I sat in front of my worn-out Surface Pro and started the webcam. My first YouTube video was an uncomfortable mess, in my mind anyway. I played around with YouTube, and then I got serious. A year later YouTube monetized my channel.
It’s like everything else online. I have good months and not-so-good months. In my mind, it’s all good. My attitude has always been to have fun. I’m having fun on YouTube, but more important, is that I’m impacting people’s lives.
“On Good Authority put the idea into my head.
I read and respond to as many comments as I can. It’s humbling and gratifying that so many young people value what I have to say. Earlier this year, I read “On Good Authority” by Anna David.
The book is excellent, and the chapter on podcasts has been on my mind since I read the book. I have a new goal. I will be a guest on at least one podcast. I have proven that I have something to say that’s valuable to people. I took a speech class in college years ago. I also took a Dale Carnegie course.
I conquered the course, and I earned a few pens
The Dale Carnegie course was terrifying. The speech class was scary, but nothing like the Carnegie course. The point is, that I did well in both courses. I know I can be a good guest on the right podcast. Talking to millions of people online would be scary.
But, not as scary as the next item on my bucket list. I want to do a Ted Talk. I have been wracking my brain on how to practice. I was thinking I would need a picture mirror. I decided that wasn’t necessary.
I love watching Ted Talks, I want to be on stage
I will use my Surface Pro. It will be like creating YouTube videos. The only difference is that I will be standing up and pacing like they do on the Ted Talk stage.
The one thing I’m good at is communicating. I can talk and I can write. There’s no reason I can’t make it happen. If it doesn’t happen what have I lost? The important thing is exploring new things and having fun.
I’ll quit dreaming and trying new things when I’m dead
I’m sixty-four years old. I’m going to make up for lost time try new things and expand my mind and horizons. If things don’t work out, who cares? I will learn new things and grow as a person.
Final Thought:
We all need to pursue our dreams if we want to thrive. You might have had obstacles and hardships that held you back. Break out of the chains and go for it. There’s nothing worse than regret. You’re not too old or too young.
It must have distressed my parents when I was a baby when it was time to sit up, crawl, and walk. I didn’t reach those milestones when I was supposed to. My mom told me stories of how she would be in tears because I couldn’t understand how to tie my shoes.
My parents thought they had some clarity when the doctors diagnosed my Dyslexia. How surprised they would be if they knew. Years after they passed away I found out Dyslexia wasn’t my problem.
My brain is wired differently, not a big deal at all
It was an honest mistake, I guess. Missing benchmarks is also symptomatic of Dyslexia. The “ Brain Damage” trope my parents rammed down my throat also makes sense.
It makes sense because I was born with agenesis of the corpus callosum. The corpus callosum is a white matter tract. It connects the human brain’s two hemispheres.
It could be a problem, one side needs to know what the other is doing, I guess.
The corpus callosum allows the two hemispheres to communicate with each other. With agenesis, the corpus callosum doesn’t form, or The organ might not be there.
As you might imagine, when the two hemispheres of our brains can’t communicate with each other. There will be issues. It’s why I’m so clumsy and prone to messiness and disorganization.
It’s also why I overcompensate by doing things the same way, and it’s why I dislike change.
I grew up believing I was Dyslexic, but it appears that’s not true
Dyslexia and agenesis share a few of the same traits. Traits like sitting up and walking later than I should have. Having trouble learning to tie shoes is also a trait of Dyslexia and agenesis.
I thought it was interesting when I read the neuropsychologist’s report. It clearly stated that there was no evidence of Dyslexia. I had the symptoms. I understand how the doctors made the mistake when I was young.
ADHD is a common symptom of agenesis
I haven’t been diagnosed with ADHD. If I had I wasn’t told about it. I have some of the traits. ADHD is a common symptom of agenesis. I have always had trouble focusing and sitting still. When I was a child the doctors prescribed drugs to calm me down.
They threw the drugs away, I’m not sure it was the right thing to do
My parents threw the drugs away because they turned me into a zombie. I always wondered why I had a hard time sleeping at night. Insomnia is one of the symptoms. I read the myriad of symptoms and shook my head in amazement.
It was like reading the story of my life. A man is supposed to be able to assemble things work on an engine and change a tire. If you see me trying to change a tire get your phone out and record the show.
The video will go viral.
