Advocate teaches children confidence
Patricia Jones bolsters children's esteem through yoga, sports and beach treks
More than a dozen years ago, Patricia Jones offered to help a 62-year-old black woman in Los Angeles whose daughter and granddaughter had gone to jail and left five children behind, including babies and toddlers. The woman, a retired hospital employee named Millie Taylor who used to work in a surgical center where Jones sold medical equipment, rallied for the children and cared for them as if they were her own. "She made me laugh," Jones recalls. But Millie's late-life parenting efforts left her exhausted. Still the children flourished under her loving attention. Jones jumped in to help, donating time frequently to give Millie a break.
"I started taking kids on the weekends, helping them with school," Jones says. "Millie didn't let them go to foster care, wouldn't go on welfare. She's very proud. If she could do something this grand with her life, what was I doing with my life? I was so distraught that women like her would fall through the cracks. I wanted to start something that would help women like her."
In 1998, Jones realized that thousands of other children from households with scant financial resources in the Los Angeles area needed love and attention too.
"If she could do something this grand with her life, what was I doing with my life?"
"They never had broccoli, never had a baked potato or yogurt. They were scared of walking down the street." Some didn't have safe places to sleep. "There were experiences I could give these kids that they would otherwise never have," she says. Jones founded the P.S. I Love You Foundation, which nurtures about 650 children from low-income households in southern California and Idaho through mentor programs, yoga classes, volleyball training and trips to the beach with adult volunteers.
Fifteen employees of U.S. Auto Parts company donate time in the Love for Lunch and Love for Knowledge mentor programs, contracting to meet with two students in middle and high school classrooms every other week for a year, a total of 18 weeks. Each visit lasts an hour and a quarter. The P.S. I Love You Foundation provides materials to structure the interactions. "It's really amazing on both sides," Jones says. "You make a big impact. It's a dramatic, big change for those kids. It's not just freelance. It's controlled. We know what they're talking about. For example, we talk about confidence." The mentors' employer pays the employees' salaries while they spend time in the classroom, and covers the cost of lunch for the children.
Students are encouraged to adopt and articulate positive self-statements, such as: "I am courageous and strong, and my parents love me." When the program ends they are asked to go onstage and announce confident assertions about themselves. "They have to have their chin up, project with confidence to the back of the class. It's crazy how they change. The ones who never wanted to talk want to get up onstage," she says.
The organization's name came from Jones's mom. "She used to write, 'P.S. I love you' on our lunch bags," Jones recalls. "That made me feel really good," even though her parents divorced and family life was tumultuous. "I always felt secure. I had this love." Her dad was a teacher who always cared for kids. "That's where I got the idea," Jones says. "That morphed into creating programs to empower, inspire, educate and influence children to be the best they can be in what they do and say, even when nobody is looking."
"She used to write, 'P.S. I love you' on our lunch bags. That made me feel really good. I always felt secure. I had this love."
The foundation is tiny with a total budget of $45,000 a year in donations. "I don't get paid," Jones says. She works for the satisfaction of benefiting children. "This nonprofit has survived for 12 years without any paid staff." All the money went to programs.
Instead of writing grant proposals to seek money, Jones obtained a real estate license and sold homes to generate income for herself and the agency. Now Jones has a family: she and her husband have a two- and four-year-old. Her time for the nonprofit agency has come under pressure even as her goals have expanded to serve 2,500 children.
One of the foundation's projects is to have adult volunteers adopt a child for a day. She certifies volunteers to teach a 12-week program in schools, designed to fortify children's confidence and self-esteem.
"If you start a nonprofit, get your infrastructure and costs handled up front," Jones advises. "I've never done that. I always fly by the seat of my pants. I do things backwards." Much of the work of the agency has been done by her friends.
"If you start a nonprofit, get your infrastructure and costs handled up front."
"I didn't think about getting paid," Jones says. "I am not structured. I am not organized. But I am creative. I just wanted to create and implement. All I care about is the children. What matters and feels good is that kids are getting affected."
A few months ago she recruited several new board members who have pushed to build a financially healthy organization with necessary infrastructure. They aim to expand the budget to $150,000 a year.
Jones is writing grant proposals for the first time, realizing that she needs to evaluate children before and after providing services to show their progress. Her first grant proposals were packaged in fancy binders with color photos. Most failed. Finally she learned that grant proposals do better if they are simple and stark: photocopied pages stapled together. "Oh my god," Jones says, laughing. "For years we were spending all that money. Who knew? I was coming from a corporate background."
"I didn't think about getting paid. I just wanted to create and implement. All I care about is the children."
Foundations that provide program grant money typically want an agency to keep administration costs within a range of 12 to 22 percent, according to Jones. But a nonprofit agency can also seek general funding grants or development grants.
Programs she has used for a decade are being streamlined into curriculum and teaching materials for children. "We call them Classroom in a Box," Jones says. The content can readily be adopted by any teacher, with consistent results.
To raise money she created a program called Hug a Community. She goes to corporations and asks them to donate money to aid children in their local elementary, middle and high schools.
Despite the lack of pay, the job creating the foundation has been one of the most satisfying in Jones's life. "I know that I'm making some difference that's bigger than me," she says. "We all want to know that when we die, we made a difference. If we could all think like that. Put energy into things that are above and beyond what's good for you."
"People with multi-millions of dollars who are holding onto it and die with it or give it to their kids—it just doesn't make any sense," Jones says. "It's empty money. It's just accumulating and has no meaning. Give it meaning! Things that matter the most in your life should never come below the things that matter the least."
In one classroom exercise with four children she uses three hard-boiled eggs and a tennis ball. One student holds an egg labeled "integrity." Another holds an egg labeled "health." A third child holds an egg labeled "family and friends." The last student holds the tennis ball labeled "materialistic things." The kids count to three and then drop their objects.
"You can hurt your integrity by what you say and do. It's very hard to get back."
"The materialistic tennis ball pops back up into their hands," Jones says. The eggs break apart. "You can hurt your integrity by what you say and do. It's very hard to get back. Take care of your friends and family, and your health. If you work really hard for material things then lose your job, your car breaks, something gets stolen—it doesn't matter. You can get them back. You could be breaking more important things by focusing too much on having a big car or great sneakers. Kids want to walk around in $120 Nike sneakers. Do they know the value of those? It takes their mom probably 10 hours to buy those sneakers for them. We have to keep things in perspective, in balance."
—James Dunn
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