STUDENT PROFILE:
VERNITA SMALL
By Kathy Witkowsky

In a small storefront Pentecostal church on the blighted West Side of Chicago, Vernita Small—"Sister Vernita," as her congregation refers to her—stood this summer and testified about the blessings in her life. Accompanied by the rising and falling rhythms that her ten-year-old son Aaron played on drums, encouraged by the enthusiastic rattling of tambourines and interrupted by frequent choruses of "amen" and "praise to Jesus" from about two dozen women and children in the congregation, Vernita listed the things she was thankful for—her three children: Aaron, nine-year-old Austin and five-year-old Aaric; her pastor; a guest; and finally, her sense of self.

Photo Credit: Larry Evans, Black Star Vernita Small is pursuing an associate's degree in child development at Malcolm X College in Chicago. She also works full-time, is active in her church, and has her sights set on a master's degree in social work.

"I've been thinking a lot about what I've been through," she said, her usually calm and level voice shuddering with emotion, her red blouse and gold shoes shimmering in the fluorescent lights. "Ten years ago I had no self-esteem, no self-worth," she continued. "People can build you up (amen! someone cried) and then run you down (amen!)," she said, "but once God gives you self-esteem, you keep it." Amen! Amen! Amen!

Born and raised in the predominantly black south Chicago suburb of Markham, Vernita was the second of six girls her mother had with five different men. Her mother, a special education teacher with an associate's degree, physically abused her. Her father was largely absent. Her stepfather sexually abused her, she said, and on homecoming night of her junior year she moved in with a friend's family. In the spring of 1988, she graduated from Hillcrest High School, but with mediocre grades that she now attributes in large part to depression.

"Most teenagers that experience what I went through ended up on the streets, on drugs, prostituting," said Vernita, who seems more astonished than angry at what she endured.

Photo Credit: Larry Evans, Black Star Vernita Small with her children.

Instead, Vernita is a social-service assistant for the Head Start program at Malcolm X College, one of the City Colleges of Chicago, and has completed three college-level courses. Her goal is a master's degree in social work, with a focus on families with special-needs children. She knows about heading such a family: her middle son, Austin, has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.

Vernita always wanted to continue her education; she just couldn't figure out how or where. Many of her peers at Hillcrest High School, which was racially and economically integrated, headed off for college immediately after graduation. "I saw them excelling in school. They had supportive parents. They were picking out colleges. And there I was by myself, hardly making it out of high school," she recalled. She often visited her school guidance counselor, whom she liked, but instead of helping her plan for her future he "basically helped me get through the day," she said.

"To be honest, I've always been a little jealous because I always wanted to go to a four-year college, live in a dorm," she said during a break in the church service. But she never imagined it was within her grasp. "I used to think, 'Who's going to pay for it?'" she recalled, as she picked at a homemade lunch of chicken, mashed potatoes, cabbage, cornbread and watermelon served up by members of the congregation.

So Vernita applied to the Air Force. Her idea was to get some technical training—"I wasn't trying to get into the plane!" she added, laughing at the thought. She scored "exceptionally high" on a standardized aptitude test and was told she could have her pick of fields, though her best bet would be office and clerical work. She was prepared to enlist a few months after graduation, but that summer she joined a Pentecostal church and changed her mind.

In December 1988 Vernita met her future husband. They married the following October and moved to Chicago. Vernita was 19. Her husband was a drill-press operator, and, except for a year when she offered in-home childcare and worked as a housekeeper, he supported her while she cared for their children.

The marriage broke up in November 1995, and Vernita was forced to go on welfare. "I felt degraded," she said. "You know, you have a plan for your life, and it did not work that way. And I was extremely upset."

Then a woman at her church told her about a part-time secretarial position within the Head Start program at Malcolm X College. She got the job and eventually weaned herself from public assistance. (Today she survives on about $2,000 a month, a combination of income from her job, child support garnished from her ex-husband's wages, and money from the Social Security Administration for Austin's special needs.)

Better yet, she was working in an atmosphere where education mattered, and where she was surrounded by people who were succeeding at it. "I saw younger people that were getting their degrees. I talked to people my age who had their degrees and were settled in their careers," she said.

Working at the college and seeing the Head Start program, Vernita realized what she wanted to do with her life. "Being in the midst of the children, I could see that a lot of them had special needs that the parents weren't dealing with," she said. That resonated with Vernita, who was still struggling to get the proper care for Austin.

He had rages and would chase his brothers around the house with knives. He cut up curtains. One morning, Vernita awoke to find him cutting her hair. "I really needed help—because he was making me crazy. It's one of the biggest obstacles I've had to face," she said.

After a frustrating battle with school authorities, Vernita managed to get Austin enrolled in a special-needs school in Westchester, Illinois. But, she said, "all they wanted to do was medicate him." Against recommendations, Vernita took Austin off medication. With the help of prayer and hard work, she said, he is doing much better. Last spring, he made the second-grade honor roll.

Her ordeal made her more empathetic. "I realized how hard it is on the parent, on the siblings. And on the child, too.

"And so I decided that there's a lot more parents out there that are in denial—especially in black families," Vernita said. "They just go into denial: 'Oh, he just needs a whopping.' Or they're misinformed. Or they're informed but they're overwhelmed.

"Whether it's a physical, emotional or mental disability, [these children] deserve to have an education just like everybody else—and they deserve to be a part of society. So I decided to go into the field."