Anger and bitterness are wastes of energy, I’m trying hard to let it go
I spent most of my life bitter about my situation. I wondered why I had no talents or gifts. I was angry at my parents and God for putting me on the earth to take up space and not be good for anything.
I owe my late parents and my God an apology. I have the gift of writing and communicating. It took a lifetime to find those gifts, it took too long but I’m making up for lost time.
The past doesn’t matter, I’m doing better here and now
Bitterness served no purpose. The hand that I was dealt doesn’t matter. What matters is how I’m playing the cards I’m dealt with. I’m determined to make the later stages of my life the best part of my life.
Making peace with myself is the start of that journey.
Final Thought:
None of us are perfect. I’m finding out late in life the reasons I had so much trouble. It’s a struggle, but I’m doing my best to stop letting my limitations get me down. I’m working hard and I’m defying the expectations of doctors and family members.
Whatever limitation you have, keep fighting. Continue to learn and grow as a person. It will be harder for you than it is with other people, but the victory of overcoming will be sweeter. Whatever you do, don’t be bitter. I know from experience that bitterness will weigh you down and keep you from your goals.
While I was cleaning out my Google Cloud storage, I came across the results of tests I underwent by a neuropsychologist and his team. I used my cellphone to photograph each page. I included the report in the paperwork I sent to apply for Disability.
I knew deep in my heart that Dyslexia wasn’t my problem
It’s been interesting reading, and it’s given me a lot to think about. The thing that jumped out at me yesterday when I was re-reading the report. I grew up hearing my parents talk about my Dyslexia. I was nine years old when the doctors diagnosed me with a learning disability.
“ Such a profile of Academic performance is not consistent with a language-based learning disability such as Dyslexia.”
Excerpt from the report from the Neuropsychology tests
“What the Hell?” I thought, To hear my parents tell it, I had all the symptoms. They reinforced the thought. They blamed Dyslexia for every setback and failure of my adult life.
Never mind the fact that other Dyslexics have productive lives, my Dyslexia was worse, or some crap like that
It was the theme of my life growing up, “ You were born with Dyslexia and Brain Damage.” I grew so frustrated with it. I told my dad once, when I was in my twenties, “Not everything is about Dyslexia, Sometimes I f_ up like everyone else.”
I have heard other people talk about Learning Disabilities. “ I never let Dyslexia define me.” Well, isn’t that special? It was beat into my psyche from the minute I started school.
Mom wasn’t forthcoming, she flat-out lied
Mom and Dad were holding out on me. One day out of frustration. I asked my mom, “The Doctors must have diagnosed something other than Dyslexia. Other Dyslexics are successful, why am I having so much trouble? What did the Doctors tell you?”
“ I don’t remember.” my mom answered without looking me in the eyes. The only time I caught her in a lie. I was in my thirties at the time. At this point, It doesn’t make any difference.
I ask myself, “What difference does it make?”
I try to put it in perspective If I had known the extent of the cognitive issues I was born with, would I have given up? What should I have done? All I wanted was to have gainful employment and a family of my own. I never achieved those goals.
The thought of giving up never entered my mind. I was driven to work hard to show others I wasn’t feeble-minded and lazy. I also wanted to prove it to myself.
If I had known the truth, would things been different?
If I knew the truth what would I have done differently? I don’t know, but I suspect the knowledge would have been a crutch. I learned to work hard and never quit. If I had been a quitter I would have ended up where the doctors said I should be, in an institution.
Hopes and dreams are powerful. Would I have accepted it if I knew for sure that I wouldn’t get to where I dreamed of being? would I have muddled through life waiting for death?
In the past, I looked back and wondered what might have been, but what if it was never meant to be, to begin with? I’m not stupid. I have a writing talent. I proved that I’m a good communicator, and my growing YouTube channel has established that.
Better late than never, I guess
Why did it take so long to figure this out? The plan is to not worry about the timing. I am grateful I discovered my writing talent and I’m grateful for Medium and Illumination. The Illumination Publication and the Medium Platform have given me an outlet.
The question was, “Did a Wrong Diagnosis of Dyslexia hold me back?” I’m not sure it did. I’m also not sure what path I could have chosen that would have led to a fulfilled life.
I knew deep down Dyslexia wasn’t the whole story
I was diagnosed with Dyslexia at a young age. As I grew older I had the nagging feeling that Dyslexia wasn’t the reason for my dysfunction. I found out years later that my feelings were correct.
