From hungry and homeless to hope. Good mentors change lives.

Good mentors change lives. I went from hungry, homeless with no money, to hope from their helping hand. 

My breaking point

It’s Mid-August in the Central Valley of California. The hottest day of summer, it’s a dry smothering heat that will cook an egg on a sidewalk. I’m sitting in my parked car boiling, because I have nowhere to go. 

I’m at a breaking point, financially and mentally…

My car gas meter reads ‘E’ for empty. 

I have 3 cans of Pork & Beans.

After buying those cans, paying some of my other bills, that’s my food budget for the week is gone. It’s only Monday (and I’m already eating one of the three cans). 

Laying on my car’s center console my cellphone has some big, bold numbers popping on the screen:

$2.67

That’s what I got left in my bank account. 

Oh, I forgot, my fall semester for college is starting in 3 weeks, how am I gonna pay for that? 

BTW, I got 8,000,000 other issues happening too, disability will do that.

All this shit is stirring, marinating, boiling in the oven of my car during this hottest day of summer. 

I’m looking at the grey fuzzy ceiling of my roof, praying to God, hoping that He hears me… but nothing happens. 

An hour passes, then something happens.

Broken, ready to be rebuilt

My phone starts vibrating, it’s one of my closest friends calling. I’m not in the mood to chat, I don’t answer, and the call goes to voicemail. 

He calls again. He doesn’t want to leave me alone, and this time, I answer with an annoyed ‘Hey’. He’s unphased by my attitude and checks-in on my well-being. I tell him my sad truth, that shit is an absolute disaster. He asks,

“Are you ready to get the help you need to move forward with your life?” 

Broken and ready to be re-built, I say “yes” and he asks me to jot down a building’s address and instructs me to go there and speak with the counselor of the day. He hangs up.

It’s now 1pm.

I put on my best shirt and head to that address. 

This is my chance, I can’t wait for tomorrow, I’m hungry, homeless, I need change now, I need hope.  

Fighting myself

I barely make it to the address, my gas meter is below ‘E’ now, and I’m unsure if I’ll make it back to where I came from. 

Walking through the sliding doors of that building, I fill my lungs with fresh cool air. It feels like hope and a drink of ice water, something I need on this incredibly hot day. 

The hallway clock shows 1:30pm.

I find double office doors that read, “Department of Vocational Rehabilitation” (DOR) and walk in.

Now I feel committed, sitting in the waiting room, my arms heavy, knees weak, and palms sweaty. Asking for help has never been my forte, you can learn more about that here. The point is, I stay and wait for the counselor despite my fear and growing desire to leave.

A door swings wide open and a lovely lady with a big smile looks right at me saying: “You here to see me?”

I blurt out: “Y-Yes I think so?”

We enter a small room straight out of a TV crime show and my fearful anxiety grips my thoughts, stacking worse-case scenarios shouting 

“Get out, get out now, you idiot!”  

I throw myself into a chair, sitting at attention across from Jennifer, the lovely lady. The room’s clock reads 1:45pm.

A twenty-minute conversation

“How can I help you today?” Jennifer inquires. 

“I’m homeless, I’m hungry, I feel like nothing, I don’t have much hope. Shit’s a disaster.”

My emotions swell from my stomach into my throat, choking my words with sadness, anger, and frustration. 

But I cannot go back, I won’t, I need change now, it’s why I’m here.

I pause, collecting my thoughts.

Jennifer cuts the silence: “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

As the door closes behind her, I’m sealed inside a cage of self-degrading anxiety and humiliation. Being here in this room flies in the face of my upbringing as a young man, a young man given a physical disability at birth, but who cares? 

Shut up, work hard, no excuses, figure it out or I’m a loser. It’s black and white. That’s it. 

Thankfully Jennifer re-enters the room breaking my cage’s seal. She’s carrying a manila folder full of paper and a pen, gently placing them in front of me.

“Please fill these out for me.” 

I pick up the pen and start writing. The clock shows 1:55pm.

A New Hope

I’m not sure what I’m filling out, but my gut is saying, “just do it” overpowering my fear. Jennifer begins asking interesting questions:

• Who are you?
• What do you want to be?
• What are your goals? Your dreams?
• Where do you see yourself?

I didn’t necessarily know it at the time, but this is my moment of change. 

I bare my hopes, my goals, my dreams, my soul. 

• I’m going to be a professional coach in a pro-sports league
• I’m going to graduate with my degree 
• I’m going to represent the USA in a sport someday soon

Jennifer smiles while listening to my life’s manifesto. Signing my name on the dotted line of those papers, I’m thinking I just signed my life away, and I’m going to jail because this lady thinks I’m delusional.

Jennifer stands, and says “Stay here, I’ll be right back”. 

The door seals me away in another cage of anxiety but I’m stronger now. Jennifer’s questions are boosting my self-worth, still, those 10 minutes felt like 10 hours. 

Who tells a stranger that they’re going to be an NFL professional coach or Team USA athlete with a disability?

The wall clock reads 2:05pm. The door opens– Jennifer, stands in the doorway, she locks eyes with me and says: 

“From now on, you’re my client. Whatever you need, I got you. Whatever I need from you, you got me. Do you understand?”

 “Y-Yes ma’am.”      

After twenty minutes with Jennifer, I’m now a client of the DOR. Before I leave the office, Jennifer provides me resources for school, living, and more and then she gives me twenty bucks for gas and lunch. That was one of the best double cheeseburgers I’ve ever had. 

Good mentors change lives. Jennifer, my new DOR Counselor, made my life better. This hungry, homeless kid has hope.