If you know me then you probably have heard me mention Terrell a few times. In fact, if you know me, you are probably completely tired of hearing about this kid Terrell. See, I have a "life of commitment." Okay, I already know that some of you are now rolling your eyes at my last comment and getting ready to move onto the next article, but don’t stop reading just yet. I should give a little background; explain that this summer I, as well as all first-year students, received an application from Macalester to be in a program called "Lives of Commitment."

I was intrigued as I read the "big questions" the group would be reflecting on during the year, about vocation, life meaning and identity. I knew that I wanted to volunteer during my time at Macalester and I figured that being involved in a program would give me the motivation to actually be involved. I answered a few questions, sent in my application, and a few months later I found myself in a van with six other "Lives of Commitment" girls driving to Grace Trinity (the church where we tutor) to meet my "tutoree," Terrell Johnson.

I remember joking to the other girls that if Terrell and I couldn’t relate in any other way, at least we could bond over having the same last name. To be honest, I was terrified. Sure, I had babysat plenty of kids in my high school days, but I had never felt so responsible for the welfare and education of a child. Additionally, I was scared that Terrell wouldn’t like me. What if I was the one dorky tutor?

We arrived at Grace Trinity late, so when we entered the big common room all the kids were already there, anxiously awaiting our arrival. I knew right away that Terrell was the small boy with a mischievous glimmer in his eye and a hesitant smile forming. That first Tuesday would be the only time that I saw Terrell acting even a bit shy or nervous. Quite quickly I learned that Terrell was not only one of the most charming fourth graders I had ever met, but he was full of energy and spunk. He constantly was making me and the other tutors laugh and smile with his antics and charismatic personality.

As I began to tutor Terrell I noticed that he learned quickly and was very gifted in math, but struggled with reading. He got frustrated very easily, seemed embarrassed when he didn’t know a word and gave up quickly. Helping someone learn to read was so foreign to me: how do you teach something that feels so natural and effortless? I tried to remember how I felt when I was learning how to read and tried to recall the frustration and the difficulties I had. I realized that as I was teaching Terrell to read, he was teaching me how to teach. He was showing me the importance of empathy in education.

Now, as the year is drawing to a close and I have spent nearly every Tuesday of this year with Terrell, I am seeing the changes in both of us. This past Tuesday, I suggested to Terrell that we read together. It was a fair trade: I would read him a book and he would read me a book. When I finished reading "The Jolly Postman" to Terrell, he snuggled up next to me and began to read "The Night Before Christmas." I found myself looking down at him, watching his forehead crinkle as he struggled to sound out words, seeing the hope and trust in his eyes as he would look up at me and say "Is that right?" And as he read, I realized that he had improved, that he seemed to enjoy and understand what he was reading, and that he wasn’t giving up.

Suddenly I understood the power of children—how just their presence can make you feel like the whole world is at your fingertips. Next to me sat this small human being, representing the potential we all possess. To him, a huge victory was getting through eight pages of a small book. If that was enough to make him happy all night, how could I ever be unhappy? How could I ever feel defeated?

It’s funny, how at nineteen years of age, when you are given the chance to go once a week and do math worksheets read, and eat dinner with a nine-year-old kid, you suddenly feel like you know what it’s like to be a mother. "Tuesdays Tutoring Terrell" have become the highlight of my week. The honesty and wonder of Terrell, the straightforward way he has grinned and said to me more than once, "Oh, Sara…" has taught me more about who I am and the things I value than any class I have taken.

At the beginning of the year, when it was time to say goodbye at the end of an afternoon of tutoring, Terrell would go around to all of the Macalester tutors and cling to us like a leech. He always wanted one more hug. He craved attention and love. Though he still craves these things, I have noticed that Terrell no longer needs to cling to us at the end of the tutoring session. Usually he is content with dancing around the room, or making us laugh, or talking with a friend. I generally stand off to the side and watch him, feel myself fill with intense joy for the life before me, and at the same time a bit of fear for the uncertainty of where his path may lead.

That is one thing that I am sure of: with only two more tutoring sessions left, I will probably never see Terrell again. I will have no way of knowing if the potential of his life is ever fulfilled. My Tuesdays of feeling like a mother, experiencing every one of his triumphs and failures along with him, and acting as a guide for even just that day, are also soon to come to an end. And I think the last Tuesday of tutoring I will be clinging Terrell like a leech; afraid to let go and trying to hold back my tears. Because when I finally do let go, I will have to go out into the big, bad world and have only myself to look after. But at least now someone has reminded me what the world looks like through the eyes of a child: the wonder, the possibility, the bliss. And I know I’ll be seeing the world through my true eyes, the eyes Terrell helped me rediscover.