Tim's Story
A True Story
As I stepped off the bus at the University of Texas in Austin and heard the door close, I was reminded of the sound's profound significance in my life. I was nearing my nineteenth birthday, and just like the bus door, the first eighteen years of my life had shut.
To truly understand my story, I need to share my upbringing. My father left when I was very young, and my only memories are of the constant arguments between my parents. I don't recall the exact year my father left, but from then on, I became my mother’s ineffective helper. My responsibilities included cleaning bathrooms, washing and drying dishes, and mopping the entire house. My mother applied for social benefits, and with my father’s child support, she spent her days on the sofa, drinking herself into oblivion.
At school, I was severely bullied because of my attire. With limited clothing options, I wore the same three pairs of jeans and two t-shirts repeatedly. My sneakers were held together with duct tape, earning me the nickname “Hobo,” which stuck with me until I left town at eighteen.
We had only one television in our house, located in the living room where my mom always reclined on the sofa, making watching anything on TV impossible. I had a few toys left from when my dad was around, but I had outgrown them.
Due to the constant bullying at school and occasional beatings, my grades weren't a priority, though I consistently earned C's and B's. I'm unsure when or in which grade things changed for me academically. Being confined to my bedroom for long periods left me with little to do besides sleep or read. I chose to read and soon devoured all my textbooks from cover to cover.
I then began borrowing books from the library, particularly about history, which I found fascinating. I learned about the Roman Empire, Genghis Khan, the Revolutionary War, and the Civil War. By thoroughly reading my textbooks, my grades quickly rose to some of the highest in the class.
My principle at my school wanted me to skip a grade but my mother refused. I mean after all I was cheap labor. I left John Milton with a 4.12 GPA, the highest in the school. My principal at Roosevelt High, Mr. Peterson was waiting for me on the first day of school. I met with him right after home room and he was waiting with my file on his desk.
I remember him being the first adult who exactly seemed as though he was seriously interested in me. He mentioned that he was going to monitor my progress and meet with me from time to time. He acknowledged that I could possibly have a bright future ahead of me which was the first time anyone had told me that. Up until that comment, I always thought that I would struggle for the rest of my life.
That first year, I met Miss Thompson who would be my English/Literature teacher. She gave us a list of books we would have to read that year and issued the first paperback on opening day, Animal House. I finished the book in three days but since I was still vague about the meaning of the book, I reread it gain. I then went to the library and talked to Mr. Tooley, the head librarian. He filled in the blanks for me basically making me understand that the book was about the Russian Revolution of 1917 and Communism. Once he described the characters to me, I reread the book again and everything made sense.
By the end of the year Miss Thompson had me read Great Expectations, Hound of the Baskervilles, Lord of the Flies, Old Man and the Sea, Jane Eyre, Last of the Mohicans and several short stories from Edgar Allen Poe.
I ended the year with a 4.21 GPA, the highest in the school. I was still being laughed at on a daily basis and had been punched several times that year. There was not much I could do about it other than report it which I only thought would make it worse. Since I was doing so well, Mr. Peterson suggested I skip a grade and become a junior immediately. I doubted my mother would agree but I caught her really drunk one night and lied saying it was just a permission slip and she signed it immediately.
It took me a few weeks to acclimate to junior class, but I caught up quickly. If I remember correctly the abuse became even worse because Hobo was a year younger and showing up the junior class. Again, I tried best to avoid everyone even skipping lunch most days where I would hide out in the gym and read or study.
Mr. Peterson asked me that year to start a tutoring program in the library after school for students who needed help. I agreed and soon there were two seniors and myself all helping anyone who showed up after school. I still remember Dillion Harper, the most beautiful girl in our school show up one evening when I was the only tutor then. She was woefully behind in Math and on the verge on failing. She dated Brad Parker who was Mr. Wonderful on campus and the quarterback of the foot ball team.
After finding out that Hobo was hanging out with his girlfriend my life got even worst. They would follow me around school, throw things at me and jump me in the bathroom whenever possible.
