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Live United by Erin Haag

Years ago, I worked for the Austin School District with Adult Basic Education. My office was down the hall from our English Language Learning program. J. was a student that made many people nervous. Gang tattoos covered his neck and hands. His teeth were broken, his nose crooked. He never smiled and rarely spoke. If someone attempted to make conversation during breaks, he’d stare at them.

Some of our students were tough. They were war-hardened, having survived atrocities that most of us can’t even begin to imagine. Those students steered clear of J. Tough recognized tougher.

One day, he stopped and looked hard at me. I was a little nervous and asked him if he needed help. He didn’t respond to me, and walked off. Later that evening, an argument broke out between two students. They were yelling at each other, and I was in between them. J. spoke up. I have no idea what he said, as it was in Spanish. The two students didn’t know either since they spoke Sudanese. It didn’t matter. One word from him, and they fell silent. He came to me and took me by the elbow, and said, “Here little mama.” He steered me to my office, and had me sit down. Then he left.

From that hard look, the moment that he realized I was pregnant, he was a protector. “Yo little mama” was my greeting most days. I’d come back to my desk to find a cup of water. After class, he’d take my elbow, and walk me across a dark and often icy parking lot. There were no heart-to-heart conversations, no chit chat. He didn’t soften his attitude, and there were no friendships developed with me or anyone else. I was little mama though, and I was under his protection. My husband picked me up once, and he still walked me out, and delivered me to my husband. That’s the one and only time my husband has ever expressed a hint of concern about anyone I’ve worked with.

My job evolved and my office changed to a different location. I didn’t see J. anymore, as we were on opposite schedules and opposite locations. One day, though, his teacher said, “Read this.” She handed me an essay that J. had written. I wish with all my heart I had a copy of it. This man wrote of coming to the United States as a young child. His father had been killed, so he was the man of the family, trying to care for his mother and his younger siblings. He wrote of the little boat in the water, and of the blue-painted shed with the holes in the side. He’d keep watch while his mother slept.

Through sheer grit and determination, he made it here with his family. He worked. His mother went to college and got a job. His siblings went to college. They took citizenship classes.

Only after all of that did he sit down and decide it was time for him to learn English. He started at the lowest level of classes. By the time my daughter was born, he had worked his way up to the highest class and had written that essay. I wish I knew the rest of his story, but our paths went different ways. The last time I saw him is a core memory. I placed my newborn daughter in his arms and seeing him breathe that newborn baby smell in deep. He still wasn’t a smiler, or a talker. He breathed in deep, and told me, “Take your baby little mama” and handed her back to me and walked away.

About a year later, T. came in. He wanted to get his GED, and he had just been released from prison. I laid out his options, and we made a plan together. He started working on that plan, and he was doing well. He didn’t think much of me at first, but we got there. Much like tough J., he was a protector. T. was a different kind of tough, though. He spoke in his slow drawl — yes m’mam all over the place. He brought his little brother in, and I was thrilled to be helping these brothers.

They grew up in the mountains of Tennessee. T. had about a third-grade reading level, but he was progressing nicely. Little brother? He was full of sullen attitude. It took a few days, but eventually, I realized that he was completely illiterate. There was no way he was going to admit that to me out loud. Instead, he came back in, hauled in by his brother. He struggled through the pre-testing. Eventually, he stopped trying. He’d sit there, waiting for his brother and his ride. I can see him: slouched down, wearing his too baggy jeans, white T-shirt and link chain necklace. He was done with me. Then came the day that both T. and his brother weren’t there. They had been arrested for holding a convenience store clerk at gunpoint for cash. T. was 19 years old. His little brother was 16.

Education is the greatest predictor of breaking the cycle of poverty. These stories that I carry with me remind me of that fact every single day. The older you get, though, the harder it is to break those chains of trauma, set aside pride and ego, and do the work to bring yourself to a better place. This is why I’m passionate about programs that United Way funds. This year, Early Learning with the Albert Lea School District was a recipient of a Community Impact Grant. With the grant funding made available to them, Early Learning was able to provide scholarships for 24 children who would otherwise not be able to access the programs.

If T.’s little brother had been exposed to written language, he might have been able to learn how to read long before it became a sense of shame. That’s why there’s programs like Imagination Library, which mails books to children and creates those opportunities for natural learning.

These programs work hand in hand for early intervention and early access. Someday, these programs will turn the tide.

If you’d like to contribute toward programs that bring a love of learning early and often, consider donating to our 2023 campaign. With your help, we’ll be able to leverage and invest those dollars in programs right here in Freeborn County. Community Impact Grants are awarded annually. These programs and the staff that implement them are combating poverty and violence for a brighter tomorrow. Donations can be mailed to PO Box 686, Albert Lea, MN 56007. For questions or more information about programs, give us a call at 507-440-9359.

Erin Haag is the executive director of the United Way of Freeborn County.