About Ourselves 2013.Indd

Home , Me So Bad

Ab�u� Fresno City College 1101 E. University Avenue Fresno, CA 93741 www.fresnocitycollege.edu O�r��e� State Center Community College District A Collection of Essays Written by Fresno City College Students in Developmental and Preparatory English. Fall 2012–Spring 2013

About Ourselves A Collection of Essays Written by Fresno City College Students in Developmental and Preparatory English.

2012 – 2013

Editorial Staff: Michael Medrano, Pilar Graham, and Tamar Mekredijian

Cover artwork: Greyzic Magliba, Starry Skies Acknowledgements

The editors would like to thank the following people for their help and support: Dr. Jennifer Johnson, Dean of Instruction, Humanities State Center Community College Foundation Friends of the Arts (FOTA) Jennifer Franklin, Website Richard Harrison, Production Ben Lozano, Graphic Artist From the Editors

In this publication, the Fresno City College Developmental English Department proudly presents the best of our students’ writing submitted for Fall 2012 and Spring 2013. The editorial staff pub- lished the works with minimal editing. All of the essays were written in response to assignments; some are serious, some are funny, and some show the remarkable ability our students have to write about difficult experiences with honesty and grace.

This journal is also available at: http://online.fresnocitycollege.edu/aboutourselves

Fresno City College 1101 E. University Avenue Fresno, CA 93741 Table of Contents

Jovanny Alba, New Chapter �� 4

Ronald Barker, Warm Memories with the Flow of the Swing �� 7

Timothy P. Bounthapayan, Valuable Advice for a Lifetime ��10

Kerry Cavin, The Problem with Roomates ��13

Shannon Dority, Things in Culture That Need Change��19

Suzie Garabedian, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Armenian �� 22

Albert Garcia, Paper One �� 26

Chia Gould, Fighting for Family ��29

Shaden Meqdad, The Revelation��32

Alexis Molina, Mistakes Made When Looking for Love ��37

Savan Oum, A Fisherman’s Catch is not Always on the Water �� 42

Veronica Vera, Repeat After Me �� 46

New Chapter Jovanny Alba

Imagine finding out that you are going to be a father at the age of seventeen. Your mind begins to race and the thoughts and emotions are unexplainable. You have created another human being that you will be responsible for, and it’s going to change your life forever. As for me, there is no exact verbal description that could describe my experience of becoming a teen father. This was the most difficult moment in my life and at the same time, the best thing that has happened. When my girlfriend brought up that she could be pregnant, I was afraid and all I wanted to know was whether she was or wasn’t. I didn’t know what to do. Days went by, and I was working when she had her doctor’s appointment. I received a call and she had told me the news. I felt a warm blood feeling dropping from my head to my toes, my heart sunk, I was very shocked and scared. After learning that I had a baby on the way it had sunk in, one of my big worries was how was I going to tell my parents and her parents, after all there scolding about being careful and waiting until I was older. All those talks about how I am young and I needed to enjoy my life and set something up for myself before I think about family. I knew I was only going to get a bigger scolding, but I was more afraid for the mother of my baby. How were her parents going to react? Were they going to ask her to leave the house? So we stayed with the dad, yet feared his reaction would be a sad look on his face, a look of disappointment, even though he would help us.. The reaction of my parents was anger, and they tried to kick me out the house. They were very dis- appointed in me. In the beginning, it was hard. Then as time passed feelings of being mad and angry began to fade away. Her mom was very excited and happy, knowing it was her first grand- son and this actually shocked me. However, it didn’t end there, then there was the reaction that which our friends had. For me comments were made about going out and how I would now be tied down. As for her they would question me if I would make a good father, if I would stay, and if we were going to work out.

Every family friend also had comments to make or advice to give us. It seemed that we were being used as “the bad example.” Although you can say that what other say does not affect you, it does because it makes you begin to think. It makes you question yourself and what you are capable of.

1 I always knew that a baby was life changing, that there were going to be bigger responsibilities. It wouldn’t be about me anymore. My whole life would revolve around someone that would depend on me. I would then turn into my parents. I had always told myself that I would be a good dad, but how do you become the perfect parent? We all have those moments when we say to ourselves, I would never be like that with my kids basically referring to what we consider mistakes that our parents made with us, which in reality were done with good intentions. So how exactly will I teach my child life lessons and moral without making them taking it in a negative way? Changing my lifestyle was also a dramatic change for me. Not being able to spend money on things I enjoyed such as going out, buying clothes, shoes, cars that was all over. I had to save up for everything that my child was going to need. Being in a relationship was already hard enough with the arguments that happen with the hormones of her pregnancy which made it worse. The bickering back and forth, I couldn’t even go out to eat with my friends because the questioning began. I had to constantly remind myself that she was also emotional because she was pregnant, even though it was so irritating and I felt like blowing up.

My son was born on December 29 at 5:13 in the afternoon. When he first came out I cut his umbilical cord and I felt something I had never felt in my life. When I heard the sound of him starting to cry, I thought how incredible it was for me, creating something so wonderful and precious in my eyes. When I first got to hold him, I felt anxious; it was the best feeling ever. I got so emotional in how he just looked just like me when I was a baby. I felt like the happiest person in the entire world! We need to realize that we must be more careful. That one moment where we were not cau- tious can change your life forever and we must take responsibility for our actions. Abortion should never be a solution because although it is something very difficult, it’s an unexplainable experience. Having my son was one of the best moments of my life and after all of the issues and problems that I faced, I know that it is worth it. He is my motivation, my life, and wouldn’t change it for anything.

2 Warm Memories With The Flow of The Swing Ronald Barker

The porch was significant in the South because it was the social gathering place for the family. It was the place to congregate in the evening after supper, since there was no air conditioning for those southern evenings when you needed to cool off. I was three years old at the time. I remember when the family; my brother Russ, my sister Barbara my mom, Mable and me, all went to Bessemer Alabama, which is about thirty minutes from Birmingham. My uncle Gilbert, who worked in the steel mills and was a skilled mason, was finishing up the last section of the front porch. The thing that made the house special for a three year old was the bench swing at the front left side of the porch. The two-story wood house had an attached open carport-extending overhead from the side porch. The porch extended from the front of the house to the right side of the house. The porch was about 12 feet wide from the front to the side of the house; it was painted brick red. There was also a white banister about four feet high around the entire porch. Underneath the house, which was open, is where the city boys, my brother and I, would have fun chasing the chickens trying to get away from us. The swing was facing the length of the porch, which gave us room to swing. But everyone: me, my brother Russ, my sister Barbara, my cousins Beverly and Janice, my aunt Ma Dear and my uncle Gilbert, my mom Mable, and Grandma Sue Bertha, all wanted to swing. There were regular porch chairs around, and that’s where we would sit until someone got through taking their turn, which you always hoped wasn’t too long since the swing could only hold about four people at a time. I remember finally getting my turn to sit in the swing. I was able to squeeze myself in between three other people, making me the fourth person in a tight group. It was a thrill to make the swing go back with everybody using our legs to propel us back. After we had extended in the opposite

direction we could then feel that evening breeze blowing past us. It almost became a game to try

to push as far back for that cooling sensation. And why did everybody want to swing? The swing- ing gave you a feeling of being free. It was so freeing and fun and made you feel good inside.

