“Be Kind To Us In Your Blog.”
I blinked back tears, best I could, as I turned to leave. I really had nothing left to say. Be kind to us in your blog, he said. I turned to him, looking him in the eye…
Father Luke, the man said. I’ve been wanting to meet you. I’m a fan of your writing. Not exactly the the greeting I’d anticipated. This began my moment with the workforce scholarship decision committee. Depending upon the outcome of this meeting, I would be starting school under a workforce scholarship or I would be continuing my efforts to earn the money necessary to educate myself.
You’ve found my two internet sites, I said to the man. Yes we have, he said. Have a seat.
I pulled a chair away from the table and made myself at home. Easy, really, when you have no home.
Then questions. Questions and questions. Then more questions. There were some facts presented. I had been a bit off in my statistics, erring in the side of stinginess. But… ahh… I’d represented myself accurately. I’m a word guy. I’d left the math to others. You see, nearly 150 would be served in Fresno this year by money Workforce Connection received as an allotment from the Honorable Governor Schwarzenegger. They’d done their homework on me.
How prepared are you to work away from home, on the road, for many days at a time?
Why should you like to drive truck, they asked.
Would you finish school?
Understand clearly: this meeting was to determine if I would be granted a scholarship to attend trucking school on the dime of all Californians with monies from a Federal level; money which had come, a portion at a time from all Americans, and designated for my private use by The Honorable Governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger.
All of America was watching me. The United States of America was… is listening to my responses to questions. Then the questions were over. I was asked to leave the room to await a decision.
I felt ill.
The man who had read this blahg, and my writing website , came to fetch me. I stood in the room at the table. My fingers lingered on the polished dark wood. The coolness of the table against my sweaty fingers left little shadows of vapor on the table.
Father Luke you are going to Truck Driving School.
I blinked back tears, best I could, as I turned to leave. I really had nothing left I was able to say.
Be kind to us in your blog, the man said. I turned to him and looked him in the eye. He smiled. Yes, sir, I said. I intend to do just that. I shook his hand and I left the office.
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Okay,
Father Luke
