The plan was to carpool with Willie since his classes were similar to mine. He was a semester ahead of me but his time on campus was practically the same as mine, so it would work. I appreciated Willie because he cared and he was willing to help a guy like me catch a break. He had been there before, able-bodied and now with a challenge in life. He understood my life as few people could.
Mom wasn't too thrilled with the idea of me carpooling with wild Willie each day. He could sometimes be reckless, swore often and often still drove too fast. But he was a fun-loving, independent guy, the kind of role model I needed back then to bring me out of my shell. The CB radio started the process and Willie and college was continuing it. It would be up to me to make the most of this second chance.
My first day at the community college was also my very first day in a "regular' school with able-bodied students. It was a big adjustment. I had to get used to a desk, lockers, a blackboard and a teacher in front of me. I was changing classes on the fly instead of some kid unplugging the intercom box in school. It was tough enough getting used to college life, let alone getting adjusted to things students usually took for granted.
We started at a community college because, as Willie explained, it would be a good start to see if I really wanted to pursue my goal of being a Social Worker. I had to get into the routine of studying, taking exams, and academic stuff I had long forgotten back in high school.
I still worked part-time at the nursing home, trying to supplement my disability benefits with as little money as I could muster for expenses. Vocational Rehab helped out to a point. They wanted to see how I would do during my first semester before investing in me again, so they helped with textbooks. Mom helped me with the tuition, along with the combination of grants and student loans.
I did it the hard way. But that makes the ultimate goal even sweeter to achieve.
It was important to do well in my first semester. I took six classes in the fall of 1984. Eighteen credits. Was I crazy? I had to cram all of those courses into a few days to fit my schedule ( and Willie's).
I loved my courses, especially my Social Work and Psychology classes. All I did was study and attend classes now. A typical day was classes starting at 8 am. and not ending until 10 pm. at night. I would come home, study, catch some sleep, work the next day and study some more, then prep for classes the next day. That was my life for four years and I poured my heart and soul into it.
There was some time for fun, music and sports, as always. But this was my shot and I wasn't going to waste it.
Making friends was an adjustment as well. Often I ate lunch alone, shy to approach others, still not over that old complex. I quickly learned that I was the "different" one. I was the one who needed to introduce myself and prove I was like anyone else. I couldn't expect very many able-bodied students to take the initiative and start a conversation.
Later in life, even at work, until I made friends and proved I wasn't toxic, I continued to eat alone in the cafeteria or even sit alone in seminars. I had to force myself to break the ice but found that it got easier and easier.
Pretty soon my friends admitted that my chair was almost "invisible" after a while. I was seen for the person I was, not by the wheelchair or by my legs.
It's a tough barrier to break but it can be conquered by just being outgoing and friendly.
To my surprise I aced all my classes that first semester. I really was as surprised as anyone. College couldn't be this easy. And it wasn't. I put a lot of hard work and determination into it. Plus I liked it, unlike the course at Penn.
When Vocational Rehab saw the six A's they were more willing to help financially, which I was grateful to accept. I wasn't too proud not to accept it because I needed a helping hand, as we all do sometimes.
Most of all, the great first semester made me believe in myself. My confidence soared. I wanted more. I couldn't wait for the second semester to begin after the holidays. I started to believe. But my degree was still so far off. I needed to stay hungry. What worked in the first semester should work again in the second.
I tried not to stop and think too much. I just did it. From class to class, test to test, term paper to term paper. I didn't slow down, even during the holidays and summer breaks. I just kept pushing ahead, as if I was pushing my chair through snow. Tough sledding but in time you'll get there.
I survived bad weather, pushing my way across campus every school day, having my history book stolen, and the embarrassment of dropping everything- papers, books, personal items- right in the middle of the campus as I rushed to another class. But I did it. Somehow I did it.
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