That year, a new couple moved in next door to my house. It was a younger couple as I would later learn were Walter And Sara McAllister. On our first introduction, I learned that Mrs. McAllister was a nurse and Mr. McAllister was a certified public account. When Mr. McAllister asked me about my schoolwork, I explained what had happened to me as of now. He seemed impressed that I had skipped a grade and told me if I was that could at math, he could use some help.
True to his word later that year he asked me to help him double check simple math and check spreadsheets for clients. I was super careful always striving to be correct and more than one occasion I would find an error which always made me feel great. Not that someone had made a mistake but that I could find it.
Toward the end of that year, I was in the library helping Dillion Harper take a practice test when her boyfriend walked in. He immediately accused me of sitting too close to his girlfriend. Dillion came to my defense saying I was the only reason that she would pass and become a senior. But since he had two buddies with him, I guess he felt he had to prove a point. Out of nowhere his fist met the side of my face knocking me to the ground. I remember laying on the ground for quite awhile and once I got up the library was empty. By the time I came back to school my left eye was swollen shut and most of the left side of my face was black and blue. I remember being sent to Mr. Peterson’s office from homeroom for an incident report. On the walk, I remember thinking telling the truth would be disastrous for me. So when he asked me what had happened, I lied and told him a boy in my neighborhood did it. I don’t think he bought it but there was not much he could do at this point.
I got out of that year without much more trouble in part because I did not snitch Brad Parker out. On the other hand, knowing I kept my much shut gave them carte blanche to do whatever they wanted to do to me. I still had two more years of school left and tried to make the best of them.
Once again, I kept to myself at school and worked with Mr. McAllister as much as I could. I had saved some money which was tucked under the carpet in my bedroom. If my mother ever found out she would drink it up in no time. In the middle of that year, Mr. Peterson called me into the office and asked me about where I attended to go to college.
I explained to him that my family had no money and my mother’s situation. Between study for school, working for Mr. McAllister and cleaning my house I had very little time for anything else. I explained that my mother constantly drank and did not have a job. He seemed quite shocked but listened carefully to my story.
When I ended, it was easy to see he was deeply moved. He informed me that he could help me to apply for several scholarships due to my stellar academic record. He asked me if I have given any thought on what I would like to do after graduating and I mentioned that I enjoyed the work I was doing with McAllister and might consider that.
At the end of the year, Mr. Peterson told me even though I was in twelve grade I would not graduate. We had one class in school that took nothing but pre-college courses. Since there would only be seven students in this class, I was given textbooks to take home and look over during the summer.
During that summer, I started going to the library quite a bit. I started the with most basic books about banking and how they operated. By the end of the summer, I was reading books on investing and the stock market. I would also get on their computers and read about anything I found interesting. By the time I stared my last year of high school, I began to see the world in an entire new way.
From what I gathered the ability to make money and keep it was what kept the earth spinning on its axis. Not that money was everything but the lack of it was much worse. During the summer with my new found outlook, I knew I wanted to take accounting in college.
When I returned to school and met Mr. Peterson, I informed him that accounting was my choice. He nodded and told me he would get right to work on it. I started my last year of school with a vengeance studying and reading everything I could. I would spend all day of Saturday in the library reading anything I could about economics, money, investing and brokering.
The most ironic thing about that last year in school was that Brad Parker had failed the previous year. His girl friend Dillion had graduated and went on to college out of state. Brad was now under the gun to get a 2.50 GPA in his first nine weeks so he could remain on the football team. It was hard to believe that in less then a year my life could possibly changed forever. But I was going to need a lot of help and I did not have many people in my corner.
My mother had gotten to the point where she was drinking a fifth or more of vodka every day. She would drink anything, but vodka was her drink of choice. Only a few times a week would I even see her awake and even then, we had nothing to say to each other. I was still keeping the house clean just to keep the peace.
I was meeting with Mr. Peterson about once every two weeks as he helped me fill out scholarship forms. He had everyone of my teachers write glowing letters of recommendation for me to accompany the applications.
The running joke during my last year in school would be “Hobo didn’t graduate last year because he’s homeless and has no where to go”. Or another common one was I slept at the library every night. I guess I could have been referred to as book smart back then but there were many things I did not understand.
