The second time SideWalk went into a 4th grade classroom to lead a writing workshop we were early. The guidance counselor was reading a story to the kids, all crowded on the reading carpet in the front of the room. Our six volunteers sat with them. The story was about a young boy, his mother, and younger sister who were moving to a motel to escape an abusive father. None of the children were shocked.

“What should the mother do?” the guidance counselor asked.

The girl sitting next to me raised her hand. “She should get another boyfriend again.”

Another boy raised his hand. “I have a question,” he said. “Why does the daddy beat the kids, too, and not just the mom?”

It was the most heartbreaking, and eyeopening moment I’ve experienced over the last year and a half. When I was in 4th grade, the teacher read us a children’s version of The Count of Monte Cristo. She poured each of us a cup of popcorn and gave us a comprehension quiz once she finished the chapter.

Adolescent illiteracy has been a hot topic the last few months, as this Post and Courier article illustrates. The biggest lesson we at SideWalk learned during our first two years: the lack of literacy in our children’s lives is not due to unqualified or uncaring teachers. We’ve had the privilege of working with some of the most dedicated, caring, invested teachers you can imagine.

I don’t pretend to know the cause of the problem. I’m sure there isn’t just one. Many of these students are fighting an uphill battle. They come from broken families, have one or more parents who ran away, or have addictions. Not all of them. Some have great families, with parents, aunts, grandparents all doing their part.

But it’s hard to focus on learning to read and write when, in all honesty, you have more pressing things to worry about.

So the solution: us. Not “us” as in SideWalk Chalk. “Us” as in “you and me.” SideWalk is working, there’s no doubt about that. Our students’ scores are rising. They’re gaining confidence in their ability to write, discovering their voice, and mastering state and national ELA standards. But we’re not the only way.

Come volunteer with us. Or Louie’s Kids. Or Charleston Kids with Cameras. Write a check. Good God, run or walk three miles and eat a doughnut. It’s easy (and can be fun) to help. Maybe you can’t volunteer with SideWalk Chalk two hours a week, or even donate to keep our programs alive, but you can find and do your part. Our schools need our neighborhoods, and our neighborhoods need our schools. What I’m trying to say, as kindly but sincerely as possible, is if you’re not personally sacrificing to be part of the solution, you may not be the problem, but you have no right to complain. So set up a meeting with the principal at your closest elementary, middle, or high school. Get to know the teachers. Find out how you can help. Learn the names of the students. Read with them. Show them how to form a paragraph, and then show them again. Pass out high-fives like they cured illiteracy. Maybe they do. There is a way to help.