Starting Over
The first time I walked on to a college campus I was terrified. Having never known anyone my entire childhood that went to college, I had no idea what to expect. I was 18-yrs old; a high school dropout with only a recently acquired GED; a new divorcé after leaving an abusive marriage to an older man; as well as an overwhelmed mother to Jade, my one year old daughter. My future had failure written all over it. Especially since my self-esteem was at its lowest point following a trip to the Social Services Department to apply for Aid to Families with Dependent Children or AFDC, better known to most as “welfare.” I had not wanted to apply for welfare but I close to destitute. There was no family to turn to. No job paying enough to an uneducated 18 yr old that would cover the cost of food and housing, let alone childcare. I had no sympathetic benefactor, someone just waiting to rescue me. I was on my own and completely unprepared. Feeding and keeping a roof over Jade’s and my head had become almost impossible. I stretched out what little there was, making due with less and less each day that passed. For me, three meals became two, then one, then sometimes nothing to make sure what food there was went to Jade. I dropped pound after pound. My face became gaunt and my hips protruded sharply. Strangers encouraged me to eat more. Friends suggested I lay off the meth. I was given a notice to vacate my apartment or face eviction. Desperate, I asked my ex, the man who had tried to strangle me on more than one occasion, for money. “I’m not giving you shit. But, I’ll take you back!” was his offer. Disgusted and afraid, I knew I could only survive if I followed in my mother’s foot-steps and applied for welfare; something I had always sworn I would never do. I was ashamed the day I rode the bus downtown to the welfare office with Jade in tow. That feeling only intensified after I met with the worker assigned to process my application. “Your husband doesn’t live in the house with you?” the 30ish, and seemingly bitter woman handling my case asked me suspiciously for the third time during the interview. “No Ma’am, I already told you he doesn’t. I wouldn’t be here if he did.” I replied tired and frustrated from my 4 hour wait in a room filled with screaming children, including my own, and the unpleasant body odors of too many people packed into a hot poorly ventilated space. “Do you plan on having more children with him?” she asked, her tight mouth turned downward in a perpetual frown. “What?” I replied confused by the question. “Do you plan on having any more children? That’s usually what you girls do to make sure you never have to work.” She asked again, her index finger tapping my application impatiently. “No, I don’t plan to have anymore children with him. With him or anyone else! What does it matter anyway?” I replied nervously jiggling Jade up and down as she slept on my shoulder. I knew I couldn’t handle another kid but what business was it of hers. “Well, we’ll see. Usually girls like you are back here in less than a year wanting more money. Worse, they have the lazy guy that knocked them up still living with them. Are you sure your husband is no longer living with you?” She asked again. “Please, I’m not lying and I’m not having anymore kids. Can you help me or not?” I questioned feeling close to hysteria. The harshness of my voice woke Jade. She began to cry. I tried to sooth her but the anxiety I was feeling made my movements harsher than they should have been. Jade just cried harder. “Next time you come you should leave your daughter with someone else.” the woman admonished as she reluctantly stamped “Approved” on my application. “There is no one else, that’s why I’m here” I replied tired of being there and shocked that someone in her position would say such a thing. Ignoring my comment, she began explaining when I would begin receiving benefits along with the long complicated list of possible things that would result in denial of those benefits if I wasn’t careful. I left the welfare office feeling dirty. I should have felt relieved that I would soon be able to find a place to live and feed my baby, but all I felt was a complete and utter sense of failure. In the weeks that followed, I received my first welfare check and moved into a tiny one bedroom apt in one of the most dangerous parts of town. I had three pieces of furniture, my daughter’s crib, her highchair, and a stereo I bought for two dollars at a garage sale. I slept on the floor with only a blanket, but I didn’t mind. It was worth it to be out of my abusive marriage. The apt cost me $270.00 a month, leaving me just a little bit more than $100 a month to cover food, clothing, transportation, diapers and utilities. I had heard people complain about women that got rich off welfare; if they did, I had no idea how they did it. For me, every day was a struggle to make ends meet. As time wore on, I began to feel like I had no future. I had dropped out of school before I had even started the 11th grade and no one in my family had graduated high school either, not my mother; not my father; not my aunt; not my uncle; not one of my four siblings. I knew that like my mother before me, I would be hammered by poverty and hated by those that believed that I wanted to live life sponging off their tax dollars. I began to contemplate suicide and wonder if my daughter might be better off if I put her up for adoption. I thought about dealing drugs like so many of the people I grew up with. I thought about prostitution. I imagined myself being arrested for child-neglect while I left my daughter alone at night to work at one of the highest paying jobs I could get, at least one that didn’t require that I take my clothes off, a