Not once in all may years in school had I ever made fun of anyone. I never stole anything from anyone and even tried to help anyone to needed help. I hardly ever talked to girls so I could not be accused of trying to steal anyone’s girlfriend. I just could not for the life of me figure out why I was so disliked. Even the people described as nerds by the others would not have anything to do with me.
Even though the courses I was taking were pre-college they presented no problem at all. By mid-term, I had a 4.18 grade point average, the highest in the class. I was just about six months was leaving this place forever if everything fell into place.
As I would lay in bed at night those last few months, I could help but think how ironic it would be if I would be denied scholarship money and would have to stay here and work. Maybe sometimes, you were just dealt a bad hand in life. Maybe no matter what you did, life was predetermined and you could not change it.
I guess as fate had it, I was jumped one last time in the bathroom because I attempted to walk past Brad Harper completely ignoring him. I took a decent beating but compared to some of the others it was not as bad. I guess a few of the times, I could have fought back but when it’s five or six to one it’s not worth it. Maybe I was a coward, but I was only a month away from leaving this place forever, one way or the other.
I walked through the University of Austin for the first time in awe of the campus. Throughout all the ordeals, Hobo was in college. Since I was close to two hours early for the meeting with my counselor, I took a seat on a large park bench. Once again, I reminisced about the few days in my home time. I leaned back against the bench and closed my eyes and I could still hear Mr. Peterson’s speech almost word for word. I had declined the valedictorian honor several times in no way wanting to get on stage and speak to the same people to had tormented me most of my young life. After everyone had spoke and Mr. Peterson had given out all the awards and scholarship, he flipped to the last page in his stack of papers. I still remembered the words.
“The awards I will present to this last student will make me the proudest. In all my years of teaching, I must say I have never been this impressed by a student’s work. But I will let the awards speak for themselves. First, graduating with a 4.21 GPA, the highest ever recorded at Roosevelt High. He is also awarded the Student Service Award for his countless hours of tutoring students in the library.” he started.
“But what I hold here will change this student’s life forever. First a twenty thousand dollar scholarship from the Colonial Bank Scholarship Program, a fifteen thousand dollar scholarship from the VFW Post 110 and a ten thousand dollar scholarship from the Regional Scholarship Program of Louisiana. But this one, this is the big one.”, he said, holding the paper above his head.
“This is from the University of Texas in Austin. This is a full scholarship in the amount of two hundred and sixty five thousand dollars covering tuition, room, meals and books. Please help me acknowledge, Mr. Timothy Williams.”, he concluded.
I remember the student next to me pushing me towards the isle and the thundering ovation from most of the gym. But what I remembered most were the tears in Mr. Peterson’s eyes as he handed me all the awards. This would not be possible except for the hard work he had put in obtaining these awards for me. Then he whispered in my ear something I do not think I had ever heard.
“I love you Tim.”, he whispered in my ear.
I went home that night to find my mother passed out of the sofa with another empty vodka bottle on the floor. I had talked to her several times about leaving and going to school but how much she actually comprehended, I did not know.
I took a few dollars from what I had saved working for Mr. McAllister and bought several pairs of jeans, some shirts and new underwear. I also bought a new pair of tennis shoes and some socks.
Several month’s later I was sitting in my bedroom on a Sunday evening thinking this would be the last night I slept under this roof. I got up and walked to the corner store that I had been to so many times in my life. Mr. Pete owned the store and worked it twelve hours a day.
I remember telling Mr. Pete that I was leaving home and heading to college the following day. I told him I wanted to leave my mother a present of sorts. I asked him for the five bottles of Tito’s Vodka he had on the shelf behind him. Since I had turned eighteen, I had purchased a bottle for my mother here and there. He bagged the five bottles with a sad look on his face but everyone in this neighborhood knew my situation at home.
I walked home and went straight to bed but had a hard time falling asleep. I woke up early the next morning and put all five bottles of vodka on the kitchen table and left a simple note for my mother.
{Mom, I left this morning for college and honestly I don’t think I’ll ever return. Thank you for what you did for me. I left you a present on the kitchen table.}
{ Tim }
I walked out the front door for what I hoped would be the last time in my life. It wasn’t that I hated my mom, I didn’t. She was struggling with her own demons and in my heart, I felt she would lose that fight. I stopped worrying about her years ago, but I always did whatever she asked me to do. She missed my entire life and I regretted that. Most days she was not sober long enough to realize what I was able to accomplish.
