volunteerplaintalk

Category: Uncategorized

  • The Circle of (Volunteer Manager’s) Life

    I was watching the Lion King with my granddaughter the other night. Love that movie and hearing her sing “I just can’t wait to be king” is hilarious. I started thinking as I watched the jungle unfold, “what would a volunteer manager Disney movie be about?”  Well, it might be a bit like this:

    In this Disney movie the volunteer manager is a cute, spunky rabbit, “Willing” or “Willie” for short who gathers all the woodland creatures together to save the forest. There’s the socially challenged skunk, “Clingy” who shyly wants to fit in somewhere. She is shunned by the other animals and wants to spend all of her time with the rabbit and become best of friends. ‘Clingy” the skunk even gets the rabbit’s cell phone number and thinks nothing of texting or calling “Willie” at home during rabbit dinner.

    Then there’s the old wolf, “Change”, a predator really who, now that he’s older and lost his mate and most of his pack, would like to do something to help the forest. He’s been alpha male his whole life, cheated on his mate, fought with the other wolves and lived to serve his needs. Now, he’s aging and afraid of death. He is docile, more like a dog than a proud wolf but his heart is strong. He obediently accepts whatever the rabbit gives him and checks in constantly to make sure he’s done the job correctly. “Willie” both admires and fears “Change”, and shivers when “Change” smiles, because his teeth are still sharp.

    The squirrel, “Nutso” is busy, always gathering nuts and running from tree to tree. “Nutso” chatters and says yes to anything the rabbit asks, then scurries off across the branches. The squirrel seldom follows through, but scampers back in and asks, “why didn’t you call me Willie? I would have come running?”  The squirrel is full of great ideas and even greater excuses. Willie finds “Nutso’s” half-eaten nuts buried everywhere.

    The owl, “Stable as Hell” is the wise bird who shows up occasionally. How the rabbit wishes there were 50 wise owls because “Stable” not only does what is asked of him, he gives the rabbit good feedback. He only gives what is asked and then flies off, those great wings fanning the leaves as he goes. “Willie” chases after “Stable” as he flies away, tripping over a half-buried nut, bruising his rabbit paw.

    The deer, “Meekly” is quiet, preferring to work in the back and would rather support all the other creatures. The deer is shy by nature and the rabbit needs to encourage the deer. Without praise and acknowledgement, “Meekly” can’t tell whether she has done the job correctly. The rabbit needs to be close at hand to answer the deer’s questions and assure the deer that she is needed. While “Willie” is sitting by the deer, “Clingy” becomes jealous and storms out.

    Then there’s the hunters, “the bean counter gang” who come with guns. The rabbit has to protect all the woodland creatures from the hunters who will destroy the work with their mean comments and refusal to integrate the animals into their world. They complain bitterly, destroy nests, forcing the animals to rebuild elsewhere. “Willie” is on constant lookout for these humans. There is one human “Exceptional Staff Member” though, who hikes quietly into the forest and brings food and water and does no harm, so the rabbit is hopeful there are others like him.

    At night, “Willie”, exhausted, returns to the rabbit hole where the rabbit family awaits. It’s time for a rabbit aspirin and a glass of carrot wine. There is the rabbit spouse and the rabbit children and homework and chores and family gatherings.  “Willie” loves it when rabbits from other parts of the forest call and share advice and stories. There are tales of the snake and the hawk and the very sick mouse. As “Willie” snuggles down into the burrow, she dreams of a perfect forest. “I’ll get there one day” she mutters as the rabbit alarm shrieks. “Willie” sits up, her mind reeling with the many tasks facing her. The hunters will be out in force today. Stretching, “Willie” picks up her phone and makes a note to stop and buy two more bottles of carrot wine.

    -Meridian

  • Boo! Why Are We Afraid to Talk About Certain Things?

    What goes bump in the night? A volunteer who creates problems? Too many volunteers and not enough work at a project site? Staff who consistently don’t follow through? Volunteers who undermine the work?

