dignity

After the divorce, couch surfing at my friend Kate’s, through the wonder of Zoom, I interviewed for and was mostly offered a job in Encinitas, California – where I was headed – working with a young man with Down syndrome in his apartment and in the community. Just the formality of a face-to-face, which happened 1001 miles later, and I was a go. I went to the apartment right on the 101 and met the young man, other of his helpers, and the ins and outs of ‘the job.’

It turns out the kid had a host of serious medical complications, for which I’d have some monitoring responsibility. But, that wasn’t it. On the wall of his apartment was a calendar for the month of July (2021) completely filled in. What was going to happen (in his life), who was going to be there (in his life), when and for how long (in his life.) My youngest son has Down syndrome, and the thought of him – or anyone for whom support is a need – having life so regimented and predictable freaked me out. So me, like Rosa Parks, saying “Nah.” Which I did, giving notice from the kid’s parking lot just before my next shift.

Problem was, being all righteous and doing the right thing and sticking up for independence, the rent for the room I was now renting was $1000 a month more than my share of the mortage payment for the (now) ex-wife’s house back in Portland. I gave notice on a Friday. Two night’s later I sent off a Craigslist resume and “please check me out” email to another agency looking for staff to work with a married Down syndrome couple in their apartment. Kristen and James. Talk about (me) being looked after. I got a call the next morning, interviewed at a coffee shop with the head cheese a couple of days later, interviewed with the couple and both sets of parents in the San Marcos apartment, and was offered the job.

Which brings me to this. The day after the offer there happened to be a quarterly new-staff orientation on Zoom (Zoom again saving my ancient butt), and the Director of the program said this to all us – “We believe in the dignity of risk. That everyone we serve is going to say how it’s going to be for them, and see how that goes. Any problems are why we are there.” And impressing upon us these everyday opportunities I’m guessing lots of us take for granted – Belonging; Making choices; Being respected; Contributing; Sharing ordinary places.

It took me seven years to “earn” my four-year degree in Social Welfare, there were a lot of drugs involved, and about 40 more years to be as sure as sure can be that it’s always nothing other than walking back into the market place and asking, “How can I help?”