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My Prairie Schooner continued

I slowed the pace of my walk as I maneuvered the cart to the right side of the sidewalk. An unusually long string of students, a few sporting sweatshirts with "Platteville Pioneers" on the front of them, strutted toward me and passed by. Some smiled. Some didn't. I mentally collected the variety of surprised looks on their faces.

To prove that I was indeed mentally competent and emotionally stable, I greeted the next wave of students with what turned out to be an insecure, "... Morning."

Some returned the greeting. Most ignored me.

I then tried the detachment of a visionary, ignoring the faces that were walking by me. Yet, a few caught my eye, looked at me coldly and reflected my vagueness. A clanking grocery cart with hard wheels and a freshman with cerebral palsy are not as real, after all, as the past or what was to come.

The future pulled me down the street that morning. I submerged my fear, my shyness, my insecurity and my embarrassment because I knew my survival was at stake. I had to get through college with good grades to get a good job and break away from farming, the way of life my family had known for three generations – a tradition I could not carry on as the oldest of four children due to my disability.

I also wanted the non-farm life I had come to know while attending grade school in Madison and living with four different families – people ranging from factory workers and janitors to school teachers and business managers.

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