The Road to Homelessness

It Was Good While it Lasted

It was a good life while it lasted. I lived with my dad, a retired worker from an electronics plant and a retired Airforce Master Sargent, and my uncle, my mom’s brother, a retired plumber. We lived in a three-bedroom house that my dad bought after my mom died.

At the time, I was a security guard working the midnight shift at the largest criminal court complex in Pinellas County. I got up that night and went to the living room to check on my dad.

Dad was a life-long smoker

“What did the Doctor say, dad?” I asked not bothering to hide the fear. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to face it.

My dad was a life-long smoker, no matter how much my mom got on him, he never quit smoking. A week earlier, I woke up to an empty house. Richard had taken my dad to the emergency room.

He was in extreme pain in his hips. He would try to go on walks with Richard in the evening, but he would barely make it up the street.

His body was covered in tumors

The Doctors ran their tests, and that day my dad received the results. “It’s Cancer son, it’s in every cell of my body.” My dad sad calmly, as I stood there stunned. “It will be okay; it’s going to be alright.” He assured me.

“He was going to die, and he knew it, but he was reassuring me.” I thought much later. I ate dinner in silence and went to work that night with a heavy heart.

My dad died less than six weeks later

Things accelerated after that night. The Radiation treatments destroyed my dad, and the Chemotherapy didn’t help anything. Six weeks after his diagnosis, my dad was gone.

At that time in my life, I was forty-six years old. I had never lived on my own, I never had to pay bills, except for car payments and expenses involving the car. My dad only charged me eighty bucks a week to live in his house.

I was a late-starter

I opened my first checking account a few years before my dad died. To say that I was a naive late-starter is an understatement.

My parents told me the story so many times, I relive it like I was in the Doctor’s office with them.

What it must have been like

My mom and dad sat side-by-side in the Pediatricians office, staring at the plaques and Diplomas on the wall behind the desk. The Doctor looked down at the notes in his hand before looking up at my parents.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m afraid your son is severely Brain-damaged.” My mom and dad sat there stunned. “I don’t see your son having a normal life.”

“What do you mean by that?” My mom asked. The Doctor took a deep breath, while my dad stared into space.

“At best, Lawson might be able to work in a Rehabilitative setting, I can’t see him going to school or having a role in the adult workforce.”

“So, he’s severely Brain-damaged.” My dad said angrily. “What should we do?”

I was in Special Education and Special Education classes

“Lawson will need Special Education.” The Doctor answered. “Maybe that will help him gain some functionality.” After talking some more, my parents thanked the Doctor and left the office, and drove home in silence.

I don’t remember much of my early childhood. I remember having trouble learning how to tie my shoes. I remember the snickers and looks I received when I got older. “Lawson’s in the Retard class. Haha.” I remember that quite clearly. When I was nine or ten years old, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia.

The school in Alaska was ahead of its time

At the time, we were stationed in Alaska, the Elementary school on the Base had a program for Dyslexics. I learned to read and write, but I wrote backyards, my parents and teachers read my work by holding it up to a mirror.

I attended Special Ed schools, then I was placed in mainstream classes, but I attended Remedial math classes the whole time I was in school. To this day, I can’t make change or do any basic math at all, But I was reading at a college level before my freshman year of high school.

I graduated from High School, barely. It wasn’t because of any Learning Disability; it was me screwing around in the smoking area and doing anything else but studying. After I graduated, I did what a lot of kids did, I left home and went back to the States by myself.

I came home with my tail between my legs

When the rest of the family came back to the States a year and a half later, I moved back home with my tail between my legs.

I had been living with my grandparents in Denver Colorado. I was in a Federally funded jobs program. I was working with other people in the same program. We did our jobs when we weren’t getting drunk and high.

I wasn’t happy, I missed my family, and I was bitter because I didn’t succeed the way I wanted to. My mom drove from Texas to Denver to pick up me and my brother, he was attending college at UC Boulder.

I lived with my parents until they died, then I lived with my mom’s brother, my uncle Richard, I was evicted from my trailer the year after he died.