In took me close to an hour to walk to the Greyhound Bus station with my two large duffel bags. The bus pulled out at nine o’clock and between all the stops we would make it would be a long trip. As my home town faded in the rear of the bus, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.
I was now an adult and I was responsible for my own life. There would be no one to blame and no one to blame my mistakes on. Hobo was on his own.
CHAPTER TWO
Because of my unique circumstances, I was allowed to be on campus for a full month before classes started. Within a two-week span, I was housed, issued my books, got my Visa Meal Card and enrolled in the gym. I’m not sure if my mother even comprehended of and why I was leaving home. She pretty much drank until she passed out every day. When she would come to, she would begin to drink again. I was glad to be out of the house although strangely I felt guilty leaving her.
The first year started and I had classes in Economics, Auditing, College Algebra, Business Statistics and Advanced Financial Accounting. Against my guidance counselor’s wishes I added two electives as well. My idea was to try and complete college in three years rather than four. Even though I loved school the idea of getting a job and working was my ultimate goal.
It didn’t take me long to realize several critical things about the college life. First and foremost, no one really cared whether you went to class or not. No one cared if you did your homework or not. No one cared if you studied or not. Succeeding or failing was up to you and no one else. Don’t get me wrong, if you needed help it was available, but you had to seek it out.
Second, there was a large number of people here that partied more than they studied. Dorm rooms were packed full of people partying seven days a week. On weekends, it was worst. It was kept in check by security, but it wasn’t hard to find an alternative to studying if you wanted it.
Third, the girls were amazing and very plentiful. No matter where you looked gorgeous girls were milling around in skimpy clothing that left little to the imagination. The year went by quickly and I decided to take two summer classes that would last six weeks. I finished the year with a 3.88 GPA, but knew I could do better.
Since, I was legally a sophomore by class schedule not by age, I had to move to another dorm. I was all set up three weeks prior to classes starting and was working out at the health club twice a day. I had started my freshman year at six foot one and about one hundred fifty-eight pounds. I started my sophomore year at one hundred seventy pounds with the same height.
Three days prior to class starting I was in my dorm room when the door burst open. I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to have a roommate looking back now, I would never be ready for my new boarder, Mike Collins.
Mike Collin’s was short in statute and had long hair halfway down his back. He was the type of guy that before he even spoke you knew he was trouble in one form or other.
“What’s up roomie ?”, he shouted, throwing several bags on the unoccupied side of the room.
He quickly left and returned several minutes later with was apparently the rest of the belongings he had brought with him. He started unpacking and stuffed all of his clothes in the large dresser at the foot of his bed. The rest he tossed at the bottom of the closet of his side of the room.
In the next ninety minutes, I learned Mike’s entire life story. He hated school but loved the ladies. The only reason he was here is because his father insisted on it. Mike’s goal was to string his college experience out for as long as possible making sure he had the time of his life. This is not the roommate I needed or wanted.
Within the first sixty days I had noticed two things. First, I never saw Mike crack a book once. In fact, I know he skipped several classes. Second, he had already had three different girls in our room all with whom he had made out with, maybe more.
Since there were usually several different people in our room at night, I began using the library to study. I’m sure Mike regarded me a geek although he never once said it. A few weeks before mid-term exams would be given, I returned to my room on a Friday night. Surprisingly, it was empty, so I took a shower and laid on the bed to study for another hour or so. At eleven, I turned off the light and fell fast asleep.
I opened my eyes slowly to hear voices talking in whispered muffles. Once my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could see Mike and a female figure on his bed with their arms around each other. I stayed motionless not to give away the fact that I was awake. Every now and then, the girl would look in my direction to see if perhaps I had awakened.
After maybe ten or fifteen minutes, witnessing what looked like two orgasms from the girl and one by Mike, they both got dressed and he walked her to the door. I don’t think there was any doubt in Mike’s mind that I was awake, but he climbed back into bed and rolled over going fast asleep.