3 And of course you would get hungry after an early dinner. So my cousin Beverly brought out a sandwich called a wide-open space sandwich. It consists of two pieces of white bread with may- onnaise spread over both pieces. There wasn’t even a slice of tomato, absolutely nothing else, but times were hard. Even though we did not have a lot, we often shared. I remember my grandmother talking to me when she had just come from inside the house and was standing to the side of the screen door. She had the appearance of a teacher with her long hair pulled back, and she was wearing a dark cotton shawl over her shoulder and a long dress that came down to her calf. I’m standing in front of her off to the side. The top of my head came up to the top of her knees, and she says to me, “Always be good to your mother Ronnie”. I could not understand why she would be telling me this at three years old, but it is something I’ve never forgotten. I didn’t have a lot of face-to- face encounters after that because she had a stroke, and she was always bedridden when ever we visited after that. While everyone was on the porch waiting for a chance to swing, my grandma, Sue Bertha, was waiting for some adults to come over to teach a class in a room on the side of the house next to the drive way. She taught people, who had lived in the country in impoverish conditions, how to improve their lives and beautify their homes by planting flowers around the home. She had studied social work with Jane Addams in Chicago. In these modern times, most homes don’t have porches in the front of the house that are large enough for family gatherings. The porch was the place where everyone reconnected with each other. The porch’s swing and the cooperation it took with everyone pushing in the same direction for the cool breeze to make the night a little more pleasant for everyone are cherished memories for me. In the days past, there were no distractions like smart phones and computer games and twenty-four hour cable TV to keep you from enjoying each other’s company. You truly interacted and stayed connected to each other. That sense of community is missing because everyone is now connected only to themselves. I miss that live person-to-person contact and interaction. I miss

being around a grandmother who would take you aside and give you advice on how to live a better life. I also miss being around a real life role model you can touch and talk to and who really cared about you. 4 Valuable Advice for a Life Time Timothy P. Bounthapanya

I must have been around thirteen years old when my father sat me down one day and started to explain to me about the proper way to manage my money. The timing couldn’t have been any better because I’ve started my newspaper delivery route about a week prior to our conversation. I did not think of it seriously at that time because I was just glad that I finally started to earn my own money. I was on my way to be independent! I wouldn’t be asking for my monthly allowance from my parents again. However, my father still gave me valuable advice that continues to help me today. I learned from my father to stop spending money wastefully so that I would be able to buy my first car, plan out my career goals, and save enough money to buy a house. First of all, my father explained to me that since I’ll be making around forty dollars a week, I should at least saved one hundred dollars a month. That would leave me sixty dollars to spend on anything and everything that I desired. Back in 1983, sixty dollars to a thirteen year old was a lot of money. It was much, much more than my $5.00 monthly allowances from my parents. My father said, “If you could save at least one hundred dollars a month, by the time you turn sixteen, you should be able to buy your personal car.” My father sure had my full attention as soon as he mentioned my “personal car.” That became my number one short term goal from that day for- ward. When I turned sixteen, my father took me to Michael’s Dealership, and I bought myself a brand new, candy apple red, Mitsubishi Mighty Max pickup truck. I put a down payment of $3000.00 from my hard earned money, and my monthly payment was $135.00 for 36 months. I was the proudest and happiest person that day driving down Blackstone Avenue toward my house. Then, when I turned eighteen, my father sat me down again and gave me another piece of advice. This time he said, “Son, you are eighteen now, I’m going to treat you as an adult, but I need you to start acting like an adult.” My father went on to say that it’s time for me to start making plans for my future. He wanted me to attend college and become the first doctor in our family.

He flatly asked, “So, what do you think about this plan?” I told him that I’ll sleep on it and will give him the answer in a few days. He went on and said, “Whatever you decide, we will support you 100 percent.” After a long and stressful week, I came to a conclusion that I would be enlist-

5 ing in the United States Navy and see the world. I told my parents that I was being stressed out from too much schooling and that I needed a break from books and classrooms for a while. I reasoned that I would only be gone for two years on active duty and after I’ve completed my service, I could continue my educational plans. Again, they were full of understanding and they were very supportive of my decisions. So, I signed up with Uncle Sam and went to see the world. Finally, on one of my many weekend visits that I had a chance to drive down from Oakland to see my parents in Fresno; my father gave me one of his famous speeches again. This time, he mentioned that since I had a steady job, I should start saving money to buy a house. At first, I told him that I was way too young to buy a house. Besides, I reasoned, I didn’t know if I could afford a house. That’s when he asked, “Did you think that you could afford a car back when you were only sixteen years old?” I tried to argued, “Yeah, but the car was only $8500.” He quickly explained, “It doesn’t have to be this week, next month, next year, or the year after.” My father reasoned that if I could put away so much money aside each month, I would be able to afford a new house before I

knew it. He calmly stated, “It would take times, patience and most of all, your 100 percent com- mitment.” I took his advice and essentially bought my first house after my fifth year in the United States Navy. My whole life experience had taught me that I could accomplish anything if I set my mind to it. No matter what my goals are or how difficult it might be, success will be mine as long as I remain committed and unswerving from my main objective. Suddenly, all of my unattainable goals became reality and all of my hard work and dedication paid off at the end. As I thought back to my younger days, I was very fortunate that I’ve listened and followed all of my father’s advice. Now, it’s my turn to be in my father’s shoes and hopefully fulfilled my role as an understanding and caring father figure to my very young three children.

6 The Problem with Roommates Kerry Cavin

While growing up in one’s family household, your parent’s way of life seems to define what is right and wrong within a domestic setting. The rules and standards of living established by your parents become your own and you carry them on into your adult life once you move out on your own. What many people realize but do not fully comprehend before entering into a roommate agreement is that everyone grows up with different values and methods of living. Conflict inevita- bly arises when different ideas of how to live life collide.