Knowing the truth has no practical benefit. I’m on disability and will never get fired from a job again. The information has given me a certain amount of peace, but I can’t help feeling angry and bitter.
I have a lot of time now to do what makes me happy
I’m not proud of that, but I always try to be honest when I write. There is a bright side. I have more time to write and make videos. My content entertains and helps people. It took a lifetime, but I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
My past has helped me be productive in the present and I provide value for people, so it’s all good.
Final Thought:
It’s hard to get out of the box life puts you in. Your hopes and dreams Life thwarts your dreams every chance it gets. Never lose hope. Keep trying to find your way and do what you can to be happy. If God wills it, you will get to where you’re supposed to be.
I walked across the floor that May evening in 1978, I was on cloud nine. I thought I had burned the crutches of “ He’s brain damaged, and he’s Dyslexic” to ashes.
Special Education left scars on my psyche
I had spent my grade school years and part of middle school in Special Education. Classmates would tease me because “He’s in the retard’s class.”
My self-confidence grew to the point that I did what a lot of my classmates did. I left the base in Japan and flew to the States a year before the rest of the family.
I was happy to be back with the family, but I was disappointed in myself
I failed and ended up moving back with my family when they came back to the States. I have tried every Federal and State job training and Rehabilitation Service.
I never could learn a Trade or keep a job. We were living in Florida after my most recent firing. That’s when my parents insisted I apply for a security guard job, because, “ anyone can be a security guard.”
I was on the edge for a long time
I went through some things. I had been hiding my mental health issues for years. I couldn’t hide them when I became homeless. I now have another label that I never wanted to have, I’m Disabled.
Being on Disability goes against everything my parents taught me. I felt guilty at first, but now I take advantage of it. I can do what I want to do.
I can write and be me
I don’t have to pay attention to the whispers of how slow I am, or the comments about how lazy I am. I’m not lazy, and I’m not slow, I’m deliberate.
There is no one to tell me I can’t be a writer. If my dad were alive, he would shake his head in disbelief. I took a creative writing class and did well in it.
He would be amazed and proud of me
He would also be amazed that I write and publish online and people enjoy what I write. I’m sixty-two years old, and I’m erasing the labels that were chains that bound me most of my life.
My adulthood was stunted. I wasn’t able to get out on my own like I was supposed to. I have done a good job of making up for the lost time.
I have new labels now, labels that I have chosen for myself. I am a husband, I am an uncle. I’m a writer and a good man. I will never let anyone define me again.
They will try to put you in a box:
Parents, teachers, and Vocational Rehab caseworkers tried to put me in a box. I’m free of the box. If you have Learning Disabilities or Mental Health issues, fight the real enemy.
Rise above the whispers and low expectations. Find your path and follow it. Don’t allow others’ lack of faith to get you down.
In the early 200s, I worked enough overtime as a security guard to afford a weekend in Cancun. I was in my forties and it would be my second trip alone. One of the things I wanted to do was go to “COCO BONGOS” I saw a segment on the Travel Channel and I had to check it out for myself.
After a day of drinking on the beach, I went to my hotel room and got cleaned up. COCO BONGOS was a short walk from my hotel. I walked there to see when it opened.
Long Island Iced Teas are awesome
The place didn’t open until 9:00 P.M. An American Doorman was working outside of the club. He talked me into buying an all-I-could-drink pass. I bought the pass and killed time at the hotel bar and The Hard Rock Cafe.
I arrived back at COCO BONGOS early. There was a line that stretched for quite a distance. Inside the club patrons filled all the best seats. I walked up the stairs to the last remaining nosebleed seat.
My waiter was at my side right away. “ What are you having tonight sir?” He asked. I told him I had been drinking all day and I wasn’t sure what I wanted. He suggested a Long Island Iced Tea.
I had no idea how much I paid for the All I Could Drink Pass
I had an unlimited drink pass. I was half-lit before the show started. I have no idea when I left the club, or how I made it back to my hotel room alive. I’m still amazed that I woke up the next morning early with hardly any hangover.
I thought about that night when I watched the News footage of Riley Strain stumbling down the street. The National News reported that the bar is under investigation for overserving him.
They should have called the cops, Riley would have woke up sick, but alive
I don’t understand why the staff kicked him out of the bar. If he was causing a problem, why didn’t they call the cops and have him spend the night in the drunk tank?
