Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [85]
Rhonda had prayed for guidance. She had stopped working nights, because the children were getting into too much trouble when she was away. They would do their homework, but they also had friends over in their mother’s absence. Baby-sitters were often hard to come by. The good ones were always busy, and the not-so-good ones ate too much. She held onto her welfare benefits just for times like this when she needed to be home more. But that meant going to the welfare office.
It was a dismal, nasty place, where people got paid to find ways to treat other people like animals. Rhonda always showed up on time. She wore the same outfit she always wore when she went to be recertified for benefits: cheap jeans, a white sweatshirt, and sneakers. She always had the required papers with her, and that helped to make the trip a little more bearable. Not pleasant, but bearable.
There was a big commotion going on in the welfare office when Rhonda arrived. A client was cursing, a caseworker was screaming. Everyone was watching and waiting for someone to throw the first punch. Rhonda sat down next to the two women who were arguing. Several more people got involved in the controversy, including the woman Rhonda was scheduled to see. As she watched, she vowed to herself that she would find a job, or perhaps go back to school. But she would not spend the rest of her life coming in and out of places like this.
A caseworker in the middle of the room began shouting at a client, “All of you welfare mothers are just alike. Someone should take you all, put you on your knees, blindfold you, and shoot you! What you do to your children is criminal. You should all be shot!”
“I wonder if she thinks she’s talking about me?” Rhonda thought aloud. “I am not a ‘welfare mother’! I’m outta here!” Rhonda didn’t wait to see her caseworker. She gathered her papers and left. She talked to herself all the way to the bus stop. “I’m outta here! That’s it. I’m done. When they start talking about shooting people, shooting poor people, I’m gone!” She boarded the bus. She was furious. “How dare she! She must be related to Grandma, talking to people like that!” Rhonda thought how tenuous the temporary-job market was, and fear crept into her voice. “How am I going to feed my children, pay my rent, buy shoes!” Realizing that she was talking out loud, Rhonda looked around the bus at the people who were now staring at her. That’s when she saw the advertisement: If you are ready to change your life, come to Medgar Evers College. Rhonda got off the bus at the next stop and transferred to the bus that would take her to the campus. Twenty minutes later she was standing in the admissions office of Medgar Evers College, filling out an application.
Rhonda discovered that she was not at all stupid. After taking the placement test, she was told that she did not need to take remedial classes. There was an angel in the financial aid office who told her how to fill out the applications in order to get the maximum benefits. There was another angel in the registration office who told her how many credits to take and how to fit all of her classes into four nights. Armed with piles of papers about returning to college, study habits, how to write term papers, and child-care services,