Overheard in the Wolfe House #208
Peggy: I got off work early.
Sam: I’m so glad. There’s a lot of work to do. You can help me with the Christmas lights. 
Or, what color is your parachute?
The awesome guide for job hunters. I read it when I was in my early 20s, it helped so much.
Earlier this year, I picked up a fresh edition. It could be with Michael or Paige, they are job hunters these days, too. That’s ok. Good books should get passed around. For Sam and me, I know the author, Dick Bolles, is online now with JobHuntersBible.
Sam and I are chipping away at his search. The resume needed work. He started it in Microsoft Word with an awful template. In the computer world, job-hunters need to list all that stuff they know, like programming language and operating systems. They can’t get by on a chronological summary of jobs and responsibilities.
Who knew?
In my world, that seems little like including “writes in complete sentences; knows AP style.”
But, at a recent workshop (thanks ARC of Northeast Texas!), I learned to be shameless about helping him. Texas has no services; no one else is going to help him. Tonight, we uploaded this handsome photo to his LinkedIn profile.
The resume should be uploaded some time this week.
If you’re on LinkedIn, please look for him. Connections, endorsements, feedback on the resume, all are welcome.
Maybe we can crowd-source a job for this terrific guy.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #207
Peggy: Here. I finally sewed that button on your shorts.
Sam: It’s too late now. It’s November.
Just in time for Christmas and other holiday giving
Hey, Martha! See Sam Run, the Kindle edition.
What color is your agitator?
When Sam was in elementary school, he often asked people what color their washing machine’s agitator was. You would be shocked — shocked, I tell you — how many people did not know the answer to this question.
Many times people were so loving and accommodating. If we were visiting, they would say, “Let’s go look,” and the whole crowd headed to the laundry room. Sam enjoyed that. If they didn’t know, and didn’t suggest to go look, he didn’t obsess over getting the answer. He had picked up enough social graces that he would simply move on. Often, at that point in the conversation, he would share the color of our washing machine’s agitator. For some reason, I was slightly embarrassed the first few times he shared that — even though I told myself that was not the same as sharing other details about the family laundry.
I was never quite sure of his motivations for gathering that information. I don’t remember when he stopped asking for it. I asked him about it a few nights ago and he remembered that it was something he was curious about. “I don’t remember when I lost interest,” he said. He doesn’t remember why, either.
Sam has been researching home automation systems lately. He thinks about accessibility. A person in a wheelchair can’t reach the controls, he says, and an automated system would let them operate appliances by remote control.
He’s so determined, even if it means teaching himself code, which he finds exacting — even for him.
He had been quiet about it for awhile, but I asked him about it again after this video showed up on the browser history when I came home from work.
(Other parents might have to worry about stumbling upon porn. I just get to see a washer with three speeds of spinning.)
I don’t mind him experimenting on our house. And I wonder about how to show off that quality to an employer. He’s a problem-solver.
The current color of my agitator, you ask?
White.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #206
Sam (making pizza): When you’re a half-cup short on flour, you don’t have enough flour.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #205
Sam (holding a chunky bit): So what’s in this new jelly you made?
Peggy: That’s a cinnamon stick. It’s that Texas port wine jelly recipe I was telling you about. The recipe called for packing the sticks in with the jelly.
Sam: Well, I ate one already.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #204
Sam: Mom! Come look at the moon!
Peggy (seeing the moon rise through the tree tops): Oh, that’s something special.
Sam: Yeah. You need a full moon on Halloween. That’s what makes it spooky.
Random thoughts on hitting the 1,000-mile mark
In the first mile of today’s 4.5-mile run, I rolled over 1,000 miles on my jogging log. I used to run 1.5 miles and called it good. That’s just a warm-up now.You can rack up more miles, faster, if you register for race(s). (Race to train, as RunnerSusan says.) Some of the miles have been logged on trails deep in the Cross Timbers forest. Friends warn me of a mountain lion and her cub roaming on a favorite route down the road. What I still fear most is a distracted parent in an SUV. I don’t run with earbuds and music — on solo runs, there is birdsong, and on buddy runs, conversation. Logging miles on your personal odometer is curiously different than your vehicle’s odometer. Too bad changing the tires doesn’t have the same effect on the truck as lacing up new running shoes.
The bootstraps paradigm (and how Texas can’t get it up)
My sister, Chris, calls most Sunday nights. The routine started not long after Mark died. After a year or so, I told her she really could stop checking on me, but she calls anyways. We catch up and have a laugh or two. Last night she asked what’s new and after I waxed about my new shoes, I shared what I learned Saturday at a local workshop on supported employment put on by The Arc.
Chris didn’t miss a beat when I shared an eye-popping statistic with her about Texas and its Medicaid waiver programs for people with disabilities.
“Texas really means that pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps thing, don’t they?”
Yes, they do.
Even if you have cerebral palsy.Even if you have a C1-C7 spinal injury. Sheesh. Even if you have no arms.
During the workshop, we heard from both the family and the supervisor of a man with autism. He has worked at the Austin Hilton downtown for nearly five years as a hotel steward. The family was incredibly inventive and determined. The hotel management is both smart and compassionate. The man is able to speak through a bit of sign language, and it has worked out fine. The hotel alluded to the story of another man on their staff who has autism (I know this story from the people at Marbridge), so this wasn’t a one-time thing for them, either.
The main thing I learned is that “social service” in Texas is DIY.
The mother of the hotel steward also is an advocate. She passed out a fact sheet that listed how many people in Texas were receiving employment services through the state’s Medicaid waiver programs. (Read the material in the link to understand the nuances. But suffice to say, if a person with a disability needs services, you can apply for help through one of these programs instead of checking into a state-supported living center.)
School officials and other advocates advised Mark and me to put Sam on the waiting list when we moved to Texas. They said it could well take 15-20 years for him to work his way up the list. If he were receiving services through CLASS, the program that would best fit his needs, he would join all the other people in Texas receiving employment services through this waiver program. And that number is …
2
You read that right. Two.
In a state of 25.6 million people, we have found the resources to help just two people with disabilities, people like Sam, with employment services. To be fair, there are more people getting employment services in the other waiver programs, but not very many — about 500 or so, in the entire state. I would bet that most, if not all, of them are working in sheltered workshops. In other words, still some distance from a full, independent life in the community.
The hotel steward’s mother described the same problem I had last year when I called DARS, another place to find help with employment services. DARS told her, too, that she had a better chance of helping her son find a job than they did. When she called the various employment support service groups, she confirmed what DARS had told her. Most of the vendors were out of business. To get started, her son’s ABA therapist became certified as a DARS provider so he could be the job coach as he learned to be a hotel steward.
Dear Texas: I reject the notion that this is benign neglect. What does it really cost the state to neglect this pool of workers? Sincerely Yours. P
The bottom line for our family is what I have suspected for some time. I have to go along with Sam, as I have several times already, in his job search. He stands a much better chance pulling up his bootstraps if I put mine on, too.