Sometimes small details that you never considered become annoyances. As an eighteen year old, nothing could rival my love for peanut butter and jelly. At the end of every work shift I’d dream of a giant glass of ice cold milk accompanied by a sandwich containing an unreason- able amount of peanut butter and strawberry jelly. I would think about the thick crunchy peanut butter slathered on soft white bread with a strange food- lust. After scrambling up the exter- nal apartment complex stairs and frantically unlocking our front door, I’d move straight to the cupboard to find the bread that I had recently purchased. However, I would swing open the cupboard only to find bare shelves. My emotions would shift from excitement to confusion; confusion to anger. Slamming cupboards, I would wonder where that loaf had gone to; heartbroken and miserable. When my roommates arrived later in the night I would ask what happened to the bread. One of my roommates, Jacob, would casually walk to the refrigerator and pull out a glo- riously untouched loaf and give me a look of condescending puzzlement. I had not even opened the refrigerator in my search. My parents had always kept the bread in the cupboard, counter, or on top of the refrigerator; never inside. The ease with which I could have found the bread and my roommate’s unspoken ocular insult would make me seethe with rage but he was simply taught a different way.

At times, seemingly harmless habits cause extremely annoying effects. I would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of television, which seemed far too loud when juxtaposed to the still early morning quiet. Puffy-eyed and disoriented, I would stumble into the community living

7 area and turn off the T.V. with an angry push of the power button. As soon as the sound would blessedly cease, I would hear a drowsy, yet angry voice from my roommate on the couch, “I was watching that…” he would say. My roommate, McCabe would constantly sleep on the couch. He had always done so at home and spontaneously continued the habit midway into our time living together. It was always the same. I’d move to turn off the television and as soon as the sound stopped he would wake up, grumpily state that he was watching it, and then fall right back to sleep before my eyes; leaving us all to suffer while he was blissfully asleep and slaying unicorns or seducing vampires strippers. All I wanted was some quiet and perhaps some vampire strippers of my own but he was apparently unwilling to part with that comfort. Lack of equality between roommates always leads to conflict. Always. I had moved into an apartment with a gay married couple; two of my best friends. The law had just been passed that had given them the right to wed and they did. They needed an extra source of income to ease their financial situation, so I got an apartment with them; paying an equal share of rent. Out of consideration of our small apartment and my friend’s allergies we elected to not get any animals. Out of a blooming resentment I was unaware of, my friend’s husband rescued two cats. I love animals but my long time friend Max was allergic, however, his husband ignored that fact in his effort to displease me. As an animal lover, one thing that is incredibly annoying is an antiso- cial animal that slinks away and hides. We had two. These skittish familiars would crouch under all manner of furniture and sprint away when approached. If picked up, they would squirm and scratch or stay extremely still with claws out; waiting for their moment to escape, clawing the shit out of you in the process. Eventually, the cats became crafty. The two white balls of shadow would jump from the counter to the refrigerator and leap from there onto the tops of the cupboards. Our kitchen was covered in hair. There’d be hair on the cutting-board and hair on the stove. I’d find hair on the counters and hair on the floor. I’d breathe in floating hair and also find it on our dishes within the cupboard. Hair would drift into frying pans during food preparation. I would dream of miles and miles of rodentless fields uninterrupted by and water sources and take plea- sure in the idea of abandoning them there. If only I could get a hand on them. It was maddening and eventually led to the dissolution our living situation and, unfortunately, our friendship. Cleanliness issues make living situations uncomfortable. In addition to constantly sleeping 8 with the television blaring in the living room, my roommate McCabe also had a problem with hygiene. He would let days pass between showers and keep a mountain of dirty laundry in his closet and on his bed and everywhere else. The dish cupboards would be empty when I’d try to eat and all of the plates, bowls, and silverware would never fail to be in his room covered in a name- less and moldy mystery. In this apartment, we shared a community computer area. I would walk out of my room to the kitchen and spot McCabe’s quick strained movement in my peripheral vision; sweat on his brow. It was gross but I could handle it. However, sometimes I would go to use the computer and there would be a black sock encrusted with semen; staring at me with non- existent eyes. His DNA was caked on through multiple uses. It would be on the carpet beside the tower, or on the desk, and sometimes even resting directly on the keyboard. All of the roommates would feel uncomfortable bringing people over because of the fear we had that a fluid smeared sock would be waiting to embarrass us. We eventually left it draped on the monitor when we knew McCabe was bringing a girl home as a not so subtle suggestion that he stop. It didn’t work. The accepted lifestyle established by incumbent roommates can affect your lifestyle and allow you to become resigned to it. After a few years away, I decided to return to Orange County and I moved back in with my friends Max, Jacob, McCabe, and their new roommate Ryan. Rent was cheap and my high school friends welcomed m back. Southern California was beautiful and gave me the sense that I was starting fresh. The problem was that everyone in the apartment had given up on all aspects of domestic upkeep with the exception of rent. There were massive burn scars in

the carpet from fallen hookah coals. It was a wonder they all didn’t burn up in a triple apple fla- vored inferno. There was cat hair, dust, ash, marijuana stems, dirt, food, and hairballs lining the baseboards and scattered on the floor. There was laundry everywhere and conventional bong, a gravity bong or at least pipe on every surface. They began letting anyone who visited to smoke cig- arettes inside. Their friend Ryan sold weed and pharmaceuticals out of his room above the garage. The tide of filth and the unchecked everything was too much to combat. I would go on a mis- sion to clean and make the apartment smell nice only to have one of my roommates return with a posse of cigarette smoking strangers. I gave up eventually and no longer tried. All I could do was bathe and clean my room; letting the house descend into the chaos of their design. Their living conditions became the unwanted setting of my life until I couldn’t stand it anymore. 9 The personal decisions of your roommates can negatively affect your happiness. I had arranged to sleep on the floor of the room my brother was renting from an older guy. It was a large apartment in San Francisco. The man my brother was subletting from, John, owned his own construction company and seemed to be an eccentric but nice guy. He spoke with a relaxed surfer drawl and was generous enough to give me a job and let me stay in my brother’s room without paying much in rent. Due to the discomfort stemming from living in someone else’s place, my brother and I would generally keep to our room; only interacting with John when we went to the kitchen or when passing him in the hall. Gradually, we noticed certain behaviors. John would pass out all over the apartment in odd positions. At times, he would fall asleep with a Marl- boro Light still burning in his hand. He became unpredictably emotional and would be either extremely animated or stumble around like a zombie; dead eyes and slurred speech. He started paying my wages late. I’d walk out to find a few rough looking people passed out on various sur- faces. He started letting a random girl with open sores on her arms and face “run his finances” and she lived there as well for a bit. All of these people were on meth. They’d be wide awake; jit- tery and glassy-eyed for days and then pass out in mid-activity. There’d be conflict too. I’d wake up to meth-head fistfights in the apartment’s hall which earned us a poor reputation. Overall, it was an unsafe and unpleasant situation. Merging different ideas of acceptable living habits and conditions enables us to compare and contrast ideals. Questions of rights and personal freedoms are raised but are always countered by the need of compromise in order to have a semblance of harmony. This is why the living habits of roommates; whether it concerns hygiene, consideration, or personal proclivities; always have an effect on the people they are living with.

