It's easy to get down on yourself, when you're a young guy with a Masters and no job. Your friends find gainful employment. Your classmates do too. And you get rejection letters. You even begin to talk yourself into believing that you have some idea what it's like to be poor. "Poor me," you think, "I sure would love to go see True Grit again, but I just don't have the cash. And wouldn't it be fun to watch the NFL playoffs this afternoon over a couple IPAs and some Parmesan garlic wings? If only I had the scratch."
And the you ride the bus to the pub. And it happens to pick up the better part of an adult ed class that just got out. And they're feeling talkative.
You find out that one guy is learning how to read so he can take the test for his GED. He's reading, according to his tutors, at a 2.5 grade level. And then you remember that you were reading at a third grade level when you were in kindergarten. This guy is your age or older. And you're ashamed. You're ashamed because you think you've got it tough. You're riding the bus because you can. For shits, really. Because your goddamn college ID gets you on free. And you had the nerve, the rank, brazen gall, to feel sorry for yourself because all your education hasn't landed you a proper job yet.
Do you want to see someone who's going to have it rough until the day they die? Stand around the checklanes at Wal-Mart for half an hour. You will see, eventually, a kid, no more than 18, carrying a box of diapers. Sometimes the girl will be with him, sometimes not. But they're not for his little brother, you're sure of that. That kid is screwed. Well and truly. And screwed in a way that I, nor anyone I know, will ever understand. Every day of his life he will struggle. And so will the girl. And so will their child.
Today I took a walk. It was cold. On the way I passed a bus stop, where a young woman was holding a baby in her arms. It was cold enough that my breath froze on my mustache. And they had half an hour to wait for the bus.
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