John Bembry

     People always remember the worst day and the best day of their lives. Our short memory spans tend to recall the most traumatic and pleasing days. We cannot remember where we put our car keys or what we had for dinner last night, but ask anyone on the street what was their worst day, and they will tell you some of the saddest and most life-altering tales you have ever heard.
     My darkest day started out as a series of bad weeks. The mother of my children and I had decided to go our separate ways and care for the children 50-50. What I was not told was that one 50% would be I and the other 50% would be me. She would not call, visit or write; living in Tampa no more than five miles from each other, we had no contact. When I went to remind her how much her children needed her in their young lives, a well-muscled, shirtless man opened her door. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what was going on. Although I was infuriated, the idea of county jail quickly brought me to my senses, and I asked why she had not been around to see her kids. She responded with just one word: “busy.”
     On that day I took total control of the care of my children, who were six months and two-years old. We were living with friends in a very small house. Needless to say I had my hands full as both Dad and “Mr. Mom.” Things soon began to slip from my grasp. I had no money and no family and Social Services seemed to offer me little help. The people I had lived with had supported me and my children but they had just had another child, bringing their total to three, and simply had no more space for us. With no resources I faced life on the street. I thought about giving my children up for adoption or foster care until I was on my own feet. But I would look into those beautiful innocent faces and wonder how we could live without each other: I simply couldn’t.
     I felt I had failed and knew it was time to call my family in Utica, N.Y., for assistance. Besides their love and support they gave us a bus ticket. In Utica our lives began to change. We had love and support from our family and I entered the ACCESS Program at Hamilton College. Going back to school as a single father after almost 14 years was rough. I am still trying to grasp all the knowledge accessible through the program. I learned a lot about myself in that first semester. And I did not do all that badly. The next term, after increasing my study skills and focusing, everything paid off. This brings me to the best day of my life: The day I received my grades at the end of the spring semester. It was the happiest I had been in a long time. I walked around with a silly grin on my face all day long. Must have been a strange thing to see, but I really didn’t care at all. I knew that I had been through a very rough year and that the grades were my reward. To most college students they were simply grades, but to me they represented the fact that I could do something with hard work and focus. Those grades remain in my photo album as a daily reminder.

Photo Exhibit

A nationally touring exhibit of 50 framed, museum quality, color photographs coupled with narratives created by students who are welfare eligible, single parents changing their lives through the pathway of higher education.  The installation presents a unique view of poverty from insiders’ perspectives and reframes the cultural (de)valuations of poor single parents vis-à-vis family, work and higher education in the United States today. View the Gallery Guide.