10 Things in Cultures That Need Change Shannon Dority

My dearest daughter let me tell why it is so important that some things in our culture need to be changed. I will tell you a story about my grandmother, your great-grandmother, about the way she was disciplined as a child. When she was young and did something that her parents felt was wrong, she was sent out to pick a branch off the willow tree that she felt was big enough to whip her sins away. Her father would whip her naked behind sometimes until it bleed. Usually, he was never able to limit the whippings to her bottom, so she would have welts that ran along her bottom to her ankles. My grandmother would not be able to sit for days. As she got older, the beatings got worse. When my grandmother was young, she got into fight at school with another girl. The school had called her father to come and pick her up, and when he arrived, he did not wait until they got home for the beating to start. He dragged my grandmother outside by her hair where he pro- ceeded to beat her down as if she was a grown man. She was barely able to walk after that, but he still forced her to walk five miles beside his car while he belittled her. When they finally arrived home, he decided to pick the branch from the tree this time. The branch seemed twice as large this time, and the more she squirmed or whimpered the harder he beat her. After that beating, they did not bother to send her to school for the next week. While her body healed this time, she remembers thinking that she would never be like this. After hearing the stories my grandmother would tell me about the way she was disciplined, I often wondered if she realized the abuse she implemented upon me. As a little girl, she often beat me so bad that I could barely walk,let alone sit. Anytime I got into trouble at school, I feared even going home, for I knew what awaited me. I recall one time that I got in trouble for repeatedly talking in class, my teacher called home to tell my grandmother that I had to stay after school for detention. I remember crying for so long, not caring about detention, but about what was going to happen when I arrived home. I purposely walked slower than usual that day, because I was so tired of the abuse. When I finally walked through the front door, I felt the intense pain in my head where she hit me so hard that it dropped me to my knees. I must have passed out; because

11 when I came to, she was kicking me all over my body, and telling me to get up so that she could get the devil out of me. She use to tell me that she needed to put me in my place. As I got older, I endured many beatings that were not only physical but emotional as well. Sometimes, I felt as if I even looking at her in the wrong way I was going to receive punishment. In order to limit the abuse, I tried to become invisible. I tried to become the model student, in order to avoid her wrath. That was not always possible. The odd thing about the abuse was that I am not the only child that she was raising; I have an older brother and sister. We all realized at an early age that for some reason, which I will never understand, she seemed to enjoy beating me the most. My sister and brother were very good at placing the blame on me for things that they did wrong. It seemed that once my name was men-

tioned all hell would break loose. Even at times when I was not at home when they got into trouble they managed to place the blame on me, so when I would arrive home and start getting a beat down, I wouldn’t even know why. I finally left that house when I was fourteen. I swore then that I would not be like her. To this day, I still fight the demon’s that are in my head that wants me to continue the abuse. I believe in discipline, but there is a big difference between abuse and discipline. I was scared to have children, because I was afraid that I to would be just like her. No one deserves the abuse that I endured. Therefore,daughter, I hope you are grateful in the changes I have implemented in my disciplinary actions. I hope that you understand why I sometimes walk away and do nothing. Also, how important for you to carry on with changes in discipline with your own children one day.

12 The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Armenian Suzie Garabedian

“Remember that in the midst of that which is most tragic there is always the comic and in the midst that which is most evil there is always much good.” –William Saroyan

I always felt like I was the only Armenian in Fresno while I was at school. Yeah I know that is pretty weird to say when downtown Fresno is named Little Armenia, but I still felt that way. No one was ever the same race as me in all of classes until I got to high school. There was a girl named Maria in my AP classes but her family was from a different area then mine and we spoke completely different dialects so I couldn’t really talk to her. I was different then everyone in my class. In my group of friends, there are multiples of every race other than mine: two whites, three Asians, two blacks, five or six Mexicans, and one Armenian. As you can see I am all alone, even with my Mexican boyfriend. I am alone until I get home to my crazy loud family. Have you seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Yeah that’s my family just Armo-fide. I wasn’t always the lone Armenian kid. I went to a private Armenian school for nursery and preschool, but when it was time to start kindergarten the tuition rates almost tripled and my family could not afford it so I had to start public American school. I will never forget how small and alone I felt walking into my class for the first time. My parents spoke fluent English but I guess it had never occurred to them that it would be a pretty good idea to teach their kids English, when they live in America! So my first ever English conversation with someone my own age went like this. “Hi I’m Breanna. What’s your name?” “Name Suzie eh.” “You talk funny.” And then she walked away. Yup, that was my first attempt and I failed miserably. After that I was the weird girl that talked funny. It took me about a month to ever attempt English again and that was only because my teacher kept calling my mom to talk to me because I was some freak in her class. Ok, maybe she didn’t say those words but I am sure that was what she was thinking. I

13 would go home and speak fluent Armenian but I was quiet at school until I got to first grade. My teacher was amazing. He always helped me out when I tried to speak. He helped me so much that I started with the lowest math and reading level in the class, but halfway way through the year I had the highest math level in the class and was put in the advanced reading group. It stayed that way until the end of year when I won the “Queen of Math” and “Most Improved Reading Level” awards. Those awards made me feel amazing! I worked hard and could speak Eng- lish fluently except I still had an accent. I still felt great anyway. I went home on that last day of school and was so excited to show my mom my awards, but she burst my bubble when she told me that we’re moving. It wasn’t far, I mean it was still in Fresno but I would have to change schools. I was upset but I got over it when I saw our new apartment. It was a lot bigger than our old one and I thought it was so cool because it had stairs inside. When I started at my new school in the fall, I didn’t know anyone there. It was awkward but the teachers and students were very nice. No one made fun of my accent and I made tons of friends fast. As time went on I started speaking more English and less Armenian. By the time sixth grade came my accent was completely gone but the sad part was I had picked one up when I spoke Armenian. I had become a white washed Armenian. In middle school and high school everyone just thought I was Mexican. It made sense because I have dark hair, dark eyes, and a tan complexion, but it still annoyed me. If I had a dollar for every time someone came up to me speaking Spanish, I would be a very rich woman. Sometimes I just wanted to carry a sign around that said, “I AM ARMENIAN,” but I just ignored it. When I got to high school I started to notice things more. My life at home and my life at school were two completely different things. At home I was quiet, spoke Armenian with an accent, and was either helping my grandma cook and clean or I was in my room doing homework. At school I was usually the more energetic person of my group, pretty loud, speaking English, and surrounded by other cultures. The weirdest part between my two worlds was when I invited my Mexican boyfriend to come over. Henry and I had been best friends throughout freshman year but at the end when we started having feelings for each other things got a little weird. He had always thought I was Hispanic until the day I told him my ethnicity. He was shocked but it didn’t bother him too much, I think it made him like me even more because I was different. Well, when he came over the first time he 14 met the other side of me. I was quiet and spoke this weird language that he had never heard before. It didn’t help much when my family kept speaking Armenian to each other and I had to translate. It was intimidating for him but I think the part that shocked him the most was me acting completely different from school. At the end of the night when he was waiting for his ride we walked outside and talked. I told him, “I’m really glad you came over. I thought you wouldn’t come. “It’s weird, I didn’t expect you to act different,” he said. “I know, but it’s just how my family is. I’m Armenian at home and I’m American at school.” “I like it,” he said with a smile and then he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was really happy that he didn’t think I was weird. He said he’s the same way. At home he speaks Spanish and at school he speaks English. I found out that a lot of my friends are that way. Some went home speaking Spanish, Hmong, Chinese, and even Russian but at school it was English, just plain English. I’m really glad that I learned that early on and not later in life. It would be hard to believe that I was some weirdo living in the wrong country or something. Now I know that I am normal and that there are millions of people in this country that are in the same situation I was in. It’s normal to be different in America, even when you’re an Armenian-American.

