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Tuesday, 27 May 2008

Stumbling Blocks

By Linda of Velvet Sacks

For one year in the early '80s, I volunteered as an adult literacy tutor through the "Operation Upgrade" program in Baton Rouge. The student assigned to work with me was Leland (not his real name). He was a handsome young man, 28 years old, who earned his living working on road crews. He'd made it through the 10th grade without learning to read. "Coach took care of his athletes," he said.

Leland wanted a better job. He had a baby daughter from a relationship that had ended, and he wanted to be able to read to her. He wanted a stable relationship with a good woman who could be proud of him. He wanted a lot of things, and he knew that the first step toward meeting his goals was to learn to read.

I could write a lot about our twice-a-week lessons, but I'll focus this post on one specific class, a couple of months into our time together. Leland showed up that night looking more depressed than I'd ever seen him.

The night before, he told me, he'd ridden with friends to a small town half an hour north of Baton Rouge. They'd stopped for gas and a soft drink, and he'd noticed a really pretty girl who was gassing up her car at the next pump. She'd noticed him, too, and had given him a big smile.

Leland walked up to the girl and struck up a conversation, but he'd said only a few words when she raised her hand and signaled him to stop speaking. Puzzled, he watched her take a pen and paper from her purse. Gently shaking her head, she touched two fingers to her ear and then to her lips, indicating she couldn't hear or speak. Still smiling, she extended the paper and pen to Leland so he could write out his message to her. But Leland couldn't write.

He said he was caught off guard and didn't know what to do. He couldn't think of any way to explain his predicament to her. So, he told me, he just smiled, shook his head "no," and tapped his forefinger against the face of his watch, pretending he didn't have time to write a note. He said she looked confused, her big smile gone, as he gave her a friendly wave and hurried to join his friends inside the building.

It had gnawed at him all night and all day. The thing that got to him the most, the thing that almost brought tears to his eyes as he told me about it, was concern for the girl's feelings. He said she must have known he was interested in the beginning, and she probably thought it was her handicap (when actually it was his own) that made him change his mind about getting acquainted with her. He said his inability to read hadn't hurt anyone but himself up until that point, but now it had caused him to hurt someone else. He said he'd never felt so low in his whole life.

To me, the story of Leland's encounter with the pretty girl at the gas station was the most ironic tale I'd heard since my childhood encounter with O'Henry's Gift of the Magi. In fact, I think Leland's story might have been even more ironic than O'Henry's. There's no question it had a sadder ending.

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post