I slip into the classroom 45 minutes before class, as usual, to get the computer going and set out files for the students to pick up.
Mr. D. is there early, as usual, charging his phone and going through a stack of small papers he has emptied out of his wallet.
We talk for a few minutes and I ask him to please please write down some of his recipes for me. He agrees.
This is the middle of the story, the part we are in now, today.
I'm not sure where it will end, but I hope this story fixes things and opens doors and helps get Mr. D* what he needs. I will know the ending when you do, when we all figure it out together.
Every good story needs a reasonable, meaningful starting point and I would start our story in 1973.
In 1973, interesting political things were going on in the US.
In 1973, Mr. D* was graduating from Godby High School and starting culinary classes at Lively Technical Center.
In 1973, I started kindergarten.
Now, somehow, I'm here: a history professor who tries to help college students serve the homeless.
And, somehow, he is here: college student, homeless, disabled, the survivor of a horrific violent crime.