15 Paper 1 Albert C. Garcia

On a warm spring day roaming through the Amazon were two young monkeys, Speedy and Ryder. “Slow down Speedy! Speedy!!” screamed, Ryder. “I can’t hold the eggs much longer, my palms are getting sweaty and the eggs are slipping.” Speedy halted and then raced back towards Ryder, impatiently wanting to get back to their home. “You’re such a wimp, Ry! Give me the eggs, otherwise you’ll break them; then our plan will be ruined.” Wearily, Ryder handed over the eggs to Speedy; he almost broke them as he handed them over. Speedy said harshly, “Hey! Be careful! If anything happens to these eggs, we’re toast! I’ll take them,and let’s go home.” After carefully locking the eggs in place, Speedy and Ryder sped off to make it home in time for dinner. Shortly afterward the two young monkeys approached their cave where their grandfather was preparing their dinner. Old Monkey Man greeted the boys, “How was your day today, boys?” What’d you do today?” Speedy and Ryder stayed silent and smiled slyly at their grandfather. “Nothing grandfather.” said Ryder. “We’ve just been playing with our friends in the forest all afternoon.” Speedy sneakily tried to hide the eggs from his grandfather but accidently dropped them on the floor. “Noooooo!” Speedy cried hysterically. Old Monkey Man walked over to the boys and slowly picked up a bird egg. Old monkey man asked curiously, “What do we have here boys? Hmmmm, these look like a couple of bird eggs. Where did you find these?” Speedy and Ryder looked at each other and decided to tell their grandfather the truth. As Speedy handed grandfather the other bird eggs Ryder whispered softly, “We didn’t find them… we stole them from a bird we saw at the lake. We were going to return them after dinner; it was only going to be a harmless joke. I promise.” The boys followed their grandfather into the cave where he placed the eggs in a basket for safekeeping. “Are we in trouble grandpa?” asked Ryder. “No boys, but I will tell you that I am going with you to take these eggs back to the bird after dinner,” Old Monkey Man said sternly. Old Monkey Man then began to prepare dinner for Speedy and Ryder. “I have a little story I’d like to share with you boys about when I was your

16 age… Back when I was a young lad I loved to have fun, pull pranks, and just have a good time.” “I remember this story like it was yesterday.” Old Monkey Man said giddily, “One day I was lounging around the old cave with your Great Grandmother Beauty. Your Great Grand- mother used to allow me to play with her fur, and Beauty had long beautiful black fur that she always kept perfectly combed and neat. I loved playing with her coat, for her fur was incredibly soft.” Stopping in thought, Old Monkey Man smiled remembering the moment then continued, “One day, I was playing with your grandmother’s hair like usual but then I was overcome by the thought that her fur coat would look better if it was shorter.” Speedy became very enticed with the story that his grandfather was telling and shouted curiously, “What’d you do grandpa! What happened next?” Jumping up and down Speedy then became attentive to receive more information on the story. “Well, like I said this thought came over me that Beauty’s fur coat should be shorter. So I went to these rocks over by the stream where I had found some scissors the week before, and I brought them back home and started to cut your Great Grandmother’s fur. Honestly, I didn’t think about the consequences. Your Great Grandmother must have been furious with me because I was grounded for weeks, and there were more serious repercussions.”

Ryder laughed, “Did Grandma give you a beating?” While Ryder walked over to get the basket, Old Monkey Man finished his story. “Yes, Ryder, she did and, from that point on, I always thought about the consequences that would come with the decisions I chose to make, which is why I’m telling you boys this story. You need to think about your actions before you react. Those eggs you took have baby birds in them, and I bet their mother is extremely worried as to where her eggs are.” Slowly Old Monkey Man walked over to Ryder and took the basket from him. “I’ll hold onto these. Let’s take these eggs back to their mother, boys, what do you say?” Ryder and Speedy, alert as ever, agreed in unison, “Yes!” Then they were on their way to return the eggs to their mother.

17 Fighting For My Family Chia Gould

I will succeed because the life of mediocrity has me held by the throat. I am being pushed into a small corner. I am a single mom with three children that are depending on me. I am strug- gling every day to make ends meet because I have neglected education. My biggest regret has taught me that we all must suffer one of two pains in life: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The pain of regret has immobilized me, and I am more determined now than ever to push the pain of regret out of my corner. I will stay in school until I get at least a bachelor’s degree. I now see the importance of education. Education helps equip and expand our world and open doors to us for financial freedom and for better future. Education gives us insight to create understanding, awareness, comprehension, perception, and a vision for ourselves. If our education is limited, our lack of knowledge and skills will show in the workplace. We will lack efficiency that is necessary to perform our responsibilities. We will not be able to keep up with future technologies and the world around us. We will lack the ability to communicate what’s in our hearts or what’s in our minds. We will lack the ability to articulate our problems or ideas effectively. The marketplace is competitive. Many employers today require their prospective employees to be well educated and to have at least a bachelor’s degree. Work experience alone is no longer sufficient. We are weighed in the marketplace on the basis of our educational skills and how well we can apply them. Without education, we will continue down the path of mediocrity and uncertainty. In addition, we will live in constant fear because we did not do all that we could to reach our potential. Furthermore, we will fall behind, lose our self confidence, and our world will become smaller and smaller. At this juncture in my life, failing is not an option for me because time is not on my side. Currently, I cannot adequately provide for my children. It is very important for me that my children have a healthy and happy childhood experience. Childhood experience is one of the most precious moments in one’s life, and it cannot be replaced. In many instances, we only have one chance to capture the moment before time passes us by. Each of us only has twenty-four hours