clerk at an all night convenience store or maybe as worker at a fast-food restaurant. I knew if I did take one of those jobs I’d have to leave Jade alone. There was no money for babysitters. More and more I began to believe I might have to stay on welfare forever. Fortunately, in the months following my divorce I became closer to the wife of my ex-husband’s best friend George. Leah was a tall blond woman, the daughter of a missionary, and the first person I had ever met that had attended college. Leah and I saw each other rarely, usually when George came to town to score drugs. Lucky for me, George needed score shortly after my demoralizing trip to the welfare office. Leah and I hung out at my new apartment while George picked up his quota of cocaine. Sitting outside in the sun, Leah and I sipped beers and talked. Leah never told me much about herself, about her marriage to George, about his drug dealing or about his promiscuous behavior, but she tried hard to find out what was going on with me and be supportive. Her support led me to confess that I felt I had no future and that maybe it would be better for Jade if I put her up for adoption. “Jean, why don’t you go to college? You don’t have put up with shit at the welfare office rest of your life. You could become a physical therapist like me.” Leah said her tall frame propped up against the wall. “Leah, are you crazy? I’m never going to get into college. I didn’t even graduate. Plus, I was a crappy student and I didn’t take college prep stuff. I had two periods of ceramics and auto shop.” I replied nervously scratching the label off my beer bottle with my bitten-to-the-quick nails. “So what Jean, they still might let you in.” Leah said as she shifted down the wall to get more comfortable. “Are you nuts Leah? I didn’t even take the SAT. I can’t go to college, especially with just a GED. Plus, I was in special education until the 7th grade. I’m not smart enough for college.” I said feeling really uncomfortable with Leah’s suggestion. “Look Jean, you said you scored well on everything but math when you took your GED. Why don’t you just take your scores to the college and see what they say?” Leah said squinting against the summer sun to look me in the eyes. Rubbing my feet in the grass, I thought about Leah’s suggestion. It seemed so crazy, so unbelievable. I didn’t feel hopeful, but I figured I could at least go to the junior college and apply to make Leah happy. I told her my plan. She wasn’t impressed. She insisted that I go apply to the closest State University first; if I didn’t get in there, then I could go apply to the junior college. During the weeks following Leah’s visit, I talked myself into going to the State University. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get in but I knew that Leah was right, I would never know until I tried. Early one morning I dressed in the nicest of my few changes of clothes, packed a diaper bag for Jade, collected documents I might need, and set out. The college sat about 10 miles from my apt. at the base of the mountain range that had been my home as a child. During the drive I began to feel really afraid. By the time I pulled onto the campus, I was a mess. All I wanted to do was go back home. As I navigated my 1960 Chrysler New Yorker (the one George had sold to me during his last visit for just $200) into a spot in the visitors’ parking lot I admired the layout of the campus. The buildings were widely spaced with large grassy areas between them. Shade from the brutal summer sun was provided by beautiful trees planted strategically along the walkways. Everything seemed well kept. The ground was free of the garbage I had become so accustomed in my neighborhood. Flowers bloomed adding color to the normally aired landscape. I felt a sense of awe as I carried Jade towards the administration building, everything was so pretty. Soon my fear was replaced with an intense desire to be accepted as a student there. I entered the Administration Building and followed the signs to the Admissions Office. Since it was Summer Quarter there were few students milling around, the hallways had the peaceful hush of a church. My heart raced as I approached the admissions window. I wanted to impress whomever I needed to in order get in. When I reached the counter I readjusted Jade on my hip and ran the silver bell sitting there. A petite graying woman in her fifties came out from behind a brown divider and greeted me. “Can I help you honey?” She asked with a smile on her face. “Yes, I would like to apply for admission.” I said nervously bouncing Jade on my boney hip. “Do you have your application filled out?” “No, I don’t have an application.” I replied feeling stupid that I hadn’t done this already. “No problem. Here let me give you one. You are also going to need your birth certificate, social security card and a copy of your high school transcripts. You can have the official ones sent later.” She said before cooing at Jade and taking her hand to kiss her fingers. “I didn’t graduate high school but I have my GED results.” I replied swallowing back the panic welling in me which was brought on by this admission of truth. “That’s fine honey, no problem. Let me give you an application. You can take home to fill out and bring it back later if that’s easier for you.” The woman said handing me a thick application packet. “I would prefer to fill it out now if that’s OK.” I replied knowing if I didn’t do it then I would lose my courage. The woman said that it was OK and sent me over to a series of tall metal tables across from where I stood. I moved towards the tables awkwardly holding the application in one hand and Jade in the other. The two bags on my shoulder threatened to slip off as I walked. Just