The Goodness of People

(Written some time in late September)


Dear Jamaica,


You and I, we're pretty cynical. Don't deny it. I remember how often the general goodness of things (people, places, art, food) came into our discussion. I wish I could be back in your single dorm-room right now, curled up on the misplaced mattress with a carton of Ben & Jerry's palmed, because today I have a really good story about the goodness of people.


My claim for independence was denied last Wednesday. It was a panic-inducing event. I went in to the financial aid office expecting to hear good news-- nope! After nearly breaking down in-front of the poor woman managing the drop-in desk, I was given the number for the financial aid administrator. I had to put myself back in action quickly, I knew, but first I had to go have a melt down at the park.


About an hour or so later, head somewhat cleared, messages left with my counselor Z.K. at Tumbleweed, I returned to the financial aid office and asked to speak to the administrator. I'm sorry, she's in a meeting, the new woman at the drop-in desk informed me. 


"Well, that's okay. I'll just go wait over there until she has a chance to speak with me." And I sat myself down in the waiting area to spend time researching homeless college student data until I could speak with someone. 


I was waiting for somewhere around forty minutes before Nina, the administrator, came out to greet me. Back in Nina's office, she explained to me that my claim was denied. While my relationship with my mother, as reflected by the personal statement, 3 third-party letters and an e-mail from my mother outlining the conditions of my move-out,  seemed bad. It did not seem bad enough that she wouldn't give me her tax information. 


I explained to her that the FAFSA had questions specifically relating to homelessness-- specifically that if a student is homeless, they are an independent student. She told me that the Independence paperwork was probably not the right paperwork for my situation. I wasted two and a half weeks with that false start.


I have visited her once more since that initial meeting. My goal now is to receive an official "Determination." Nobody actually knows what this is, but it is given by a homeless/runaway/in-transition shelter/organization/support group and "certifies" my homelessness.


The lack of general knowledge on this subject has lead me to do a great deal of research on homeless laws. One day, I'll probably harass you to help me write something that's capable of communicating this legal mumbo-jumbo to a larger audience. I've found, officially, Homeless means lacking fixed, regular and adequate housing:  living in shelters, motels or cars, or temporarily living with other people because you have nowhere else to go. Unaccompanied means you are not living in the physical custody of your parent or guardian. Youth means you are 21 years of age or younger or you are still enrolled in high school as of the day you fill out the FAFSA. The definitions are all actually even more broad than the one's I've given, they're all outlined in the McKinney-Vento Homeless Assistance Act, which, at this point, I'm sure no one in the country but me has read. In this same act, it's stated that Financial Aid Administrators are allowed to Determine homelessness.


That's a very handy bit of information I could have used last month. 


Tomorrow I approach my Financial Aid Administrator again, with some of the information I've discovered and two new letters. One is my own, a specific statement on my current housing situation. The other is from Kydee's father, Stephan.

Here's were the goodness of people comes in: I was talking to Stephan during dinner about some of the information I had learned, my new financial aid situation and so on. I asked if he would be comfortable writing a letter about my housing situation, seeing how I am currently, temporarily, living in his house. He agreed, but asked a few minutes later if he could hear the entire situation that caused my, and by extension Kydee's, ejection from the nest.

I started laughing, Wait, you mean, I've been here almost a month, you've taken me in out of the goodness of your heart, and I haven't even told you what happened yet? 


I told Stephan a very abridged, but still accurate, always accurate, version of what happened. He wrote the letter not much later that night. 


What amazes me, is that I have walked into this man's house crying half a dozen times. He has given me encouraging words. He has helped me looked for work. He has allowed me to live in his home and eat with his family. And he never asked a single question about how I ended up in my current situation. He just helped how he was capable.

Sure, Jamaica, people are dumb. People are uninformed. People are plain mean and apathetic. But there are good people here, too. Sometimes, it just takes exceptional people to help us remember.

Best Love and Wishes,
Sonya