18 each day to seize all the opportunities from the day. Time wasted, we cannot get it back. Further- more, I want to be an exemplary parent. I must become more and set higher standards for myself in order for me to effectively help guide my children through life. I love my children too much to allow them to repeat the mistakes I made. I want them to have every chance and opportunity life has to offer, to live life to the fullest, and to make their marks in the world. I will succeed because I don’t want to burden my children with financial resources when I retire. I want to have the financial means to take care of myself and be able to help my children. I had to care for my parents so I know what it was like. I came from a large family. Both my parents were uneducated and we were on welfare when we arrived here in the United States. I had to grow up really quick to find work so I could help support my family. I held a part-time job all through high school. After high school I held both a part-time and a full-time job. At twenty- five, I bought a house for my family. Most of my siblings and my parents lived with me for over ten years. In 2000, my father was diagnosed with stomach cancer. My father was afraid and did not want to undergo chemotherapy. He wanted to travel out of the country for alternative medi- cine. I wanted to do everything I could to fulfill my father’s wishes, so I tapped into my savings to pay for the cost of the trip. In 2002, my father passed away and did not have life insurance. I had to tap into my savings once again, so I could pay for my father’s funeral and a burial plot next to him for my mother. I wanted to secure the burial plot for my mother because she wished to be buried next to my father when she died. In January 2012, my mother passed away from cancer as well and was laid to rest next to my father as she had wished. I never regretted anything I have done for my siblings or my parents, but I also don’t want to put that burden on my children. Shortly after my father passed away, I got married. My husband and I started our little family right away. We have two boys and a girl. Six and a half years into the marriage, my husband met someone new and wanted a divorce. As a result of the divorce, I basically lost everything. I am back to square one, once again. The only difference this time around is that everything is harder. I have to juggle between work, school, and my children. My children are still very young. They rely on me to do many things for them. Time and technologies have changed a lot over the years as well. Without a college degree to get a decent paying job, I cannot adequately support my children and myself. 19 I have resolved to get my college education, so I can acquire the skills that are needed to take to the marketplace, to be able to adequately take care of my family, and for my own personal growth. Life is too short and too precious, and my children deserve to live a life that is worth- while. I have also resolved to never miss an opportunity to learn from now on because there is no substitution for being smart. I will not permit the pain of regret to put me on my mental and financial knees again. I want to become all that I could be. At the end of my life, I wanted to be said that I have fought for my family, and I have fought a good fight.

20 The Revelation Shaden Meqdad

One of the most memorable stories I was told by my mother, was the story of Prophet Mohammad (peace be upon him), and the people of Mecca. When my mom told me about this story she started off with a little bit about our Prophet’s life. Mohammad was born in 570 CE/ AD in the town of Mecca. He was an only child, but became an orphan at the age of five or six. When he was a teen he worked as a shepherd. He was married to Khadijah, whom throughout the story shows him a lot of support and sympathy. I was told this story about The First Revela- tion at a young age, because it’s a really important story in my religion. It was the event in which he was visited by the angel Gabriel who revealed to him a verse from the Qur’an. It was after this event that he proclaimed himself to be a prophet of Allah. Some parts of this story also teach us to always be faithful and patient throughout life. One day, when Mohammad (peace be upon him) was about the age of forty, he was walking towards a hidden cave called Hira, where he would isolate himself, and worship for three days and nights: fasting, praying, pondering, and trying to find answers to his questions about life, and some dreams that he was having. And this was during the sacred month of Ramadan, the night known to Muslims as the ‘Night of Decree.’He would, whenever he wished, return to his family at Mecca and then go back again; taking with him the necessities of life. Until one of those nights while he was so into his meditation, he didn’t even notice how late it had become. On that particular night the started to hear voices that would get louder and louder looking around him, suddenly he was startled by the Angel of Revelation, Gabriel. The Angel in the image of man approached him and said: “Read!” But as he had never received any instruction in reading or writing, he also feared and trembled and said to the angel: “I am nota reader!” The angel took hold of him and grasped him as much as he could stand, and then said again: “Read!” Then the Prophet said: “I am not a reader!” or “what shall I read?” The Angel again held the Prophet and squeezed him and said: “Read! In the name of the Lord who created man from a drop of blood: read in the name of the Almighty God who taught man the use of the pen and taught him what he knew not before” Then the Prophet after three times finally had the courage and repeated the

21 words Gabriel told him to say with a trembling heart. Suddenly, he felt worried. He began to panic. Was the cave haunted? Was he ill? Trembling, he stood up, left the cave, and began to walk, shakily, down the mountain path. He was very confused. Then a voice, the same voice, called to him: “Oh Mohammad! Truly you are the messenger of God. And I am his angel, Gabriel.” He returned to his wife from Mount Hira and said: “Wrap me up! Wrap me up!” She wrapped him in a garment. He told her that he was cold and terrified, and that he was becoming either a soothsayer or one smitten with madness. She replied, “Allah forbid!” He will surely not let such a thing happen, for you speak the truth, you are faithful in trust, you bear the weaknesses of the people, you spend in good works what you gain in trade, you are generous and you help your fellow men. Have you seen anything terrible?” he replied as soon as his fear was over, and said, “Yes,” and told her what had happened. And so, she said, “Celebrate, O dear husband and be cheerful, you will be the prophet of these people.” At once, shestood up and went to her cousin

Waraqa and informed him. Waraqa was an Ebonite Christian priest and valued the Islamictradi- tion for being one of the first monotheists to believe in the prophecy of Mohammad. Waraqa said, “I swear by Allah that he has received the same Namus, the angel that was sent to Moses. He is the Prophet of this nation, tell him to be patient.” She came back to him and told him of Waraqa’s words. When the messenger of Allah finished his solitary stay and went down to Mecca, he went to Waraqa, who told him: “You are the prophet of this nation. I swear by Allah that you have received the same angel that was sent to Moses.” Later, he began to spread the words that have been sent down to him, many did not believe his words and called him a liar, and also harassed him, only a select few of his people believed in him. And the few that did, struggled as well. Many Muslims in Mecca faced a hard time by the non- Muslims, they got tortured by them and called them liars and lots of other cruel names. New Muslims that were either poor or in slavery faced many struggles, the poor were beaten and the slaves tortured to make them renounce their faith. For example, a slave named Bilal was pegged down under the scorching sun with a heavy stone on his chest and left to die of thirst. He was taunted to renounce his religion in return for remission of torture, he was found and nursed back to health, and continued believing, and stayed patient despite the torture. This went on for many years. After everything they went through, they proudly stood, 22 with the Prophet spreading the words that were sent down by Gabriel, and it went around in many cities, countries and across the world. The story of The Revelation was told to me as a religious motive. The purpose of the -Rev elation was for the Prophet to inform the people about those words sent down to him, about Almighty Allah, Islam, and spread it to notify the people. Most Muslim parents speak about it to their young ones to enlighten them about the prophet and his life as well. Also, to teach them how to be patient and stick to what they believe in. Moreover, take Mohammad (peace be upon him) and his loyal people as an example, like Bilal, after being tortured, he still had faith. Many people struggle in life, but in the end you will be pleased with what you have accomplished if you stick to what you believe in, and just have faith. And, take this as an example for your everyday life. This story motivated me a lot during the years, whether it was when I was small or even when I got older and struggled in life. Correspondingly, the moral of this story shows you that whatever you go through you just have to be patient, have faith, and persevering to what you are trying to achieve, like the Prophet of Allah and his people did throughout this story.

