On-the-Job Joy is Evergreen

1 man makes a difference in the lives of 175 others

By TY PHILLIPS
tphillips@modbee.com

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'Some would look at my life and see someone who didn't live up to his potential, that it's hard to fathom I quit college to do this. But I can't leave now. It would feel like abandoning a friend when they need you most. Besides, I see more life inside these walls than I see outside of them. I know outside of here, I can't make a difference; I can't make the world a better place. But here, inside these walls, I can make a difference.'
-- Jason Visola

Jason Visola sat in the hard, plastic chairs at Baskin-Robbins in Modesto, relaxing, eating an ice cream cone with his son, Anton. It was late on a Sunday afternoon, and he was enjoying the last hours of a day off when he heard her voice.

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"Well hello," she said. "How are you?"

Jason looked up and saw the pleasant face of a casual friend he'd known since high school. The two struck up a conversation, quickly catching up on the past few years.

"So," the woman said, "what are you doing anyhow? Where do you work now?"

"I work at Evergreen Rehabilitation Care Center," he said.

"What's that?"

"It's a convalescent home."

"Oh," she said sadly, wrinkling her face as if to say 'how depressing.' There was obvious disdain in her voice. "So, what do you do there?"

"I'm the recreation director," he said, realizing the conversation suddenly was going nowhere. No one ever understands.

"So what do you do, play bingo all day or something?" she asked in a voice that came across as more belittling than she probably intended.

"Well, yes, that is one thing we do," Jason said, growing more insulted but still feeling the urge to explain himself. "Look, this is where I like working. The people need me there and I enjoy being with people who need me. I wouldn't want to work anywhere else."

"OK," the woman said, rolling her eyes.

Jason felt an ugly twinge in his stomach. People had reacted negatively to his work before, but never had it been so snide, so dismissing.

Jason turned his attention back toward his son, and the nowhere conversation with the woman faded. But a low feeling haunted him the rest of the day, no matter how he tried to shake it. That night, lying in bed, Jason had trouble falling asleep. In those darkened hours, he began to question things he'd always been certain of.

Am I insignificant? Man, I'm already 38 years old. Am I wasting my life?

When he woke the next morning, the low feeling persisted. Damn, he thought, how did I let her get to me? She doesn't have a clue. The moment was particularly disconcerting because, in his heart, Jason knew he was an extremely lucky man.

In addition to living with his 7-year-old son, Jason lives with his fiancée, Carie; they've been together two years in a relationship he describes as pure pinch-yourself bliss. What's more, he leaves home every morning to spend his days in a place where he feels needed by the 175 residents who always are happy to see him. And yet, here he was, stuck questioning it.

The nagging feeling bugged him on his drive through Modesto to Evergreen, and he felt it as he opened the front doors and walked through the convalescent home's long, quiet hallways. He moved into his office and sat behind his desk. He turned on his computer and was about to check his e-mail when he heard an old woman's whimpering voice coming from the hallway.

It was Agnes.

'Sometimes I can almost feel their sadness, their fear. If I can do something, anything, to change that and help give them their sparkle back, what could possibly be more important than that?'