She asked, tell me about your family.
Her father was Jewish, her mother, Methodist. Her brother always went to church. She always thought its what kept him through his life, his spiritual side. Sometimes a little too much in his journeys (700 Club period) but its kept him going through a life of type I diabetes. Both her mother and her older brother are now dead from that. She is surpassing their ages. Dem himself is 62 and optimistic, young-looking and going strong.
She asked, tell her about yourself, your school, your neighborhood.
She was eighteen. Young, neurotic and white. Could she tell this African-American woman, a young, confident woman, what that was like, much less tell anyone about herself? She was sad, angry, and confused as shit. And while they weren't poor, her family lived from month to month, pretty much. College was not a promoted option. She had to bring it up herself, cos the school had her go on a fair and she came back with a shopping bag full of brochures.
Her father looked at them and gave a shrugging-off laugh. “Heh, heh, I wish I could afford to send you to college, baby. Too bad you're not poor enough for financial aid.”
Too bad you couldn't give us any future navigation advice Dad, but, well, we never starved, always had a roof over our head, always had regular checkups. What more could or should we have asked for? She heard her parents stories of the depression. She was ashamed to ask for much.
to be continued