23 Mistakes Made When Looking for Love Alexis Molina

People do make mistakes when looking for love. Love can make a person blind to things and to people all around them, it can emotionally scar people and it can cause problems within one’s family. Sometimes people look for love in all the wrong places like being lonely, getting pregnant hoping that the baby’s father will stay, or being a rebellious teenager. They end up having to learn from their mistakes, if they ever do. One mistake made when looking for love is being lonely. Some people do not like to be alone and will settle for any company that they can get, even if it is through the mail. Sue has been single for about 12 years. She does not go out on dates and she very seldom goes out with friends. Her time is consumed with her children, work, church, and her pen-pals. Sue has about three pen- pals that she writes to on a regular basis and she also knows them personally. All of her pen-pals are incarcerated. Sue “loves” all of them and they all say that they “love” her too, but, maybe they just tell her what she wants to hear. Sue met with one of her pen-pals after he was released, but it did not turn out as planned. He made it sound like they were going to live happily ever after. Sue was heartbroken and her feelings were deeply hurt when she learned that he went back to the mother of his children. Sue still continues to let her feelings and emotions get involved with her pen-pals, but hopefully one day, she will learn, or maybe she will end up living happily ever after. A second mistake made when looking for love is that a girl may hope to get pregnant in hopes that the baby’s father with stay with her. What may end up happening is that she will end up raising her child as a single mother. Take Jack and Jill for example. Their relationship was shaky to begin with and Jill ends up pregnant. Jack explained to her that he did not love her the same way that she loved him. Jack decided to move out, but then plans changed and he decided to stay. Jill, being so in love with Jack, and wanting their relationship to work out, was happy to have him stay. They were

both very excited about their new baby. Jill continues to act like their relationship is all good, but in reality it is not. Jill even buys a new home for them to move into. About a month before the baby is due, Jill finds out that Jack cheated on her, once again. Jill

24 was still determined to hold onto the relationship, but Jack told her that he was moving out for sure this time. He would still be there for their baby and be with her in the delivery room. Jack even stayed with Jill for the first two weeks after their newborn daughter came home. He helped Jill with whatever she needed help with, feedings, changing diapers, and housework. But after those two weeks, Jack went back to his other house. Jill was left with a newborn baby to care for and her emotions were like a rollercoaster. She thought for sure Jack would change his mind and stay there with her and their daughter. Jack does go and help, but it is not the same as when they were together. Jill is desperately missing the love of her life and cannot accept the fact that he chooses not to be there with them. Jill is stuck with a mortgage payment, utility bills, and the expenses of a baby. Not to men-

tion being physically and emotionally drained. Jack does help with some of the expenses and does spend time with his daughter, but Jill has decided to file for child support. She now has a baby to think about. If Jack ever changes his mind and wants to move back in, Jill would probably let him because she “loves” him. Another example of a mistake when looking for love is a rebellious teenager. When I was sixteen years old, I started dating a guy that was five years older than me. My mother gave strict orders not to be around him or even talk to him, but that just made me do it even more. Mom had heard that he did not work and that he had a drug addiction. I never had seen him do any drugs and he always treated me very nice and gave me a lot of attention. I became even more “in love” with him after I lost my virginity to him. After I turned eighteen, Mom said, “If you want to be with him, then go and live with him.” Mom then dropped me off at his parent’s house where he lived. At first, I was upset because of the fight that Mom and I had, but then, I realized that I was now living with the man that I “loved” and everything was going to be okay, so I thought. It did not take long for it all to start going downhill. I started seeing him do drugs, drink all the time, and he did not have a job, but I was still “in love.” He told me all the time that “he loved me” and that he would go look for a job. But he never went and looked. I did not know where he got money from, and I did not bother to ask. The first time he got violent with me was when he grabbed me by my throat. I should have 25 went back home then, but because I was “in love” I did not go home. And I did not dare tell anyone about it. He apologized and said that it would never happen again and he told me over and over how much he loved me, and I believed him. We moved into our own place and things seemed to be going okay. I worked full time and he says he did too, but he just went to work with me. I worked graveyard at a mini-mart and he did not want me working alone. I paid all the bills and the rent. It only lasted about nine months and we were behind on rent. He was still using drugs and drinking. I found out that I was pregnant and I decided to move back home with my mom and he could move back home with his parents. We would still see each other, of course, because we “loved” each other. When our son was three months old, my mom helped moved me into my own home. Against my mom’s advice, I let my son’s father move in with me. He promised that he was going to get a job and help out, but that never happened. I was always the one who worked and he was the stay- at-home mom. We always fought about money, and if I did not give it to him, he would become violent. Always apologizing and telling me that he “loved” me. This went on for many years. Finally, I could not take it anymore and I told my mom everything that was going on. She told me, “I saw all the warning signs and red flags, but you did not want to listen and you had to do it your way.” Mom helped me get out of the relationship and at that time I had three children. It was tough being a single mom and having to heal from all the abuse, but it was so worth it. No one should ever go through that in a relationship. I now know that I am not looking for that kind of “love.” People do make mistakes when looking for love. Sometimes those mistakes hurt the people that are involved. It can be emotionally, physically, or mentally damaging to them and could leave a scar. They may never get over the relationship, but hopefully they do learn from their mistake,

so they do not repeat the cycle in another relationship. When there are children involved, the parents are supposed to be role models. Everyone makes mistakes and it is up to the person how they choose to learn from them.

