Vocational Rehabilitation got involved with my case. They hooked me up with a special training program they were sponsoring with the University of Pennsylvania. The course was Computer Programming and it was funded by Vocational Rehab and the Wharton School pf Business. Not too bad to have on a resume.
Back in the mid 1970s computers were scarce compared to today. Home computers were non-existent and even many businesses were foreign to computers. But it was a growing field and they promised a good-paying job at the end of the nine-month course.
I really wasn't interested. I was more of a people-person, never liked Math, and still wasn't completely sure about my direction in life. But what did I have to lose? I couldn't say no and didn't want to be branded as a loser or as a person with a disability who could work but didn't want to. Far from it.
So, despite my reluctance, I decided to try the course.
Each day Mom drove me to a parking lot in nearby King of Prussia to meet a van with ten or so other people with disabilities from around the area. It was like being back in grade school again, but different. These guys were all ages, all older, none in my age group. I could see, and listening to their conversations in the van, they were stuck in the same rut of life as I was. This was their chance to get a good job, make decent money, get off disability and, most importantly, earn respect and independence.
Still shy, I had a hard time making friends, so most of the time I remained silent. They talked about what they would do after the course was over, yearning for the chance to prove themselves. Some wanted pretty big things, such as a handicapped-accessible van or their own apartment, while others wished for the basics such as finally having a few bucks in their pocket for a movie.
I sometimes felt like an outcast, definitely socially inept and sheltered. These guys were a notch above where I was in society. Yes, we were in the same boat regarding our future, but my classmates that I traveled with daily seemed much more independent and world-wise than me.
I was still pretty isolated when it came to social skills, being outgoing and speaking up. Even the basics, approaching others for a conversation, seeking friendship, was hard to do.
I wanted to make my family proud, especially Dad, who really encouraged my independence and this opportunity. So I hung in there for several months, hating the lessons but trying to stick with it.
Our professor also had a disability, a middle-aged gentleman named Alvin. He was brilliant at what he did, despite the fact his thin, twisted body was racked with cerebral palsy. He sat in a wheelchair, wearing a crumpled suit and tie, and lectured every day for eight hours. I hated the commute of catching the van so early in the morning, getting home late at night, studying in the evening, then having to do the same thing all over again the next day.
That was reality. Others did it and were doing it. I was trying to learn a skill that I really had no interest in, so the entire process was even more difficult.
This was my first time in the real world. Things shifted from my health to my future . A different mindset.
The course was dry. We hardly ever actually saw or used a computer for weeks. Maybe if we had real computers to learn on everything would've made sense to me. Instead we basically talked about computers, what they do, how to access them and run them, and listened to droning lectures and read boring textbooks. It wasn't connecting with me, maybe because I was stupid to the material and maybe because I really didn't care.
After several weeks we took our first exam, and, not surprisingly, I flunked it. I had never failed a test before and I was petrified, admitting to not understanding the material. I remember shaking as I took the exam, knowing the outcome ahead of time.
I hated the city, ate lunch alone, which was my fault, as my classmates headed outside in the autumn weather, checking out female students walking by.
I didn't want to be deemed a quitter. I also didn't have another plan to fall back on. I was depressed and couldn't see a way out. I continued to fail as the course slowly moved toward Thanksgiving. My family thought I was doing great and having fun, happy that my future would be stable, grateful of this chance. Little did they know the truth. I didn't want anyone to know of my failures.
No way I would make it through the entire course, and even if I did, exactly what kind of a so-called Computer Programmer would I be?
I needed the Christmas holidays of 1976 to rest, catch my breath and get my act together. I dreaded returning to school after the break .The weather had turned nasty- bitterly cold, snowy days, which didn't make things any better.
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse they did, in a very unexpected way.
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