Everybody needs a little help sometimes. It's just that knowing you need help is the easy part. Asking for help is where it gets tricky.
DARRY
The office smells like peppermints. There is a check-in station and two doors down the small hallway. The seats in the waiting area are so close that people are practically sitting on top of each other. The cliché potted plants sit in each corner of the room. I waited 36 minutes until my name was called.
"Darrel Curtis?" I got up to follow the case worker. She introduced herself as Mrs. Davis. I followed her into her tiny office and sat in the too small chair. Her desk was decorated with pictures of her husband and children. I noticed her degree on the wall was from Oklahoma State. She noticed me looking and smiled while she asked me if I was a student there. College has always been a sore spot for me. From a young age I knew that I wanted to go, and from an even younger age I knew that I would never be able to afford to. I shook my head.
"Well, I've looked over your application and it appears that you are eligible for welfare. We checked with your jobs - only to ask how much you make and how many hours you usually work- and everything panned out." I'm sure she was used to people getting frustrated when they realized that other people could possibly find out they were on welfare. But at this point, I just needed to be able to feed my little brothers. I nodded my head in understanding. She smiled with relief.
"As I was saying, everything checked out and, with you supporting two minors your checks should help a little. I must warn you, with you working two jobs you could possibly lose your welfare or it could be lessened at a moments notice if you start making too much. Of course, if you find a better paying job, you should take it. After all, welfare is to help temporarily. It's not meant to be a permanent fixture." She waited to see if I was following along.
"Will my social worker need to be notified by me that I'm receiving welfare?"
"No. Our agency works pretty closely with Child Protective Services, and if you are on welfare then your name will be on file in their system as well as ours." She hesitated.
"Mr. Curtis, you won't lose custody of your brothers because you are on welfare if that's your concern. Many people in the system are on welfare and no government agency, by law, can discriminate against them because of it."
That was my concern. I relaxed a little when she said that.
"Do you have any more questions? If not, you can sign the final paperwork and be on your way."
I signed the papers and breathed a little easier when she didn't look down on me for being in her office. I didn't want her, or anyone else, to think I was nothing but a lazy low-life who was cheating the system. After she filed my case I walked outside and headed to the truck. Mrs. Davis came out running behind me.
"Mr. Curtis! I forgot to mention the periodic check ups. Every other month you will get either a visit from the welfare office just to stay notified of your situation, or a simple call to keep us updated on how things are going." I thanked her, got into my pickup, and headed home.
On my way there I thought about how difficult it was for me to be considered for welfare at all. If I wasn't truly desperate I would have never tried. They typically look for unwed mothers and widows. But I was a "special case". They help displaced workers who are the head of their households, but not very often. Usually these men make enough to support their families if their wives work part-time. More women were on it because they get lower wages. Mom used to get upset thinking about it, and I can't help but regret that I always thought she was slightly over-exaggerating. When college students started protesting on campus about the Feminine Mystique, and wage gap's, I was only annoyed that it seemed to be on every channel. I guess it took me being in the position I'm in now to understand how that could be a big problem. Especially for the women in our neighborhood, and with the way Soda attracts girls, he had better always use protection.
"Why are you so late today?"
I just gave Soda a look that let him know I would tell him later. I heard Pony huff under his breath. I know he thinks he's old enough to be let in on everything, but at 14 I was worried about football and girls. Not money. He deserves the same thing.
Honestly, if I earned enough and Soda didn't have to work, I wouldn't tell him either. 16 ain't so old either.