24 years old

Every once and a while I'm reminded by my job how fortunate I am to be me... to have parents who support me... to have a job that I love and that provides me with the funds to live comfortably... to have the freedom to travel and explore childhood dreams... to have a healthy home in which to live... to be responsible only for myself.

Today I met with a young woman who lives a life completely different from mine although we are both 24 years old and live less than a mile apart. She is the de facto head of her family of seven- her mother, twin 16 year old brother and sister, and her 3 children (1, 4, and 6). She works part time for what I assume is minimum wage and lives in a trailer that is infested with termites and rapidly falling apart. She entered my office so emotionally drained that you could read it on her face and in her body language. In her arms, she carried her squirming 1 year old son.

She talked of feeling hopeless, "needing hope." She spoke of her attempt to provide more for her family by seeking a better paying job and then finding herself without the needed support from the Food Stamps program. She told me about her mother's lack of commitment in caring for her siblings one of which is mildly mentally disabled and her mother's plan to leave Baldwin and her children to fend for themselves. She described the loss of her grandmother several months ago who until that time was the head of her family. I could see that her grandmother, like both of mine, loved her so completely, supported her, and had provided her (even at her death) with all that she was able. She was overwhelmed with the responsibility she now had to provide her family with a safe home, basic physical needs, and emotional support. It was evident that she was attempting to fill the space left by her grandmother. And was searching for whatever help she could find. As she made a list of the items that she and her family needed, I held her son and thought about how different my 24 years had been from her own.

Today I understood more fully, almost personally, the injustice that put her in this position. The injustice of being born into poverty and at once entering into a cycle which few overcome. The injustice of a nutritional service program that instead of rejoicing with the small success of finding a job with better wages or benefits practically punishes individuals by withdrawing all support. The injustice of a child welfare system that is so overwhelmed by cases families with absentee parents sometimes remain unaddressed. The injustice of a economically segregated public education program that does not provide those in most need with the skills necessary to survive. Today I gathered donated supplies from our depot on campus and shopped for food staples to give to this young woman while feeling like I was really just putting a band aid on a cut that required sutures. And I wondered what more I could do.

Just, Margaret.