    As I watched a video championing volunteers and their service, I found myself sensing dread. I felt an unseen cold hand touch my shoulder. It’s the hand of realism.  And my hair moved ever so slightly as the words filled my ear, “in a perfect world. But you don’t live in a perfect world, do you?”

    Ahhh, that voice, so chilling and unwelcome. When I took this job, I signed up for sunshine and roses, didn’t I? I signed up for kittens and puppies, not the ghostly vapors that run chills up the spine. And why are these ghostly vapors so frightening? Because I think I’m the only one who has these problems.

    When all you hear is inspiration it’s like drinking apple cider laced with honey and powdered sugar. I’ve eaten the bag of Halloween candy, from the candy corn to the gooey marshmallow chocolates . And I’ve had the stomach aches that go with this overindulgence.

    Please, instead, inspire me with acknowledgement of the monster challenges we face. What about the volunteers who have no job, just want to get out of the house and have no real connection to the mission? What about the overzealous volunteer who calls and stops in constantly? What about the volunteer who is so inappropriate but wants to volunteer and your heart breaks for them? And no, don’t tell me that you just find a spot. I’ve done that and the amount of work I had to put in was frightening, not to mention I had to shield them from caustic comments. What about uncooperative staff who drive volunteers away and then turn around and complain when they can’t get a volunteer? What about administration who only hears the occasional complaint from some third cousin’s next door neighbor? What about respect?

    No, please stop putting caramel on my apple. My apple has bruises on it so don’t just cover it up. You can pretty it up all you want, but underneath the bruises are still there.

    I like inspiration and I find it all day long. But I also live in a real volunteer world. And, I don’t want to go into a haunted alley saying, “oh look, what are those creatures over there? They must be grown up puppies and kittens!”

    Volunteer management is like the B movie where the ditsy girl or the self-absorbed tough guy get trapped in a cabin full of zombies. They have wandered in unprepared for the onslaught of brain-eating creatures. (Ok, I just wanted to use that metaphor). Having to rely solely on their wits and the kitchen knives they frantically rooted out, these hapless souls battle for their lives. Some make it out because they adapted, and some don’t.

    I’ve been a volunteer manager long enough to make it out. But I fear for those who are new to our profession. They may only be hearing the talk about puppies and kittens. For them, when the zombies attack, their only weapon will be gooey marshmallow candy.

    Brains, anyone?

    -Meridian

  • In My Clinical Opinion…

    One of my good friends who is a volunteer coordinator has a volunteer, Janelle that we frequently discuss. The other day we were talking about Janelle and my friend was describing Janelle’s erratic, over the top behavior. See, Janelle is a very talented artist and wants to help that organization start an arts program for disadvantaged youth. Great idea and my friend would love to see this program flourish.

    So, what’s the problem? Well, Janelle is unique. My friend said that she had tried to describe Janelle to a counselor and the counselor said that if you are not clinical then you shouldn’t use clinical terms like “manic” or “delusional”.

    Hmmm. So, as she was trying to non-clinically describe her frustrations with Janelle and the torrent of over the top ideas that Janelle throws at her, I said, “so, she’s nuts, right?”

    Ahhh, can we say that? Well, last I checked, nuts is not a clinical term. And if you practice volunteer management, you have created your own clinic. In our clinic, there is the crazy volunteer, the insane volunteer and the volunteer whose elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor.

    There, I said it. Janelle is just one example of the many volunteers we deal with everyday. She is that perfect shiny apple you pick up off the fruit stand. It is a work of art. And then you turn it over and find that bruised spot that indicates some rotting inside. Do you put it back or do you just eat around that spot? You know what I’m talking about. We take volunteers in all shapes, sizes, agendas and craziness levels. How deep and troublesome is their bruised spot?