26 A Fisherman’s Catch Is Not Always on the Water Savan Oum

Fishing is when there is one jerk on one end of the line waiting for another. My passion for fishing is strong because it’s like a therapy session that helps relieve my stress. However, one fishing trip made me frustrated because the weather was terrible, I did not get any bites on my lures, and I went home tired and empty handed. I woke up on a cold Saturday morning in mid-December. I got up out of bed feeling thrilled about my bass fishing trip. I had loaded everything the night before, so I would not waste time getting ready. When I got to the fishing hole to launch the boat into the water, I noticed that it was really foggy and chilly outside. The fog was so thick that I could not see twenty feet ahead of me. I stepped out of the truck to unlatch the boat, and I felt the cold breeze creep across my skin, raising the hairs on my arms. “Burr” I said, “It’s cold.” I jumped back in the truck only to find myself back out again and determined to catch a fish. I made up my mind that I was going to fish. Then, I was out on the water and I could not go anywhere because of the lack of visibility. The weather had crippled my ability to expand my hunt. There I was trolling through the delta looking to rip some lips. I threw my first cast into the water, thinking, first cast, first fish. Slowly reeling my lure in, I saw my line had icicles on it, and my hands were going numb. I was breathing out smoke like a chimney on Christmas Day. While huffing hot air, and reeling in my lure with nothing at the other end, I started to realize what was going on. “This can’t be right,” I told myself. I cast the line again and waited for the fog to clear up, so I could fish other parts of the water. I waited and waited, butthere was no sign of clearing. My hands were frozen and my lips were chapped. There was still no bite from any fish, but that didn’t change my mind about the actual presence of fish in the vicinity. Giving up was not an option at the beginning of the fishing trip. That just doesn’t happen when your goal is to catch fish. What was not supposed to happen had just occurred, and I was stumped. I decided to creep through the fog, edging along the island to be safe. The fog was not evapo-

27 rating, and the weather was not getting better. It felt like I was working in a walk-in freezer. My fingers did not want to bend and were cramping up. The feeling of the cold metal fishing reels and the cork handle fishing pole was not as exciting as it had always been. Maybe the weather was just so cold that the fish were lethargic and did not want to move around? I thought I had all the right gear, and had mastered all my techniques; however, I was wrong. I slowly looked through all my lures in my tackle box and took my time to select the color. What color should I use that would be visible for the fish to see in these water conditions? “Hmmm…” I squinted and nodded to myself. “Ah ha!” I found the right color that always worked in these waters. I picked the root beer color with gold and black flakes that imitates the crawdad that lives there. My confidence in that lure alone was enough to thaw my increasing frustration. I hooked the plastic lure on and made the cast. I let the line sink down slowly while feeding more line to keep the lure heading to the bottom. The technique is called, “worming.” As soon as my lure hit the bottom, I picked up the slack in my line so I could have a better feel on my pole if a fish were to slowly pick up my lure. The silent but deadly technique always worked for me in the cold, quiet mornings. I did not want to spook the fish with a lot of noise. I threw it into rock points, coves, and structures where I commonly know bass hide. I was starting to get confused about why there was no bite on my lure. I decided to change to a different top water lure. This glides on the surface of the water attracting the fish from below. Morning fish love to attack their prey on the surface. This lure imitates a frog

swimming, a snake crossing the river and baby birds that have fallen from their nest. I tried a couple of casts and still no bite. My arsenal was running low, and so was my patience. Then, it was time to make some noise and see if those suckers were in the water waiting to attack some intrud- ers. Bass are very aggressive fish. If you irritate them enough, they will attack. I threw my spinner bait which makes a clacking noise when it swims through the water. The spinner bait makes a click, clack, click, clack sound as it disperses water. That should get them and if not, I did not know what else would? Cast after cast with hope of landing a fish, had tired me out. My thoughts started to drift away like a bobber. My laser focus floated away as I started to question myself about why there were no fish in the area. My body was weary from the repetitive motion of cast- ing my fishing pole all day. 28 Then, the day ended and there were no fish in the bucket. It was a long day of scavenging for fish hideouts with no success at all. There was no adrenaline pumping through my body that day, only frustration. The weather was bad, my luring technique did not work, and I was exhausted from searching everywhere for those fish. I loaded the boat on the trailer and drove home feeling down. I was questioning and analyzing the whole day. What went wrong, and how was that possible? Going back home empty handed with frustration can really burn a fisherman out. I decided to visit one of my fishing buddies, Zillion, for a therapy session and vent to him about my worth- less, finger numbing, and confidence zapping day. On the way to his house, I thought about it and changed my mind. Like most fisherman, my pride got in the way of reality. When I finally saw him, he offered me a beer and asked, “How many did you catch?” With no hesitation, I quickly replied, “You know the usual, a couple of good sizes and a few small ones. But man, I lost another big one again! You should’ve been there!” After a few more beers, the exaggeration grew bigger than the fish I lost. In the end, I guess Zillion became the jerk that took my bait that day.

29 Repeat After Me Veronica Vera

I remember it just as if it was yesterday, it was a summer’s day. I was surrounded by the Sierra Mountains, with only fresh air to breathe in, and birds chirping. I also remember thinking to myself that we were the only ones that existed in the world, and that this day would never end. That week we had been preparing for the day to leave for the Old Oak Ranch, and I could remember not being able to sleep the night before I tossed and turned, looking at my clock to see if the time had changed, but nothing. I woke up that next day ready and excited, but yet very cold and not ready to get out of bed just yet. It was June, and summer couldn’t have come faster than it did that year. That June, I’d attend a church camp called Old Oak Ranch which was hosted by a four-square church, but I would attend it with my home church, The Rock. I hopped into the car, which at that time, was an old white minivan. My parents and I, arrived at the church around 8:30 a.m. we only lived about five blocks away from our church so it didn’t take any longer than a minute to arrive at the church. We pulled into the parking lot where I saw so many kids and suit cases scattered across the parking lot, not orga- nized or put into the cars. I remember the van we took up to camp it was called Jimmy, it was rusty and had a faded blue color, and the windows were tinted purple. We started loading the van and the extra car that was following us up to camp and were finally on our way to Old Oak Ranch. On the way I sat with my best friend Elizabeth. We talked about what camp would be like this year. It was our first time going to this camp, because we were finally the right age to attend, which was ten. I mention to her, “What do you think he’d be like when we meet him?” She paused and thought to herself the same question I had asked. She looked at me and responded to me so seriously and happy at the same time. “I guess he’d be loving, friendly, kind, trusting, and like a second father I guess…” A few hours passed and we arrived at Old Oak Ranch! We all stumbled out the van and ran around amazed at where we were, the smell of fresh air mixed with the scent of pine trees, pine cones on the floor and only blue skies that went on for days. We noticed they had a pool, basket- ball court, and a game room full of all sorts of games.

30 We had dinner at 5 o’clock then we had church service following dinner. We scarfed down our dinner of cheeseburgers and the best fries you could have, and for desert, chocolate chip cook- ies and brownies. We cleaned our plates and headed down the hill to church, there was long lines just waiting to get in, as Elizabeth and I waited in line with the other campers we became anxious to see what service would be like. They unlock the doors and people rushed in like a famous singer entering a building. Elizabeth and I finally got in, and found our seats, we sat down and joined in with the people singing.