Throwing Riley out alone when he had trouble standing up because he was trashed, is irresponsible. I know that Riley should have been careful, but I was a kid once, so I can’t judge him too hard.
Spring Break is motivated by greed and should be outlawed
The Bouncers should have sat Riley down somewhere and called the cops or Paramedics. The whole thing upsets me. I can’t wrap my head around how it must hurt to bury a son so young.
What purpose does Spring Break serve anyway? It’s time that cities stop rolling out the Red Carpet every Spring. I know Spring Break is fun, if I was young and had the money, I would have partied with the best of them.
They’re in college, but they’re still kids
Kids will be kids. As Adults, we must do what we can to help them survive college. A mistake cost Riley Strain his life. Let us do what we can to stop more tragedies from occurring.
One day I was talking to my mom. It was before she passed away, so I was in my thirties. We were talking about my issues, the fact that I couldn’t keep a job until I started working as a security guard.
“ Come on mom, there are Dyslexics that are keeping jobs, why am I the only one that can’t?” It didn’t register then, but looking back, I know she was holding out on me.
She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, she never avoided eye-contact before
“ Surely the Doctors found other things wrong, there has to be something else going on.” I looked at mom silently pleading with her to tell me the truth.
“ They diagnosed something else, but I don’t remember what it was.” She wouldn’t look at me when she said it. At the time, I thought my mom was perfect it never occurred to me that she wouldn’t ever tell me the truth.
As one Vocational Rehab counselor told me, “ Dyslexia isn’t your problem.”
I had problems. Dyslexia was the obvious one. I found out years after mom and dad died, that the problems were more extensive than mom and dad let on.
I never could get out on my own. At first, it was because I couldn’t keep a job. I couldn’t learn what I needed to learn fast enough, or once I learned it, I was too slow.
Mom and dad were always insisting that I join these programs
I lost count of the Vocational Rehabilitation programs I completed. I would complete the programs with hope and new confidence, only to be knocked down again.
I was in my fifties; and homeless in Minneapolis. I had State Insurance, so I was able to receive care from a Psychotherapist. She arranged for me to get tested.
I was in my fifties when I found out the truth
After years of confusion and self-pity. I found out there are reasons that I have so much trouble. It also dawned on me that mom and dad knew the extent of the problems, but they wouldn’t tell me.
I underwent Neuro-Psychological testing. The testing was supposed to last a full day, but they stopped before noon. I was too stressed out. They were probably concerned that I would have another Stroke or a nervous breakdown.
Things make sense now
I was upset when I received the results, but I was also relieved. I’m still confused about why my parents didn’t tell me the full truth. I guess they did but in their own way.
Looking back, not a day went by, “ you’re Dyslexic, Lawson, and you were born with Brain Damage.” Mom and dad meant well. They loved me.
They were repeating what the Doctors told them in the early sixties. When I looked at the Brain-scans with the Doctor in Minneapolis, I learned the real diagnosis.
Not Brain-Damaged so much, but Brain-different
“ You’re brain is Interesting.” He said; as he pointed to the C-scan picture. He told me every way that my brain” is wired differently.” I’m not Brain-Damaged at all.
I have a High School Diploma, I have a few years of college. I was reading college level before I was in High School. I’m not Brain-Damaged, I’m different.
They meant well
Mom and dad tried to help me. I was always pushed into programs that they thought would help.
That stopped when mom died. Dad wanted me to be a security guard forever. He didn’t think I could do anything else. He damned sure didn’t believe for a minute that I could live on my own without help.
Obviously, my dad was correct
History shows that my dad was right. Eight years after he died, I was homeless.
I’m confused, and I don’t know what to think of any of this. If I had known the full truth, would it have made any difference? was I fated to be homeless for almost three years?
Would knowing have changed things?
I wonder if I would have been kinder to myself. More forgiving if I had known the truth all those years, years that I struggled to learn and keep a job?
None of this matters now. All the mental health and Learning Disabilities issues came to a head in Minneapolis. I’m on Disability now.
I no longer have to worry about it
I no longer have to worry about getting fired, and I don’t have to hear the whispers of co-workers. Co-workers who thought I was lazy and trying to get out of doing my job.
My life is good now. Every once in a while I think about what might have been. Every once in a while, I wish my parents were still alive so I could ask them questions.
Final Thought:
Worrying about the past is fruitless. Forgive your parents. They were human and did the best they could, and if the thoughts and memories get too much, write about them. You will feel so much better after you get it out of your system.