    Can my friend create a successful arts program while working with a “nuttier than a fruitcake” volunteer? I have all the faith in the world in her. Why? She’s smart and she’s resourceful. She’s eaten enough fruit to know when a grape is just not worth saving. I think Janelle will be fine. Just watch out for the fruit flies, those little harbingers of fruit going unmanageably bad.

    No, I’m not going to tell a volunteer that he’s flipping out of his mind. But, since I can’t diagnose them except in volunteer manager terms, I’m stuck with “wack-a-doodle” and “one fry short of a happy meal”.

    I love having my own little clinic. I think I’ll call it ‘The Fruit Basket.” All fruits and fruitcakes welcome!

    -Meridian

  • The Math of It

    It’s a sickness, but I’m always looking for ways to mathematically quantify the impact of volunteers. The most common way of course is tracking how many volunteers and how many service hours. How about we get creative and  track “well this volunteer, based on his moving volunteer experience told his neighbor who then spoke to her mom in another state who mentioned it at her bridge game and one of her partners’ husbands needed help and so she went home and called hospice right away.” Try and measure that chain of events. If you can, please let me know, because I’d quantify that in a heartbeat!

    The other day, I, along with a volunteer, spoke to a group of university students who were taking a therapeutic writing course. Our volunteer, Grace approached this professor, thinking that we could snag a few volunteers from her class. Grace records life stories with our patients and is always looking for volunteers to help. We’ve seen the great interaction between the students and the older patients and love the whole intergenerational pairing.

    And so we presented our program to the class, peppering our talk with lots of anecdotes from experience. To their credit, they were polite listeners, and asked some really meaningful questions.

    The day after we received an email from the professor. Although it will be very difficult for the students to interview our patients (schedules, transportation-the usual things that unfortunately get in the way) they would like to partner with us.

    The professor thanked us profusely. It appears that after we had gone, the students opened up about their grandparents. Many wished they had spent more time with them and had learned more about their stories. Most had fascinating grandparents with experiences in the great depression, World War II and Korea, and difficulties immigrating and assimilating into a new country. It seems, for them, therapeutic writing took on a whole new meaning.

    Ok, so now what? Well, we are going to find a way to partner. What that means is, though, we will spend the time with them without any volunteer assistance in return. Shocker. So, I can’t record any hours or add any new volunteers. Oh well. These young people are vibrant and just being around them makes me feel useful. So what if I can’t find a way to record these hours spent. (I can’t believe I’m saying that! No! There has to be a formula there!)

    But, someday, somewhere down the line, one of those students will have grown up and while taking his kids to school, the thought will dawn on him that he needs to give back and he will think about his experience in the classroom and his local hospice will get a really good volunteer.

    And somehow, somewhere in my perfect little analytical world, the volunteer coordinator will call me up and tell me that and I will put a hash mark down on my mad scientist type of graph and proclaim loudly “AHA!”

    That’s if I’m around that long…

    -Meridian

  • The Jekyll and Hyde of It

    So, I’m picking up my messages at home. There’s the usual “selling me something” plus “will you vote for me” messages coming up. Most everyone I know calls my cell now. But wait! There, buried in the middle of all the spam is a message that begins with, “Hello, Meridian, this is Clovis, remember me?”

    Ahhh, yes, how could I not? Clovis volunteered with us more than fifteen years ago. Her son had died from a prolonged fight with cancer and she had come to us to volunteer. It had been a year and a half since his death and she was feeling the need to do something with her life other than be retired. I want to say that she was a great volunteer. I want to say that she was a really good volunteer. I can say that she was a consistent volunteer and always showed up. Looking back on her two years of service, I cannot really say why.

    Clovis worked in the office. She filed, helped with mailings and other assorted tasks. She was pretty good, don’t get me wrong, but what Clovis did was talk incessantly. We’ve all had volunteers like that, the chatty ones who talk continually. Some even talk over you as you try to get a word in about how to do a task. Clovis, though, talked incessantly about her son and his death and particularly about her son’s wife and how she did not do right by him.

