“I haven’t said this out loud before, but the enormity of his need actually frightens me,” she confessed.

While we waited for the curtain to come up, my girlfriend Elaina told me about a ten year old boy named Ty who is a friend to her son Graham.

“Ty lives in our city’s housing projects with his mother who is raising him on her own. She suffers from severe diabetes and is frequently hospitalized for extended periods of time with life threatening illnesses.”

“Graham and Ty have been close friends since kindergarten,” Elaina told me. “When Graham recently sprained his ankle playing basketball, Ty was the only one of his teammates who rushed over to see if Graham was all right. It was Ty and the coach that helped Graham limp off the court.”

She paused, but soon continued.

“I went to pick Ty up for a play date this morning and, in front of him, his mother told me she was worried because he was becoming such a fat pig. She actually used the words fat pig! And then she handed him a pop tart for breakfast.”

Elaina shook her head sadly.

“He’s a fabulous kid, really he is, but his needs are so enormous.”

“Every day when I pick Graham up from the after-school program, Ty asks to come home with us.”

“This is irrational,” she said, “but I worry that all the negative things that Ty’s been exposed to and forced to live with will somehow rub off on Graham.”

“None of Ty’s circumstances are his fault,” I offered. “He probably doesn’t like them any more than you do.”

“I know,” she sighed.

We were quiet for a moment.

“What do you think would it cost you and your family to become wide open to Ty, to commit to him? What is the worst thing that could happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I’m afraid that his enormous need would completely consume our family life.”

There was another pause in the conversation.

“What would you like Graham to learn from the choices you make about Ty?” I asked.

The lights dimmed over the audience and the show we were waiting to see began.

We didn’t return to our conversation about Ty, but he stayed on my mind.

Elaina’s struggle seemed immensely important to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt so triggered by it.

Then, in the car this morning my husband and I discussed something I’ve been grappling with at work.

For most of my career I have advocated for people to be active, engaged citizens.

Last week, I initiated an online conversation by asking “If you could direct the full force of the American volunteer spirit to effect change on a single social issue, what would you ask people to do?”

One respondent said that while he believed that volunteers alleviated suffering, he didn’t believe they were capable of making systemic change.

I told my husband that even after twenty years of this work, I found myself worrying about what he said, worrying about the possibility of him being right.

My husband smiled at me.

“I think individual action might be all there is,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“There are so many huge, international NGO’s set up to end poverty,” he said, “but what really works?”

There was a pause.

“In the end, it boils down to individual, human relationships,” he said.

I nodded, finally understanding why my friend’s story seemed so urgent.

It’s possible that breaking the cycle of poverty boils down to the choice Elaina makes about Ty and the choices the rest of us make about the Tys we find in our lives.

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