My name’s Lawson Wallace, I’m a 63-year-old married man. I live in South Carolina with my wife Olivia. A woman I met on Facebook. I’m the oldest son of an Air Force Enlisted man. I write on Medium.com and I’m a senior editor for Illumination Integrated Publications.
My dad’s duties in the Air Force required a lot of travel. We lived all over the States, and we spent quite a bit of time in Japan. I graduated from high school at Yokota Air Force Base.
We lived all over the Country. We also spent time in Japan.
The traveling continued after my family moved back to the States. I’m hoping I will stay in South Carolina for a long time, but I will not lose sleep if I have to move someday.
I’m on Disability, so I have a lot of time to write when my wife allows it. My goals as a writer are, to make a living with my words. I make enough writing on Medium to buy a book for my Kindle every month.
I want to use Medium to pivot into new writing gigs.
I would like to pivot away from Medium and make money with other platforms. That’s why I have a Substack newsletter and a YouTube channel where I talk about my writing.
The ultimate goal is exposure, I want writing gigs, I know I can be an asset, and I need to find clients that I will be a good fit with. I’m confident I will do that.
In no particular order, here are my top twenty stories
I’m not afraid to document my mistakes. I have submitted my writing to magazines, only to get rejection letters. I ordered The Writer’s Market, I looked through it and found out why my writing was rejected. I wrote a story about it.
Sometimes, I voice strong opinions, this story is a commentary on current events. It received a lot of views and reads. It shows that commenting on controversial topics pays off.
I’m White, and I’m married to a Black woman. We have a good relationship. I write about our lives sometimes. Whenever I write about our marriage, the stories do quite well
This is a story I’m proud of, I was accepted as a writer for The Writing Cooperative. This was the first, and so far, the only story I have submitted to them. It was accepted right away. It’s one of my favorite stories.
I live in a delightful apartment complex. The neighbors feel the need to slam their doors as hard as they can. There are other issues with the neighbors, so I’m sure there will be other stories written.
My most well-received stories come out when I allow myself to be vulnerable. I wrote this story to get something off my chest that had been eating at me for a while. I felt much better after writing it.
When I was a kid, I and my family lived in Japan for a number of years. My dad was stationed there twice. During our first tour there, my parents moonlighted as English teachers. We became friends with a lot of Japanese people. We had opportunities to go to Japanese bathhouses on occasion.
Not only am I married to a black woman, but she’s also a lot shorter than I am. Even though we live in the American South, we haven’t had too many issues, although there have been some funny moments.
Another story that received a lot of comments. I don’t see the logic in dragging down rich people. Rich people create businesses that employ people like me. Dragging them down will not lift anyone up.
Another angry story. Census takers are still knocking on my door to this day. They ask the same questions and get the same answers. I have filled out and sent three completed census forms, but they can’t figure that out yet.
Let me start off by saying that I didn’t go outside until the cops and ambulance left the scene. I have enough sense not to go outside when there’s a gunfight in front of my apartment. A badly worded sentence in the story caused confusion.
When I was in my late teens-early twenties, I lived with my grandparents for a year, after I left Japan. The house was creepy, to say the least. I shared a true incident of a night that freaked me out.
Another early story was the first one where I wrote about how I met my wife. It’s short and to the point. I have written several stories about our relationship.
A story about bad memories coming back to cause pain. This is one of many stories I wrote about being homeless. As the years go by, the memories fade, so I don’t write about as much as I did, but memories and stories return at the oddest times.
Homeless shelters can be dangerous places. I tried hard to be invisible, but that didn’t stop close calls from happening. I almost was hurt a few times. I’m fortunate and blessed that I was able to get out of that life.
After months of no privacy, trying to sleep in a cavernous room with bunks inches from mine. After having to find a place to go before sun-up when the security goons threw us out into the street.
It was an upgrade
I thought I was in paradise four months later. The caseworkers found me a room at a transitional housing apartment. It was a small room with no running water, and having food or cooking in the room was not allowed.
The bed was a thin rubber mattress. It was on a wooden box. There was a small desk with the most uncomfortable plastic chair created. I was in paradise.
The neighbors were a trip
It was often hard to sleep at night. The guy living above me would wake up around the time I went to bed. He would turn on his TV as loud as possible.
I was the only man in the building who could close a door without slamming it. The restroom and showers were down the hall. The guy two-doors down from me had Parkinson’s Disease. His tremors and shakes were so bad. You couldn’t walk too close to him because he might hit you.
He had a reason for peeing all over the restroom floor, but the other guys were drunk or stoned.
Maybe it was a good thing the volume was too high
The guy right next door on one side loved to watch porn with the volume at full blast. One guy that lived down the hall would have heated arguments.
He would yell in his room for hours
I at first thought he had Internet access, and he was arguing with someone online. He was arguing with himself. There was no smoking allowed in the building. The smokers would be up and down all night. Slamming their doors as they headed downstairs to go outside to smoke.
Minneapolis is a neat city to walk around and explore
I would spend my days napping or writing in my room. If I was going stir-crazy, I would walk the skyways, or head to the library, or take the light rail to The Mall of America.
The shelter had a park for the residents. I spent the summer days in the park. I would drink with my neighbors and watch the pretty office workers as they walked by.
I would watch and listen to my neighbors. I discovered that no matter how bad my situation was, I was in a lot better shape than a lot of other people.
We talked for two years before we met in person
I had met a woman online. We had a plan to get me out of Minnesota and to get me to South Carolina to be with her. We talked all the time on the phone and online.
I had State Medical Insurance, Which was a good thing because I had some physical and mental health issues. The Hospital and Allergy Clinic was a short walk away.
I was coming back to myself
I had lost all my confidence and self-worth. The two years I spent at transitional housing did a lot to get me back to the man I was before I became homeless.
That time in my life will stick with me forever. I have regained the confidence I lost, but I still live in fear of becoming homeless again. I’m glad that God brought a good woman into my life.
I learned the hard way that I can’t do it alone. I’m so happy I have a wife with a good head for managing money. I listen to her because I never want to be homeless again.
Final Thought:
When things seem bad, hang in there and keep going forward. If you keep the faith and hope alive you will get through the dark times. Having someone who cares helps a lot as well.
After spending three months upstairs at the shelter, in a room with ten other guys I got my room. I was living in a transitional housing facility.
I had my room, but there was no water in the room, and a fridge and stove were not allowed. The last summer I was there I started to get bored with being there.
You would say it was an error in judgment, and you would be right
I began hanging out in the park by the building. The shelter owned the park. It wasn’t long before I was drinking with my neighbors. I never had a drinking problem.
I had promised myself that I wouldn’t drink while I was on the street, but I let my guard down. I never got drunk. I never caused a problem.
I was feeling good and having fun
One evening, I went to the park. it was a nice night, and the tables and benches were full. There was a spot left at a table. I sat down at a table full of women.
I said, “ Hey,” they all said, “Hey,” then one of them passed me a can of soda. That contained a little soda and a lot of vodka. We were having a good time until Olivia called.
How did she know?
I don’t know how Olivia does it, but she can read my mind. She knows when I’m trying to get over, and I get busted every time. It’s like she smelled my breath through the phone.
We had a chilly, and short conversation. I went back to my room, and she called me back. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t so mad about the drinking.
I got chewed out, she was unhappy, for some reason
She was pissed because I was drinking with women. I apologized and said I would never do it again. I kept my word. I would have a drink with the guys, but I never sat and drank with the women after that night.
I shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t drink while I was homeless. I had my own room, so I guess I became too comfortable.
Boredom and loneliness will get you in trouble
Anyway, I never sat and drank with women again. The only reason I did that night, was it was the only place to sit. I was also bored and lonely.
Olivia didn’t worry about me drinking with the guys, she didn’t approve, but she could deal with it. She wasn’t down with me drinking with the women.
Women have radar:
My advice is never to try to get something past the woman in your life. They know you better than you think, and you will get busted.
On my last day at the shelter, I went downstairs and ate breakfast, then I went upstairs and packed. I sat and waited for the caseworker to come upstairs and take me to transitional housing.
It was an ugly building, but I didn’t care
My new home was an ugly eight-story building in downtown Minneapolis. I got my stuff out of the back of the caseworker’s car, I needed to get a cart to haul all my crap. I entered the building, there was a window just inside the entrance where a black woman sat at a desk. She introduced herself and led me to a table, we sat down and she pulled papers from a folder. I spent several minutes signing papers and listening as she laid down the rules.
