ready to serve my tour of duty.
No idea whatsoever just what I'd be doing. But it didn't matter.
I recalled how excited I'd been in elementary school to look up and see the familiar faces of my mother, father or any relative entering my classroom, a closed world where their exciting and unexpected presence made the day more comfortable and reassuring. Maybe you recall these same feelings.
And so arrived my first morning to don the tan WatchDOGS vest and stroll the gleaming hallways of this award-winning school to the classroom of Mrs. Krissy Faulk. Through the window, I spied Elizabeth nestled in one row amid the 25 or so other children. Quietly opening the door, I stepped inside.
Mrs. Faulk smiled as every little face turned to study me, the intruding stranger. One smooth little face was beaming noticeably brighter than the others.
When the teacher excused herself for a moment, I didn't know what else to do but grin, raise my hands overhead and say "Good morning, everyone." Sure enough, they all shouted back, almost in unison, "Good morning!"
Then a little girl raised her hand with a question, followed by another and another. My heart suddenly was beating in contented coherence. I felt downright happy that I'd made the decision to be here.
Mrs. Faulk returned and asked if I'd spend some one-on-one time with four or five students as they read to me at a desk in the activities space outside the classroom door. (I always knew those five years heading that master's program for journalists at Ohio State would pay dividends one day).
So for the next 90 minutes, I perched in a child-sized chair and listened to Kelsey, who read about sharks (did you know there's one small enough to fit in your hand?); Zack, who read to me from the Toy Story episodes; Gavin, who informed me more than I'd ever known about Sponge Bob; and Camden, whose story featured a boy who built a boat from beach sand that couldn't possibly withstand the rising tide.
Finally, my granddaughter plopped into the chair opposite mine to read to ol' grandpa about a little girl who'd committed a no-no by copying her friend's homework paper. As Elizabeth read ever so softly without missing a beat, I listened and reflected on what my intrusion into their routine had meant to her and the others in her class.
Yes, valued readers, this is a worthwhile volunteer program in every way. And as I turned in my vest that day, I knew I'd be back for a couple of hours next month and in the months to come.
My first tour had done as much or more good for me as the children's break in their morning routine.
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Mike Masterson's column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected]. Read his blog at mikemastersonsmessenger.com.
Editorial on 09/28/2014