before they did, I managed to set Jade on one of the tables. Frustrated, I roughly laid everything down on the cold metal and began digging into the diaper bag for a toy to keep Jade busy. While awkwardly wrapping my arm around her, I began to fill out the application. I managed to fill in my personal information without much difficulty, name, address, last school attended, etc. I wrote “N/A” for all the requests for parental information which also took very little time; finally, a reason to be happy about being a foster kid. At the final question I froze. It read, “Is there any additional information you think we should know about you which could help assist us in our decision?” I had several problems with this question. First, what should I say? Should I tell them the truth that I was an 18 yr old divorce, a high school dropout, an ex foster kid? What else could I put down? I had no scholastic achievements to talk about, no great GPA, no clubs I could claim to have been a member of. Second, it was an essay question. I hated essay questions. My learning disabilities prevented me from becoming a good speller. Worse, when I was nervous I stopped being able to be spell even the simplest of words. Right then I was really nervous. I stared at the question for long time knowing that when I figured out what to say, I still wouldn’t be able to write it down and make it sound the way I wanted to. It seemed like I had been staring at the question forever. Anger at my inabilities and feelings of worthlessness threatened to overwhelm me. I was tempted to throw the application in the trash and walk out. Jade brought me to my senses. Without trying I would never know if I could go to college; without college our lives would never improve. I would be able to give Jade nothing better than my mother was able to give me. That wasn’t good enough, I would finish the application. I decided to tell the truth; there really wasn’t any other option. If I was going to be condemned for my past, so be it. I had nothing else to put down. Briefly, I described myself as a single teenage parent trying to improve mine and my daughter’s lives. The words didn’t flow easily. I was forced to stop and rewrite sentences when I realized that I couldn’t spell words I wanted to use. After finishing, I reread what I had written. The short paragraph sounded like a “Spot and Jane” reading primer but at least the words were correctly spelled. Embarrassed at my limitations, I gave the application back to the grey haired woman without looking her in the face, convinced that I was not going to get in. I waited while she checked the application over carefully and took copies of my supporting documents. When she returned with my originals, I thanked her but kept my head down worried that she might see the shame and disappointment in my face. Moving Jade to a more secure position on my hip I walked away. Before I was very far down the hall the woman called after me. Her voice sounded motherly, kind. I stopped, wondering what I had forgotten. I turned and looked towards her. She was leaning her plump body out the admission’s window and over counter in order to see me. There was a warm smile on her face. “Not too many young girls in your situation would do what you just did. I’m really proud of you. I think there is a good chance you’re going to get in.” She said giving me a wink. I stared at her warm brown eyes wondering if she really meant it, I could see she did. The hopelessness I was feeling lifted just a little. On the walk back to my car I stopped for a moment and let Jade down on the grass. Watching her uncertain steps, I thought about the woman’s words and allowed myself to fantasize about what it would be like if I got in; what it would be like if I became the first person in my family to go to college. As Jade pulled at the grass I stared at the buildings and imagined myself in them. Excitement welled inside me; fear of failure pushed it back. Picking Jade up I moved once again towards the car. On the drive home I was exhausted. My constantly battling emotions had drained me. All there was left to do was wait.
When a letter arrived from the university a few weeks later I stared at it a long time before I got up the courage to open it. My hands shook as I tore the envelop open. I scanned the letter quickly looking for the word “rejected.” It wasn’t there. Instead, I had been accepted for the following quarter. I was shocked. I had spent hours convincing myself that I would never get in. It was unbelievable that I had. My shock quickly gave way to elation. I jumped up and down screaming. I was going to college. I felt like I was the luckiest girl alive. Sitting down on my living room carpet, I wondered what the woman at the Admissions Office had done to help me get in. It seemed like she must have helped. I wondered how much my truthful description in the “What else should we know about you?” section swayed the Admissions Committee. Rather than feeling scorn because I was an ex-foster kid turned teen parent, did the committee find some virtue in that information, virtue that I had yet to see myself. Whatever the reasons for my acceptance, I knew I was being given the chance to start over; a chance I wasn’t going to waste. No matter how hard, I was going to do everything in my power to become the first person in my family to graduate college. By doing so, I was going to make mine and Jade’s lives worth living. No longer was I going to just be some poor ex-foster kid, another bad statistic waiting to happen.
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Excerpts from
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A Memoir by Lisa “Jean” Madden,© 2011
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