NYS & CSEA Partnership for Education and Training-Workplace Writing

Jovan M. Dunn

Jovan lives in Bronx, New York with her beautiful daughter, Alacia. She works as a clerk for the Department of Corrections at Taconic Correctional Facility. She loves children, reading, talking, and studying.

What education means to me…
Education means a way out, an open door.

Joseph Rodriquez

In Memorium
Joe took the Workplace Writing course while working as a counselor for children with special needs at Bronx Psychiatric Center. He contributed many sensitive pieces of writing that revealed his zest for living and love of family and friends.

What education means to me…
Education enables everyone to experience new things in life.

Ricky Ingravera

Ricky lives in New York, New York with his fiancé and his son and two dogs. He works as a General Mechanic at the Manhattan Psychiatric Center for the Office of Mental Health. He is a competitive power lifter, personal trainer, and strength coach. He loves spending time with his family and watching movies old and new. He enjoys nature by walking his dogs in Central Park. More importantly he now benefits from the creative writing course to explore the hidden writer within.

What education means to me…
Seeking education is the mental fountain of youth. It keeps me mentally hungry. Learning exposes me to new ideas that I can combine with my creativity to express myself in adventurous ways.

By Craig Lebuzz Franklin

Craig lives in Bronx, New York. He works for SUNY Maritime College as a Library Clerk. He is a photo bug and music lover. He also loves to travel.

What education means to me…
Quite simply, it means freedom. The ability to be anything and go anywhere at anytime.

Tara M. Gopaul

This is my initial attempt at writing about the memories of my grandmother. I am very proud of this article as it takes me back to my childhood. I hope you enjoyed reading it as I have taken great pleasure in writing it. I live in Albany, New York. I have two children, Amica, age 18 and Carlton, age 9, and my husband Christopher. I am employed by the New York State OGS Parking Service.

What education means to me…
It means a good life and being able to stand on your own two feet. You can't go anywhere without an education.

Cynthia VanAlstyne Nobles

Cynthia calls upstate New York home, she has worked for the New York State Office of General Services since 2002. She enjoys nature, music and travel. Biology plus adoption created her family of six children, five boys and one girl. The current gleam in her life is grandson, LeighShawn. She dedicates this piece to her husband Steve, who helped with the editing.

Gretchen M. Smith (nee VandenBogart)

Gretchen lives in Schenectady, New York with her husband, two cats, a gerbil, and a cockatiel. She works for the New York State Education Department in the Division of Library Development as a Keyboard Specialist I. Her spare time is consumed by gardening, reading, and updating her website. Someday she hopes to either find the meaning of life or earn a Master’s degree in an as of yet undetermined field.

Norma Mall

Norma Jean Mall-Simonsen lives in East Northport, LI in New York with her husband Fred, her son Don Kenneth and her daughter Jacqueline. She loves decorating, gardening, painting, and collecting antiques; especially Tiffany silver. She is a communication specialist with the NYS Police Department. She is looking forward to retiring to Hawaii and opening a small bed and breakfast with her husband Fred.

What education means to me…

Education opens your mind to so many things. It is so hard to succeed in life without an education.

My Interview
By Jovan M. Dunn

The first day I went for an interview I was excited! I was 23 years-old and scared to the bone. After working in retail most of my young working life, I was looking forward to the stability of a State job. My friend and I drove for two hours upstate to Stormville, N.Y. I saw cows, fields, horses, big houses, small houses and small stores, nothing like the city! We finally found Route 94, drove about another half mile, and then made a right turn onto Greenhaven Correctional Facility. I just sat in the car and started to cry as I looked up at a great big black wall with green moss growing all over it, and I just stared at the wall.

There was an officer in a watch tower in the middle of the big black wall saying over the loud speaker, “MOVE YOUR VEHICLE,” while holding a gun. I was in such shock, that I just kept thinking that a big green monster or huge octopus or some sort of animal was going to climb over the wall! I broke out in hives and started scratching all over. After about five minutes of this, I realized that if I didn’t leave the car right then and there, I was going to miss my interview. So I pulled myself together and walked through the giant black, green, mossy wall.

I felt as though the wall was going to swallow me up when I walked through the front door. I walked past the big grey gates and there I had my hand stamped and put under a neon light. Immediately, I felt like an inmate convicted of a crime. The prison security guard then told me to take off my shoes and to remove all the pins from my hair. Then I had to open my purse, and dump everything out as they asked me questions about my personal items tumbling out onto the table. I told them to keep my purse if my stuff created a problem. The guards said that they could not hold my belongings and that I had to hold onto everything myself.

The interviewer came out to escort me back to her office. I felt relieved at this point. My interviewer’s name was Cindy Stewart. She wore blue jeans, a white shirt, and sneakers with a blue hoody. Her hair was red, styled with big curls and she wore yellow glasses. She told me that I should follow her. We walked down a long hall painted pink, beige, and cream. We waited for the gate to open and another to close. I felt trapped and on display. I was now the center of attention or should we say attraction for all the different prisoners staring at me from the common rooms.

I thought to myself, “You live in the 'hood', in the projects in the Bronx - toughen up! And so I did, the interview lasted for about 30 minutes and it went great. Cindy hired me on the spot! I was so excited to begin my new life as a state employee that I forgot what I had gone through and thought about just before getting to Cindy’s office. [Top]

A Work In Progress
By Joseph Rodriguez

Grandma,
Auntie,
Mama,
Nana,
Honey,
Boo,
Baby Girl,

Life given, shaped, guided, influenced by women
Acceptance, patience, fortitude taught by women
Love, nurturing understanding exemplified by women
Taught to be a man by women
I realize I’m not as bad as I think and not as good as I want to be
I am a work in progress [Top]

A Pyramid? Yeah, I Can Do That: My First Day on the Job
By Rick Ingravera

I was told at my interview to leave my tools at home. On this jobsite I will be surrounded by thieves who are waiting to pounce on my tools the moment my back is turned. I’m used to protecting my friends from the people outside the building but, from my co-workers? I couldn’t sleep last night. I was wondering how I’d be able to produce something wonderful without my best friends in my hands. It has taken many years for the calluses to develop on these hands from the constant contact and use of my best friends.

The first thing I notice on every jobsite is the safety conditions. Are these people concerned about their safety? If not, I’m sure they could care less about mine. My family expects me to come home everyday. Sometimes, I come home damaged but I don’t break. No hard hats and workers in street clothes like maybe we’re going to hang out on the corner, or go to a bar. I’m the only one in work clothes, the uniform of a craftsman.

I did receive a set of blueprints; blueprints that I can’t actualize. I walk by stacks of materials that are asking me to join them together. They are longing to become so much more than they presently represent apart. With my experience they will become a place that someone will someday call an office, bedroom, waiting room, shopping center, bathroom, kitchen, or home. Here I am naked and asked to have my ideas come through my hands for the world to see – with a stranger’s implements. My head feels like it will explode if I don’t DO something!

I arrived full of energy at 6:45 am, and didn’t receive my tools until 12:45 pm. For hours I did nothing but walk and talk. I hear tools all around me. I hear the “babies” crying, but I’m listening for my babies. They are not here. My tools finally arrive. I believe they are from Fisher-Price: “My First Tape Measure,” “My First Tool Belt,” “My First Snips”!

How am I to build the mighty pyramids with pre-school tools? Those pyramid craftsmen carried their personal tools with them each day. I resolve to purchase a new set of best friends; ones more commensurate with my skill level. I’ll leave my original best friends at home, for if they disappeared, some furniture would move and heads would roll. My new friends and I will do just fine, and if my new friends should develop legs and leave, at least someone will be happy with them. My true best friends will be home when I arrive.

Can you imagine showing up to work one day and being told to sit in another person’s office, at someone else’s desk, not your computer, someone else’s family photos and knick-knacks? Everything would be alien to you…now don’t forget to produce! [Top]

So Cliché
By Craig Lebuzz Franklin

As I sit here in my cliché and glaze upward
Will I see that cherry pie in the sky dream?
Will I know why that caged yellow fowl does sing?
Or, will that black agile feline have had its swallow?

When I sit here in my cliché, if I lean to left and look skyward
Will I see through that dark storm cloud, for a hint of silver, or if I look downward
Will I know if that hydro is greener, or does it just smell that way?

While I sit here in my cliché and start to lean way back
Will I feel that black tarred road at my feet and those gale force winds at my back?

But, hell, if I slide to the right
Will I have to groove to the sound of another drummer?
If I had coin for every time I heard that brass bell toll
I might be rich, I might be.

But, hell…I still haven’t got a pot nor a window to throw it out of.
As I sit here in my cliché. [Top]

Untitled
By Tara M. Gopaul

This is a story about my grandmother. Her name is Ethel Laltoo. She was born in 1890. She had the most beautiful brown eyes, short black hair and was about five feet tall. At the young age of 15, she went to an all girl’s school. The subjects she took included cookery, needlepoint, crochet and knitting.

One day a pastor was visiting the school, saw my grandmother and felt that she would be a good wife for him. He spoke to her parents and a marriage was arranged. From that marriage, they had 7 children.

In 1958, my grandfather passed away. Then my mother went to live with her grandmother, taking some of her children with her. We lived in a small village called Penal in South Trinidad. There, we would attend Sunday school. She always gave us money for the offering, but we would run away to play with our friends instead of going to Sunday School. We took the money she gave us and bought candies. On our return home, my grandmother would ask, “What Bible story did you hear?” We knew the story of Jonah and the whale so we told her about it. This went on for several weeks. We did not realize that our grandmother knew about our tricks. About a month later, our grandmother asked us about the Bible story. We said it was Jonah and the whale. She then looked at us and said that Jonah must be quite dead now, since he spent one month in a whale’s belly. She knew that we were not telling the truth. Luckily, we were not punished.

In 1972, my grandmother got very sick and passed away on March 23 of that year. I remembered months after my grandmother passed, it was around November, one of my brothers went into her room and put her wig on and dressed up in her clothes to scare us. Considering that it was November, the month of All Saints Day in Trinidad, traditionally the natives light candles and take them to the graves of their loved ones, so that the spirits will not return to haunt your house or family, and so they may rest in peace. He succeeded in scaring us. Here in America, I believe it is called Halloween.

My grandmother was a very kind and loving person. Words cannot describe her beauty. So I am adding a picture of my loving grandmother to this paper so everyone who reads this document can see what she looked like. My grandmother was born in 1890 and died in 1972. Rest in peace Ethel Laltoo. [Top]

Just A Funny Thing
by Cynthia VanAlstyne Nobles

Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
I would love to get an upgrade,
What do I need to do?

Violets are Blue,
Roses are Red,
I keep trying and trying just like they said.

Violets are still Blue,
Roses are still Red,
If I take another test, I swear, “I’ll drop dead.”
[Top]

“Not a problem I can do that”
by Gretchen Smith

For six years, I worked in the private sector at Frontier Telephone Company in Rochester, NY. The work was often hectic, always well defined, and I did it well. One could say I found a speck of happiness there. The money was good, the work was tolerable, the people were great, and I was headed somewhere. Then I got married knowing full well that my husband's happiness was tied directly to moving away to finish his bachelor’s degree. “Not a problem,” I thought, “I can do that.” With my youth spent as a bona fide Army Brat, change was like breathing to me. Perseverance was my only option; complaining did me no good.

Moving back to Schenectady was a roller coaster ride with extreme rises and dips. Not knowing what else to do, I contacted a few temporary agencies. I knew I had to work. The entire reason for this move was that my husband does well in school. My duty was to earn money for trivial things like, rent, food, and car maintenance. “Not a problem,” I thought, “I can do that.” Lady luck smiled on me, and I managed to get a job through a temporary agency within two weeks of being in Schenectady. That same month I took the state exam for Keyboard Specialist I. I knew I had scored well when I walked out the door, and only had to wait for the bureaucracy to work its magic.

Meanwhile, I was employed through the temporary agency as a Secretary for the Department of Health’s Bureau of Quality Measurement or Research (BQMOR). There I was performing a job equivalent to a State grade 15. I had only passed the exam for a grade six but I thought “Not a problem…I can do that.” I breezed through the projects given to me, and my phone skills were highly praised. At least my tenure at the phone company provided me with some useful skills. My stay here was short but enjoyable. My position was no longer necessary and after a month it was time for me to move on.

Once again, I contracted through the same temporary agency to do work for NYSERDA, an energy contractor for New York State, as a secretary for their technical assistance department. This time the job duties were vaguer, but they were defined well enough that I thought “Not a problem… I can do that”. The work was different from previous jobs I had tried. Fortunately, I had an affinity for computers. Detecting computer problems and fixing them is an activity I actually enjoy. Just as I was settling into the ebbs and flows of this position I started to receive interview offers from the Keyboard Specialist I exam I had taken earlier.

This brings me to my introduction into the realm of civil service as a Keyboard Specialist I for the Division of Library Development. My absent boss left me little direction for the first week. I have been trying to define my purpose for the past few months with little assistance from on high. The job which seemed clearly defined when it was explained to me in the interview now has many caveats and addendums. Every day is different and challenging as communication is often scarce. However, experience has taught me no matter what life has in store for me “It is not a problem," and I know “I can do that. "
[Top]

I Remember
By Norma Mall

I remember the smell of coffee floating up the stairs from the kitchen at 6 A.M. and the soft tinkling sounds of my grandfather working in he kitchen. The bedroom was warm and some light filtered in from the venetian blinds making the room feel cozy. Lying in bed I could hear the birds chirping in the heavily treed backyard. I always wondered why my grandfather got up at such an ungodly hour. I would put my head back under the covers and try to fall back to sleep.

My sister and I loved going to my grandparents’ house when we were children. We would argue over who was going to sleep with my grandmother in her big old comfy bed. My grandfather was displaced to another room during our visits which were frequent. Everything was clean and neat in my grandparents’ house. They had a house filled with wonderful antiques. I always felt safe with my grandparents, May and George. They were dedicated to each other.

My grandmother was one year older than my grandfather. She was embarrassed by this and would never tell anyone her age. They were old from the time I was born and weak from age. They loved us unconditionally. my grandmother was from German and Irish parents. She was petite, with short curly white hair, and my grandfather was tall and thin, bald, with a big crooked English nose. They did wonderful things for me and my sister and parents. They brought us all the toys my parents wouldn’t. They bought us pretty clothes (instead of sturdy and brown like my mother bought). They never fought or yelled, and they always had ginger ale in the living room closet and dessert after meals. My grandmother made a wonderful chocolate layer cake, and, now, no one has the recipe for it. My sister and I threw homemade confetti over my grandfather’s head one new years eve. He would take us to the beach in Nissequoque. He drove 30 MPH all the way through the narrow streets that were shaded by large tree branches that were like an umbrella over the streets. Sometimes we would stop at the St. James General Store and buy loose candy from the bins at the counter. My grandfather taught me how to drive when I was 17. When I worked at Burger King, I brought him food after my grandmother died, I didn’t know how to cook. He did come over to our house quite a bit. I had dreams about my grandparents for many years after they died. They weren’t bad dreams. They were dreams that came from missing them. They live with me still in good memories. I wish my children could have known them. [Top]