Blogging Outloud

It's hard starting over.  I do work study at Granite State College's Rochester Regional Center, where I answer phones, do filing and assist in the office in a variety of different tasks.   But the most important task I do is to greet the students.  Each student who comes through the door has a story to tell -- who they are; what they do; why they came back to school; how hard it is; what it costs for the babysitter; the support they receive; the obstacles they face.  Each story is important because to the person who is telling it -- it is their everything. 

A woman who walked into the office on the first night of classes this semester smiled at me as she waited for her turn to ask a question.  I smiled back as I directed the nice fellow in front of me to the room down the hall.  She was a middle aged woman, a little older than me, I guessed.  Everything about her said she was practical, and purposeful.  Her hair, her glasses.  Even the way she had her purse on her shoulder, and the way she carried a notebook in the crook of her elbow and held it  tight against her chest.   When the young man left the office area she stepped forward and said, rather succinctly, "I'm here to take Adult Education Math classes, could you tell where the Technology Center is?"

I paused momentarily thinking of the room assignments, and I must have had a confused look on my face because the woman began to speak again,

"Oh, I think I made a mistake, I am supposed to be at the Spaulding High School." she said smiling again.   Smiling myself, I remember the first time I walked into a University of New Hampshire System college, desperately trying to find my Freshman English class.  

"Well, we all have been there," I said to the woman who was still smiling. 

" I know exactly what I did; my daughter wanted to look at going here,"  she laughed.  "But my class is at the high school on the third floor."  

"You know, I 've done the very same thing...more times than I can count.  So once you get done with your class at Spaulding, you can come over to GSC."

"That's my plan.  First my daughter, then me,"  said the smiling woman.  As she started to turn toward the door I realized how much I appreciated her at that moment.  She told me very little with her words yet enough for me to know her story. 

"Wait," I said as I handed her our catalog.  "Take this with you.  You're gonna need it when you come back."