There are always rules
With that done, I was given a tour of the building, then another resident lead me to the laundry area on my floor, all my clothes had to run through the dryer in a futile effort to kill the bedbugs.
It was the first time that I was alone in months
I spent the rest of the day in my room napping. There was no WIFI or running water and having food and cooking in the rooms was against the rules. I slept until near lunchtime, then I headed downstairs to the dining room. “The food is better here.” I thought as I ate my lunch. I finished eating and went back to my room. That first night alone in my room, I couldn’t sleep. The sores from the bedbug bites I sustained at the other shelter were itching and driving me nuts.
Too excited to sleep, or it was probably the long nap
The bedbugs and excitement about being in a new place kept me awake most of the night. “The food is better.” I thought as I ate lunch. During the week, there was a cold breakfast, a choice of cereal or toast, and bagels. Lunch and dinner were hot meals, but there was a hot breakfast on weekends.
I spent a lot of time in the computer room
I ate breakfast, then I decided to check out the computer room. I had to sign in and give the employee at the desk my driver’s license, then she led me to the computer room and logged me into a computer.
Several computers were in use, folks streaming videos, or on Facebook. I checked my email, then I logged on to Facebook and talked to Olivia for an hour or so. I was still beat down from the shelter, but I needed to get out and explore the area and get things done.
I got out and explored Minneapolis
The third day, I felt a lot better, I found out where the transit office was, I bought a bus pass, I then headed back to the post office to check my mail. Olivia sent me a DVD. I watched the movie and went to bed early. My room was small, with no running water and an awful bed, but it did have a small desk and the most uncomfortable chair on earth, made from plastic. I didn’t care, I wrote almost every day.
I worked on the novel I will never finish
The next day, I met with a caseworker and a nurse to discuss my medications and my health. I spent the rest of the day on Facebook and in my room writing. After about five days, people started to introduce themselves and the seeds of friendships were planted.
The Staff took care of me
My caseworker arranged for the shelter to buy me some much-needed glasses. I started to get out and explore the area. I quickly fell in love with downtown Minneapolis. The shelter was close to the library, and a Barnes and Noble’s was closer still. My book collection grew. Everything was great, but not having a phone was a pain in the ass.
We had never met in person, but she sent me a phone
“How would you like me to send you a phone?” Olivia asked me one day. I wasn’t surprised, she had been sending me money for months. I told her having a phone would be awesome. I walked across town to the post office by the other shelter to get it. I walked back to the shelter and spent the rest of the day syncing music, I loved that phone. I spent the next few days going from WIFI hotspot to WIFI hotspot downloading free music and posting on social media.
My first case manager was useless
I was assigned a case manager, I was supposed to see him forty-eight hours after I moved into the shelter. I think I met him a month later. I discovered quickly how big a piece of shit he was, but he was worse than I knew. My case manager did the little things to pad his reports, He first took me to get a replacement for my worn and tattered Social Security card, the next day he took me to the DMV to get my State Identification card. The people at the DMV wanted to see my Birth Certificate, but I didn’t have it with me. Kenny took me back a week later after I found the Birth Certificate in my overnight bag.
The Skyways fascinated me
When the Caseworker left me alone, I spent my days either in my room or exploring the Skyways. I would also take a short walk to the library. The library was fun to go to. It was a better experience being there and not having to worry about dozing off. We received our General Assistance money on the first. Most of my neighbors spent their money on booze and drugs. The Park next to the shelter would be a party zone for a few days, then it would die down as the money ran out.
I would get necessities, snacks, laundry detergent, and clothing. I always had money left over. I also spent a lot of time at the Book store. I always managed to stop by the coffee shop and buy a Mocha or Latte.
Two years after we starting talking, we finally met
Time went by, Olivia and I had been talking for two years. One day Olivia called me, “Hey babe, how would you like for me to come to Minneapolis for a few days?” The smile I had when I heard those words damned near split my skull in half. We talked some more, then we both got busy. I couldn’t just leave the shelter for the weekend. I had to get a pass from my case manager, while Olivia booked a hotel room. I was so excited; I was ready to explode. The funny thing was, I wasn’t nervous at all. I packed my overnight bag the night before I left. The next morning, I walked the few blocks to the light-rail station heading to the Airport.
The Next Chapter:
We finally meet in person.
Life after Minneapolis
Lawson lives in South Carolina with his wife Olivia. It has been four years since he left Minneapolis. His life is a lot better now.
Lawson's Lair 