Life was hard as our rent and bills piled up.
Our food stamps and financial support were reduced. I worked and worked but rarely saw the money. My wife, Theresa, took control of the little salary coming in. She suspected I was too generous and might want to send help to the many people we knew in Africa, even while we suffered.
I thought of my friend David Jordan, president of Seven Hills Foundation. He was the man who had promised me a job, and my wife too, if we had our driver’s licenses. I did not know the nature of the job, but I knew I wanted it.
Getting the license was a big deal. I was prepared for the driving test. Affording it was another question. I fought hard and sent messages to friends who had lived in America for a longer time. Two of them sent me a total of $300. That was enough for the road test, so I went.
I made a mistake by touching the yellow line right by the RMV. The examiner said I had failed the test. I could not object, and in 10 minutes I was dropped at home, quite sad and thinking the examiner was out to get me. But I soon scheduled another test, this time at Central Mass. Safety Council in West Boylston. I went with the examiner for more than 20 minutes. He kept giving me questions on signs; I made a three-point turn; and parallel parked.
I passed with ease. I was given the license. My whole house rejoiced as though I had just found a big diamond.
Augustine’s last chapter: New Year, Tough Beginning Or scroll down to catch up from earlier in the remarkable tale
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