I sat in my office a week later on a Monday, with a prospective student.
“Mr. Farthing, it says here that you’ve worked as a truck driver for almost eighteen years. Hell, that’s almost as long as I’ve been working as a counselor.” I leaned back in my chair and looked at the man sitting in front of me.
He was my age and slightly overweight, with a bald spot and his remaining hair pulled back into a stringy ponytail. Henry Farthing wore a short-sleeved shirt with palm trees all over it, Dockers and sneakers.
But for the grace of God, there go I. Tell me this isn’t what I look like in public.
“Why the sudden interest in going back to school?”
“Well, my wife died, and while I loved being on the road, it’s not fun without her anymore. I thought it was time for a change. You’re never too ol
