It's funny sometimes how we take things for granted. We take the novel idea that a boy of sixteen can read the local paper, we know what incoming text message say on our phone, and we rarely give a second thought to what we read and how we do it. For those of us afforded the luxury of going to school, and completing that education--on any level--have an advantage.
We can maneuver through the day fairly easily, and we can read random tidbits like this blog. Yet, we may never give a second glace to the clerk at the local grocery store, gas station, or the server in the pizza joint. We don't bother to look past the exterior of their work uniform and see the person there. The person that might have had to quit school to bring in a paycheck, the person that might struggle to read the words on the cash register, and we might not think that person with a sunny disposition doesn't have a high school diploma.
These are the things that smack you in the face when you spend the better part of a week giving practice GED exams. Sometimes the applicants blew me away, sometimes they broke my heart when I graded their tests and saw scores incredibly low, and sometimes . . . sometimes I was shocked because there were from "good families," people I see on the regular basis, and do not fit the stereotype.
And that my friends . . . is one of those moments that is tragically funny when you find yourself looking into the figurative mirror of what you passionately tell others. Folks living with functional, or even non-functional, illliteracy live within the folds of our society and community. And these undereducated individuals, seeking help with reading and GED attainment, could very well be the people we converse with everyday. We take for granted, and assume, that the people around us aren't "them," but you never know who might be in need around you.