Brother Don't You Care?

When I feel like it I’ve been writing a series of essays on the years I attended a small, conservative Bible school in Wyoming. This is one of the essays. It was late October in Nebraska and we were standing on the side of the road, yelling to cars. There were fifteen of us in the parking lot, washing cars to raise money for soccer uniforms. I tried to be one of the guys holding the signs and yelling at the commuters because it was too cold to stand there with the hose and sponges. It started to snow.

I wondered how I got to be there. I hated soccer. My parents made me play it in the second grade, and all I excelled at was trying to trip the other team. And sitting down.

So why was I standing there, wet and shivering? Why was I trying to pay for a uniform? Trying to be on a team? Why did I have a limp?

Jerry.

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