Excerpt from Chapter 10: Crossroads at the Overpass
Friday, August 15, 2014 at 10:59PM That day, I went to go speak to my guidance counselor about college, as all seniors doing that were college-bound. As I approached his office, I was overwhelmed with the various college pennants that proudly covered the landscape of the walls, from Harvard to UMASS to Worcester State College. I felt like I was standing at the doors of a college admissions office, and on the other side was my dream becoming reality. I teared up with inspiration and was grateful that I would be able to go through the process.
“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” I enthusiastically said. “I had a dream about going to college, and I wanted to talk with you about how you can help me apply and get accepted.”
My guidance counselor looked across the desk at me and told me words that even to this day send shivers down my spine. “I hate to tell you this, Douglas, but I don’t think college is for you. You are just not college material.” For a moment, I thought I was dreaming again, but I wasn’t.
“Excuse me? I don’t understand. Don’t you advise and help all students who want to get into college or just those who fit a certain profile?” I was clearly defensive.
“Listen, Douglas,” he said, “your family is facing extraordinary challenges right now. I heard that you are working and that is what you need to do. You need to support them by keeping that job, by making money so you can help your family get off the streets. Your mom is also pregnant, right? Wouldn’t you agree that you have other emerging things in your life to work on first that are more important than going to college?”
I nodded mutely.
“You need to be the man of the house. College is for other kids. You are doing what you need to do right now—working!”
I was devastated. On one hand, I knew my guidance counselor was right: staying home and finding a job nearby was a viable option. But I was dying for someone to recognize that I was college material and just needed a chance. Academically, I felt that my grades and extracurricular activities were strong enough to gain college admittance, but I did not know anything about the process or where to begin. And all I heard that day was “Don’t even try.”
Depressed and hopeless, I decided to stop off at a church that was on the same bus route as the motel. I was hoping to find someone to talk to, anyone who might contradict my guidance counselor’s advice and assure me that I was college material. As I reached the intimidating twelve-foot-tall doors of the church, I knocked, praying that someone would respond. To my surprise, a blue-eyed, red-cheeked, Irish-looking man dressed in a classic black pastoral robe opened the door. When he saw me, his open expression changed to one of mistrust, perhaps even instinctive dislike.
“What do you want and who told you to come here?” he demanded.
My first thought was to tell him that Jesus sent me, but then I said, “Excuse me, sir, but I just need someone to talk to. I am currently homeless and staying with my family in a motel. My dream is to go to college, but my guidance counselor just told me that I wasn’t college material.” The pastor blinked once. “If it is God’s will for you to go to college, then He will make it so.” As he finished his last words, he slammed the big door right in my face.
That’s it? That’s all he has to say to me? God’s will? Angry and confused, I walked back to the motel with my head down. Was it God’s will for my family to be homeless? Was it God’s will for us to be sleeping in a run-down room, sharing beds with one another? Why did I have to go through this? First, my friends in school turned their backs on me, then my guidance counselor told me I wasn’t college material, and now even the church closed its doors on me. Nothing good would ever come from this, I thought. What was the point in trying? I retreated inward like never before, hating myself, hating my family, hating my guidance counselor, and hating school.
I decided not to go back to the motel but instead, I would spend the night at Elm Park down the street from my high school. It was not a very big park; you could see from one side to the next. It was centered in a residential community, so many families spent time there after work playing with their children. When I was little, we played there as well. I sat on one of the benches, almost in a trance over the events of the day, replaying the conversations I had earlier with my guidance counselor. As the sun went down, the wind chill of a New England night came upon me; I needed to find a place to sleep that would protect me from the elements. I made my way over one of the bridges in the park and decided to sleep under the bridge. I did not sleep at all that night, between the stray dogs barking and the police sirens blaring through the park. The hard dirt and smell of urine under the bridge made me feel like I was sleeping in a cesspool, but it didn’t matter; at that point, my life had become a cesspool.
The next day, I wandered through the park, unable to take the chaos of my own thoughts anymore. I crossed over a freeway overpass that I frequently used during my daily walks to the bus stop, and had the thought that jumping into ongoing traffic would be a quick and easy way of ending my suffering. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the overpass, and what seemed like a dream was actually reality: I was climbing over the barrier and getting ready to drop into the cars rushing past below. The only thing I could hear was the racing of my heart, just as loud and fast as the cars passing by underneath me. Images of growing up passed by: my mom getting beaten up by my father, me being bullied, staying back in school, being told that I had delusions of grandeur, watching Joe make an ass of himself, and being told I was not college material. Just jump, my thoughts whispered, and then you will no longer feel any pain. Just jump. You have come too far to turn back know. I closed my eyes, feeling a swoon of vertigo as a gust of wind rocked me. And then I heard a voice. Someone called out to me.
My eyes flew open. Standing just ten feet away from me was a raggedly-dressed white homeless man with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and what looked like a weathered bible in the other. I snapped out of my trance, curious as to what he was saying to me and why he was talking to me in the first place. I will never forget what I heard next.
“Hey, man,” he called out. “Jesus loves you. He told me that He has a plan for you, brother. He has hope and a future for you! Let me show you what I’m talking about,” he said, pointing to his bible with the pages almost falling to the ground.
I wasn’t sure if the guy was drunk or just plain crazy, but what he said was exactly what I needed to hear. Plan, hope, future . . . words I had sought from school and from church and which had seemed absent in my life just moments before. I was hungry for them. I couldn’t jump when someone was ready to offer me some hope.
I climbed over the barrier and walked over to the homeless man. Without acknowledging what we both knew I was about to do, he turned his bible to Jeremiah 29:11. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Out of all the scriptures in the bible, that one was written especially for me.
All my life, I grew up witnessing my mother talking to Jesus and not understanding the difference it was making in her heart and in our lives. However, at this moment, it was clear to me that Jesus was now talking with me. I felt so comfortable talking with this homeless guy that I shared with him my story and my situation. We both shared something in common—we both were living on the streets, but, unlike me, he was filled with joy and peace and was content with where he was in his life.
“Man, I have been on the streets for years, and what I learned is that life is what you make it, young man. God did not get you this far to let you down.” Together, we sat on the side of the street, looking up at the overpass, reading the bible, and finishing off his bottle of Jack Daniels.
Order your copy today from Amazon by clicking on the link below: