I wish I could tell you I started college at around age thirty, because I wanted to better myself. No, I needed the money. You see, I got fired from my job as a Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN) in a nursing home. It was a pretty difficult job, with forty four patients and three certified nurses aides (CNA), to supervise. The patients were all taking lots of medication that I had to give them. I was a slave to the med cart, but I loved those elderly people like they were my own family. A few years later, after I was dismissed, they had a nursing shortage and they couldn't find anyone to work there. They had to hire two nurses to do the same job I did, by myself; just to keep the nurses working there. It was a miracle I lasted for almost five years. Even now, with two LPN's, they are still overworked. Anyway, I'm sure you're curious why I got fired.

You see, the director of nursing had a nineteen year old son named Lewis, who used to work on my unit. Most of the staff on the evening shift were young and single. We all liked to go out after work to parties and hang out. I don't know why, but there is something about taking care of sick and dying people. It makes you want to celebrate the short life that you have. I used to like to smoke pot, and I unknowingly turned some of my younger co-workers on to it. They had told me they had smoked it before, so I figured as long as they were doing it already, what was the harm?

I found out later that Lewis had lied to me; he had never tried it before, but he liked it and he wanted more. Anyone who has ever smoked pot knows that if you buy weed for someone it entitles you to a nice pinch of the bag you buy for the other person. He asked me to buy for him and I was more than happy to oblige. I was not thinking that it was probably not a good idea to buy pot for the director of nurse's son.

Well you can guess what happened. She found the weed and Lewis told her, "one of your nurses bought this weed for me." Well you can probably guess the rest. She found out who and I was fired soon after. Actually I held on, barely; for a couple of years, but my wife got pregnant and I made the mistake of announcing it at work. Do you know what the supervisor actually said to me? "There is no way we are paying for another one of your babies."
Shortly afterwards one of the patients needed Oxygen and I gave it to her without calling the Dr., or writing a note about it. They fired me for it.

I must tell you. That was one of the most stressful jobs I ever had. When I walked out of that place, it felt like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. I don't think I realized, at the time; the weight I was carrying around, until it was lifted. The pain of them getting sick and dying was a weight I carried till the day they set me free. I didn't carry it because I wanted to believe me. I carried it because I didn't want to make the same mistake twice. For example, you hear a patient coughing a little and you are very busy so you ignore it. Two days later they have full blown pneumonia and they die. You remember that you heard the patient cough and you didn't act quick enough. Well there are many other caregivers on many different shifts that could have acted as well but didn't, but you don't let yourself off the hook for it. You carry the guilt and you promise yourself never to make that mistake again. There are many things you carry and you don't even realize you are. I suppose I owe Lewis a debt of gratitude, for getting me out of there and back into school.

I was off to the unemployment line. I was sure I didn't want to be a nurse anymore, but I'm good at picking myself up and dusting myself off. The unemployment center said I could collect unemployment without having to look for a new job, on the one condition that I went back to college. I also had the Army college fund to collect. Since I had one kid and another on the way, I decided to go back to school and be a stay at home dad to raise the kids while my wife worked.

My first class was EG11, or English 101, or just first year college English.
My English teacher's name was Mrs. Stein, who was an older hardened woman. She was actually a lawyer and just did the teaching bit at night for extra cash. She was easily 75 years old and she was a no nonsense type of woman. She gave us an assignment that would open up doors that had been locked to me since childhood, doors that may have just as well stayed locked. Deep dark secrets were about to be unfolded before my eyes. I never knew writing could unlock things bubbling in the furthest recesses of my mind. The assignment started out simple enough. Since the teacher was a lawyer, I assumed she liked arguments because she had us write persuasive essays.

"Just make a statement, it can be real or imagined and then give me three supportive statements that prove the original statement is correct", she said.
Mrs. Stein then added, "I'm not looking for literary content. I just want to correct your spelling, grammar and punctuation.

Seemed easy enough, or so I thought. Anyone whose ever edited my writing knows I needed a lot of help in this area, so my goal was simple. I would write something so compelling it would suck her in. Then hopefully she wouldn't notice the numerous spelling, punctuation and grammar errors, giving me an easy A.


I found out quickly that this would be no easy task. You see, the woman who sat next to me was a thirty year old college student, returning to school like I was. We exchanged and read each other's first essays. Her name was Cathy and her paper was about how her two children burned to death in a house fire and it wasn't her fault.


There were more than a few tears shed by this young woman and by me. It seems, in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night, a gas pipe to her home cracked and caught fire. I think it had something to do with the men making reparations to her home. Well, she made it out of the house, but her two children did not. Cathy described how her neighbor couldn't get twenty feet from the house; it was too hot. Cathy described how she desperately tried to get back to the house to save her children but couldn't.

I remember the stone faced teacher silently making corrections on her paper like she was reading the morning paper. This woman was going to be tough to crack. I thought if I wrote a captivating persuasive essay that would suck her in so completely, she would forget to stop and correct my paper. So, that is what I had attempted to do with my essay.

I gave Cathy my paper and she read it.

"Wow, you have a gift for writing", she said.

"I made the story up", I said. I was not ready to admit to anyone including myself that the story was in fact true.

Poor unsuspecting Mrs. Stein set upon my paper. It worked, she didn't make one correction. She finished reading and gave me a horrified look, she looked white as a ghost. Then she tried to shake it off.

Mrs. Stein got up from her seat and said," Let's start today's lesson, shall we?" and she got up and went to the chalk board and I swear I saw her knees buckle. She placed the chalk upon the board and just stood there for a few seconds trying to collect herself.

I don't have the original essay anymore, but this is how the story went.