    We offered bereavement which she accepted. But as often happens to volunteer managers, I became the de facto listening ear. And so, for two years as Clovis dealt with the death of her son and all the trappings, I heard her. It was ok, believe me, because I was newer to the profession and a heck of a lot younger. I had the energy and truly, I never thought for a moment that being everything a volunteer needed, no matter what they needed was just part of the job.

    I vividly remember one afternoon in particular. I came around the corner of the hallway and found Clovis weeping into the arms of another woman. The problem was, that other woman was a caregiver who was in the process of losing her loved one. Sigh. To this day, I use that example when teaching boundaries. Even though Clovis never worked with patients and families, she did at times encounter them as they came into the office. I shudder to think what happened outside the office in the general public.

    Clovis’ phone message was long and rambling. She had broken a bone and was in rehab. She just wanted me to know. We all know what that is code for. I want you to call me or come see me.

    Now here’s the Jekyll and Hyde part. There are volunteers who are in nursing homes that have given long, faithful service that I have not seen in a while. Guilt follows me like a pack of hyenas after a wounded zebra.

    Did Clovis give that same amount of service? She certainly thought she did and in her own way, she gave what she could. How dare I judge her for that.

    Do I want to sit and hear her for an hour or two. “No, don”t waste your time” whispers Jekyll in my ear. It’s like going back to that relationship that never worked out. I just don’t think I have the patience anymore. After all, would I want Clovis back as a volunteer? Not really, if I’m brutally honest. So I deleted the message.

    Somehow, though, I clearly remember the name of the nursing home and room number from the message. Hyde is caressing my other ear with tales of what a nice person I am. Not used to be-still am. Where is that idealistic, I can turn anyone into a productive volunteer person? After all, isn’t volunteering a kind of symbiotic relationship? And besides, how can I try to teach people to be empathetic and not be empathetic myself? Pretty darn hypocritical, I’d say. And really, did I listen to Clovis all those years ago because I was so darned nice or was it because I held a loftier view of myself and my capabilities? Ouch, don’t go there Mr. Hyde.

    Jekyll is laughing at me as Hyde keeps trying. What is that room number again? I think I still remember it so we’ll see who wins this battle. Maybe I can send a card or call and leave a message. Or maybe, I’ll give in to Jekyll and take an actual firm stand. Room 601 you say, Mr. Hyde? Got it.

    -Meridian

  • Inspiration in a Cloud of Dust

    I attended a funeral a few nights back. Volunteer managers do a lot of that. We find time to be involved in a lot of family functions, births, deaths, graduations, citizenship ceremonies, and birthdays.

    I had to drive a good distance to this one. Nothing new, right? It was in the evening. Big deal. Didn’t know anyone there but the bereaved former volunteer. Check. It was important to go. Of course. I didn’t know the person that died. As usual. Was it one more event to wonder whether I had the time to devote? Yes.  And when I pulled into the church’s dirt parking lot, did I wish I had changed my shoes? Naturally.

    As I got out of my car, I fished for my phone which had fallen between the seats. I didn’t see that large truck speeding down the row of parked vehicles. I stood up and closed the door just as that truck kicked up so much dirt and gravel that it literally blanketed me with a gritty cloud of dust. I shook myself like a dog in water and headed for the church, dignity intact.

    Nigel volunteered with us over ten years ago. He had come here from England after the death of his first wife, a young woman whom he had tenderly cared for after eight years of marriage. His life as he knew it had been shattered. He happened to meet another lovely young woman on a holiday in the states and started coming to visit her. They would also take cruises together, or book tours in exotic places just to spend the time with one another. He could come over for short periods of time to be with her, but he could not come here permanently, unless they married.

