That's Wazzup.

Someone once asked the national director of Literacy Americorps why the stipend was so low for Americorps members. Her response was not "because it's all we can budget for", but "so that you know what your students may be experiencing." I think we're all mature enough to see through a pile of horse manure here. I do see her point however.

Yesterday, I went to apply for public assistance, aka food stamps, to supplement my meager Americorps stipend. When I printed the application off the internet, I began to hear the national director's words ringing in my ears. Some of the questions were easy, (like my name and address, am I a fleeing felon, or am I housing one, etc.) but other questions weren't so clear. It was frustrating for me, and I imagine that the difficulty is doubled if your reading level is on a third or fourth grade (or worse) level.

I finally finished the application and went to the public assistance office. 'Take a number,' the sign read. But there were no numbers to be had. Confused, I looked around the office, and turned to the lady at the counter to inquire. She rudely shoved another copy of the application at me, and told me to fill it out and come back tomorrow morning at 7:30. I explained that I had one already and that it was filled out. "Ma'am, do you HEAR me?" she said. "Come back tomorrow at 7:30." "Okay," I said, meekly. "Sorry."

Outside, another woman from the office stopped me. "She say come back at 7:30, but be here at 7, or you'll be waiting all day."

I thanked her for the tip, and with heavy feet walked back to my bike. I tried not to let myself get discouraged, but I couldn't help it. I'm getting by just fine, but any little extra would certainly help. I thought about mothers with hungry babies who might be in this same situation. I thought about people who didn't know where rent was coming from. Mostly, though, I thought about myself. I felt really awful for that, too, and I tried to help it, but I just couldn't.

I went to the bayou for a while, and cried to get out all of those feelings out. It helped, but not really.

Night class was starting early last night because of a book event that we were going to. New Orleans has a city-wide reading event called One Book, One New Orleans, where, theoretically, everyone reads the same book. There are various events that take place across the city in celebration. There have been discussions, arts and crafts for kids, rebuilding projects, and other different things to get people out and talking about this year's book City of Refuge. The book discussion with the author, Tom Piazza, took place last night, so we ended class early so we could go.

One of our students, NT, was selected to introduce the author. NT is an amazing woman. She's lively and fun, but she's serious about getting her g.e.d. and she is working really hard to get it done. She reminds me so much of one of my aunts that sometimes it is hard for me to remember that she is depending on me for information. I just want to listen to her talk and tell me stories. I know that if I ever needed anything, NT would do anything to help me that she could.

NT was really nervous about introducing Piazza, so I worked with her while the rest of the class did their lesson. She practiced her reading over and over again. I taught her that Iowa is not pronounced, "Iwah", like the southerners say down here. We talked about the many pronounciations of New Orleans (for future reference, it is NOT 'New Orleens.' It's 'New Orluhns' or 'New Ohlians.') She asked me why I came to the South, and for the first time, I was able to tell fully explain the course of events in my life that led me here. Every other time, it's been an abbreviated version, leaving out bits and pieces, but I knew NT was listening and that she truly appreciated my presence in her city.

The course of this conversation opened the door for her to tell me her story. NT, her husband, and her daughter were able to evacuate, despite the fact that her daughter had surgery only 3 days before the Katrina hit. I willed myself not to cry as she told me about the desperate, fearful search to find her mama, brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews. She did not tell me if they lost anyone, but she did say her mama was alright. "My mama is the most important person in my life, next to God," she said. "You only have on mother...."

When the hotel they were staying at kicked them out, NT's husband's company transferred him to Houston and put them up in a hotel. Her mother and other family was able to get a little closer to her. Eventually, though, her husband went back to New Orleans to start rebuilding with his company. For a whole year, they were separated. Every three weeks or so, he would drive all the way back to Houston, or she would come towards NOLA. The cost eventually started to get so high that it was straining them. "But now," she said determined, "He said, 'I don't care what happens, I'm never leaving you for that long again.'"

I had to leave the classroom to get something for another one of our students, S, who was filling out information to take the g.e.d. exam. (....which he took today...keep your fingers crossed!) S is a quiet young man, probably not any older than I am, 20 or so. When I had him in class, he worked hard, but he rarely talked. He stayed focused and didn't talk to any of the other students in the class, except maybe on the smoke break. I was ecstatic when I found out he was taking the test because I know he'll do very well.

When I got back in the class room, NT was asking S what changed his mind and made him want to come back to school. "My little sister," he said. "She doesn't have a lot of good role models, and I want to show her that she can do it, and that she needs to stay in school. I want to go to go to college, and I want to be a lawyer."

I never knew. I'd only had S in class for a little more than 3 weeks, since I started mid-way through the nine weeks, but I was shocked. The quiet person that sat in the front row and meekly asked me questions about fractions had big ambitions and dreams. His smile got bigger the more he talked about his little sister and his dreams of college. The tears that I held back from NT suddenly surged, a few breaking down my cheeks, and I had to step into the bathroom to collect myself.

Suddenly, the time was gone. The author's event would start in half an hour and we had to leave. I handed S a copy of the book, and asked if he cared to join. He hadn't read the book, but he said, "Sure. It's better than anything else I'd be doing." Now that is an answer that every teacher loves to hear

NT's introduction went beautifully. She got her book signed by the author and beamed as she left the building.

S and I had to wait longer to get our books signed. We talked about his little sister, about his friends, how to make red beans and rice, and about the test he was about to take. "You ever had a book signed by an author before?" I asked. "No," S smiled. "Well, there's a first time for everything. You've got two firsts this week, your book and taking your g.e.d." He beamed at me again, and I saved his smile for a rainy day.

When we got to Tom Piazza, I explained that I was in Literacy Americorps. He signed my book, but then I told him, "This guy behind me is one of our students, and he's going to take his g.e.d. tomorrow." I was so appreciative of Piazza's warm response to S. He took time with S, making easy conversation with him, asking all kinds of questions about where he lived and that kind. S's smile got bigger and bigger. When their conversation was through, S's smile was as big as a helium balloon, an I thought he'd float out to the parking lot.

He held the book in his hand, as I gave him parting advice on the test. He didn't need it, I don't think. He smiled once more, and started to run up the stairs to the exit. "Hey," the other teachers yelled. He stopped and turned. "Good luck!" they shouted. He beamed one more time before running out the door.

The tears from the beginning of the day were very different from those at the end of the day. stories and yesterday are things I will carry with me forever. Those moments when you connect with another human being through a story, through an actual event or even through a novel, are the moments that give us the opportunity to acquire grace. It's the heart of these conversations that are food for the soul, for rainy days, for days that the public assistance receptionist is just downright mean. I feel older now, in a beautiful way, wiser, and I hope that they do, too.