The White Hanky

Maria was waiting for me when I showed up at our test site this morning to set up.  She is from the Dominican Republic and speaks very little English and I speak very little Spanish but my un po keet toe has been enough to navigate hundreds of tests without a translator over the last dozen or so years.

Our office had informed me earlier that Maria had taken the test before with another organization and she felt that she had been discriminated against.  When she asked if we had someone who spoke Spanish they remembered that I was willing and mostly able to do tests by myself in Spanish and they routed her my way.

With tears in her eyes Maria hands me a handwritten letter on white notebook paper written in English by her school age daughter which says in effect - My mother is very nice, she needs a driver's license, she gets very nervous, she really is very nice, we don't have a lot of money, she needs a license to drive to work, please pass my very nice mother.

I read the letter and hand it back to Maria and she then explains to me in Spanish what is in the letter and what most every immigrant says after they have struggles passing their driver's test.  Only bits and pieces of what she is actually saying are clear to me, but they are enough.  "Mucho Nervoso" means she is very nervous.  "No carro No tra ba ho" means she can't get to work without her car and she can't drive her car without a driver's license.  And "Mucho dinero" while rubbing her two fingers together means that all of this testing business is taking money that she really doesn't have in the first place.

In response I spread out my arms and say:  "Everyone says Mucho Nervoso.  Everyone says No carro No tra ba ho.  Everyone says No Dinero."  I put my hands on an imaginary steering wheel, turning it left and right and say:  "Bien Bien, Si.  No Bien, Mass Mass, No."  Through her tears Maria nods her head.

Before she gets into our rental car Maria has me stand next to her while she says a very long, expressive and emotional prayer in Spanish, ending with something like "In nombre Patre e Filio e Spiritu Santo.

Maria ends up passing the parking maneuvers so I get into the passenger seat to start the driving portion of the test.  Maria is still crying.  We pull out of the parking lot and turn a few streets later into a residential area.  Maria is still crying.  Being the gentleman that I am I offer her my handkerchief which she takes without hesitation.  Maria rubs her teary eyes with it and then each time we stop at a light or a stop sign Maria uses it to blow her nose, emitting a loud honk each time.  This goes on through the entire test.

It turns out that Maria does well enough to earn a passing grade.  I have her park the car and then pressing my body against the passenger side door because I suspect what might happen next I inform Maria that she has passed her test.  Her puffy red face and nose seem very happy with the news and she reaches over to hug me but I extend my arms to give her a more long distance hug.  I do this because I once was hugged by a very large African American woman and it took me several minutes to break free.

I point to the center drink holder in the rental car and tell Maria that she can put my handkerchief there.  "Oh no!" was her reply.  Holding the wet and limp hanky in the open palm of her right hand she places the palm of her left hand on top of it, then moves both hands and hanky to her heart and says that she must take it home with her.  I say OK because I know that I really have no choice in the matter.

I say goodbye and God Bless You in Spanish to Maria and once again the tears come.  I'm hoping that my hanky gets washed and finds a good home and that she's not the type that would put it as part of a little shrine in her home that honors nice people like me.  After all, she did earn the passing grade.