    While on his first real stay here in the states, he decided to volunteer at hospice while his American girlfriend worked. That’s how I came to know him. Ten years ago, he was a man rejuvenated, a man alive again and he became an absolute favorite of the staff. After his six months here he had to go back. We kept in touch via email. Some years ago, he indicated that the American woman he loved, Kari, had some medical issues. A couple of years ago, he told me that it was cancer. Last year he told me that treatments were increasing. Two months ago, he told me that it was terminal and that he finally received a visa after all these years. He came here to this country to care for his love while she died.

    I listened to him in the church as he stood before a crowd of people who loved Kari. I listened to him speak of her as his love and how she rescued him from the darkest time in his life. I listened to him as he told of how she touched everyone with her smile and wit and love of travel. Not once did he mention the hardships they faced. Not once did he refer to all he did. Not once did he say that twice he spent years of his life in the hardest role there is; caring for someone you love as they die. Not once did he complain except for the void that now existed.

    For my part, my heart broke as I listened to him tell of how he and Kari were finally married just a month before she died.

    Will I complain again when faced with having to do the right thing? Yes, I will. There is only so much time and there are so many volunteers to attend to. Will I always be reminded that the right thing is the hard path for most everyone? No, sometimes that message is clouded. But as the dust settles, my imprint on the world is there. And most of the time, despite all the irritable complaining, I have to get a bit dusty to make an imprint at all.

    -Meridian

  • It’s Kinda Cozy Under the Bus

    Thrown under the bus? Yeah, I feel like I have a permanent place under there sometimes. I’ve moved a coffee pot and a few magazines right next to the driver’s tire, just to make it home-like.

    Jenny is an episodic volunteer and a teacher at a local elementary school. She is one of those “busy brain” people, creative, always imagining. I’m sure her kids just love her. She’s been wanting to help our hospice for quite a while and myself in particular. She confided in me that she’d like to work for us someday when she retires, which will be in about 5 years. I’m thinking, hey, ok, no problem, you are welcome to apply anytime.

    So Jenny meets with me and says she will be glad to do some recruiting. This is great because she has a lot of contacts through PTA and other teachers. We come up with a great plan and a schedule of meetings for us to track the results. In her new enthusiasm, she has come up with several ideas, all of which we have already implemented, but that’s ok. She’s on the right track.

    We meet once and Jenny goes off to create a plan. I give her free rein. Our next meeting she can’t make and the next. She is busy. That’s ok, I know that nothing new ever starts smoothly. But now, school is starting and she is really busy. Again, that’s ok, we can work slowly. I figure everything is fine. I tell her to let me know when she has time and we will meet at her convenience. She apologizes for blowing me off and says she will carve some time out soon.

    So, the other day, one of our marketing representatives stops by. She asks me about a volunteer named Jenny. “Hmmm, why do you ask?” I return politely.
    It seems our executive director happened to run into Jenny at the school where Jenny teaches. Our director’s nephew is enrolled there. According to the marketing rep, Jenny filled our director’s ear with her perceived lack of volunteer recruitment in her area and added “I am trying to help get some recruitment programs off the ground, but I’m not getting much support.”

    Ah, I can feel the tires crushing me now. The marketing rep goes on to say that Jenny also told our director that “no one in my community knows about hospice services. It’s such a shame. I would love to help get the word out for you.”

    So, now the marketing rep is annoyed with me because we all know volunteer managers can control everything volunteers do. I love it when one person out of hundreds or thousands makes an offhand comment and that comment represents reality. How do you combat that? Get a petition out and prove them wrong? Get angry and berate the person that made that observation?

    No, actually, I looked at the marketing rep, whom I do like and respect and offered her a cup of coffee. “Be careful, there may be a bit of gravel in it. But, isn’t it cozy under here? Welcome, my friend.”

    -Meridian

     

  • Vindication! So, why no joy?

    At the last DOVIA (Directors of volunteers in agencies) meeting, one of the volunteer managers, Judy, from another agency grabbed me and whispered, “I’ve got to tell you about Trina!”

    Trina is a volunteer who was let go by our hospice six months ago. She had volunteered with us for six years. Time and time again, we counseled Trina for overstepping boundaries. Time and time again, she would laugh and say, “You caught me!” or “oh, it was just a little misstep.” We would have let her go a long time ago, but she has a good heart and well, sigh, you know.  It finally got too much when she started insulting nursing home staff. It was time.

    She left unhappily and went to another agency. There, she made it clear that our hospice was unfair to her and we were all wrong and incompetent. Judy, the volunteer manager at this new agency was happy to have someone with Trina’s extensive experience. Judy would make comments to me at the DOVIA meetings about how well Trina was doing. I just kept my mouth shut.

    This last time however, Judy took me aside and just shook her head.  It seems Trina had been volunteering with one of their clients. Everything seemed wonderful. Trina reported on time, kept all her appointments and was enthused. However, one day Trina took it upon herself to accompany the client to a doctor’s appointment, where she identified herself as a family friend and not as a volunteer. She proceeded to insert herself into the medical care of this client. It appears that Trina did not agree with some of the decisions her client’s family had made. A big brouhaha ensued and Trina was promptly removed. Judy was devastated and the agency had a PR nightmare on their hands. “I never saw that coming,” Judy lamented.

    How did I feel about that conversation? Ah, sweet vindication for me, right? If I’m truly honest, yes, for a moment, but then it hit me. I did not warn this other agency. Judy also did not ask, nor accept that I might have insight on her potential volunteer. She chose to believe Trina’s claims that my agency was incompetent and I chose to let her find out that Trina was a risky volunteer. In looking back, we both had chips on our shoulders, I think.

    I fear Trina will go on down the road and potentially harm another agency. Will she claim her experience at our hospice and at Judy’s agency? I don’t honestly know, but if she does, I hope that new agency will call for a reference. This time, I will make certain I give them one.

    -Meridian

  • So You Don’t Think You Make A Difference

    On some days, I don’t think it all matters. Granted those are tough days, and on those tough days, the thought of futility can set in. What difference does it really make? The vast majority of difference we make as volunteer managers, we cannot see. That makes it hard. We don’t see the person who, after the phone call telling them that a volunteer will come out and help, cries into their hands with relief. We don’t see the family who gets to make it one more day because we sent a volunteer who we personally trained and mentored correctly.

    So, we have to tuck those times when we do get that glimpse into how we matter away and take them out when times get tough. Then, we need to multiply that nugget by 100 or maybe 1000, because we don’t see our volunteers spreading what they’ve learned from us into the community either.

    Three nights ago I drove to a local shuttle bus depot to pick up my husband after a few days visiting his brother. He had taken the shuttle after flying into our closest airport. I sat in the car and listened to the radio. All of a sudden he came up beside the door and said, “Quick, you have to get out and come with me.” At my alarmed look, he added, “you have to meet someone.”

    Husbands, I thought. I’m in crappy clothes and now I have to meet some guy who probably golfed every golf course on the planet. So I got out and followed my husband to the shuttle bus where a lady came up to me. “This is my wife,” my husband said to her while stepping away to get his luggage.

    She looked at me and smiled. “I’m Sandy Duvall. Does that name ring a bell?”

    Whoa, I thought and my mind started to scroll. “Robert, the actor?” I weekly replied.

    “No,” she said kindly. “Jeremiah.”

    I stared at her face as the confusion dissipated. “No, seriously, you’re Jeremiah’s wife?”

    Sandy had been sitting in the row in front of my husband on the bus. The driver had called out all the last names and when she heard Swift, she wondered. Later during the ride, she happened to hear my husband chatting with the person next to him and heard the word “hospice”. So, she turned and asked him whether his wife worked there and when he said “yes”, she told him a story. He then told her that she would have a chance to meet me when they arrived at the depot.

    Fifteen years ago, Jeremiah Duvall rode his bicycle to our care center. He was only 62 years old and dying of cancer. He wanted to volunteer. He lived in another state with his wife, Sandy and was just going to be in our area for a few months. Sandy worked and could not come with him. He wanted to take the training, do some volunteering and then volunteer at a hospice where he lived. He made no bones about his illness and no bones about not letting it get in the way of helping others. I believed him instantly. Jeremiah was a one-in-a-million. I taught him nothing and he taught me so much. He taught me about grace and courage and living life to its fullest. Sadly, he took training, volunteered a few times and had to return home where he died within a month. To this day, when I see a bicycle parked in front of the care center, I think of him.

    In the middle of all the commotion of the returning travelers, on a warm, dark night, Sandy asked me, “do you remember the letter you wrote me after Jeremiah died?’

    I did and I do. I struggled to write that letter, to let this person whom I had never met know how special her husband was. I almost didn’t send it. I thought it was too much.

    With tears rolling down her face, she said, “I still have it. and I want you to know how much it meant to me. I told him that no hospice would let him volunteer because of his illness, but he insisted. Thank you for taking him. You have no idea what that did for him.”

    No, I didn’t know. But fifteen years later, on a crowded nondescript night, I got a gift. It is the gift of hearing that you have done the right thing and that it mattered. How I treasure that gift. I will take it out and turn it over in my mind when things are hard and I struggle to do the right thing. And I’ll never doubt my husband again.

    You don’t think you make a difference? You do.

    -Meridian

  • Are You Hearing This or Are You Just Listening Impaired?

    On Thursday I was fortunate enough to be in a room with 50 volunteers who were taking part in the National Volunteer Leadership symposium put on by the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization via the web. Throughout the day, these volunteers were attentive, focused and (horrors) POSITIVE. Why, horrors?

    Staff these days are bankrupt of positivity. Everyone is overworked, everyone is stretched too thin, everyone would like to do more on the job, but can’t. It is the grim reality of the hospice industry and most likely of every organization out there. Complaining is the norm. Stress related time off from work is the norm. Passive-aggresive behavior is a coping mechanism. Cynicism rules.

    Our CEO, to his credit, stepped into the room for a short time. He introduced himself to the volunteers and listened as I led a group discussion. And out of the blue, one volunteer commented, “you know, what I take away from this national presentation, is that the volunteer end of our organization is doing everything pretty well.”

    Whoa! Can you say that again? Can we tape you saying that? Another volunteer chimed in (without prompting, I swear), “you guys in the department really do a great job getting us information” to which there were nodded heads all over.

    The volunteers feel good about not only their jobs, but about how we are managing them. The morose feelings of being abused were lacking in this venue. The atmosphere was uplifting and positive and the comments were thoughtful and heartfelt. So, why am I frustrated?

    Did you hear that, Mr. Executive Director? No, did you REALLY hear that? In a lot of ways, managing volunteers is akin to managing staff, although it’s in many ways harder. Instead of paying outside consultants, looking to some mythical “expert” in another state, or creating more focus groups that don’t include volunteers or volunteer managers, how about for once, looking internally at a program that has results? Is this too novel an idea, or is it that, once again, you heard the comments and have mentally patted us on the head?

    Are we professionals who are doing a very difficult job well, or are we just lucky? Is that how our upper management team view us? Why not ask us how we get those results? If you don’t like the answer, fine, but at least be just a teeny bit interested, ok? Maybe there is a nugget of wisdom in how we do what we do.

    Sigh. It’s hard living in a fantasy world, one in which volunteer managers are appreciated. And no, I don’t mean treated as though we are really good at the fluff.
    I mean true respect for the human resources professionals and management experts that we are.

    Oops, I feel that cynicism creeping in. Maybe I’ll go do something passive-aggressive like sticking my head in the next manager’s meeting and saying something like, “oh sorry, I thought I heard cries of help coming from this room, but I guess you don’t want to acknowledge what you have right under your noses.”

    ehhhhhhhh, maybe not.

    -Meridian