Sample Connections Magazine

Connections 2014 A magazine of creative works by students of DeVry University and Chamberlain College of Nursing Addison Campus and Metro Area

Connections 2014EDITORS: Susan DiLillo Michael Dufresne Kelly Peterson (CCN alumna)We always welcome submissions for future issues ofConnections. If you would like to share your originalpoems, short stories, essays, memoirs or other writings,submit your work as a Word attachment to one or both ofthe email addresses below. We also accept drawings,photographs, and any other creative work that can bepublished in print format. [email protected] [email protected] look forward to your Connections submissions!Connections is available in full color athttp://www.add.devry.edu/literary_magazine.htmlCover photo by Kylie DeanConnections is an annual production of DeVry University,Addison Campus and includes the creative work of DeVry andChamberlain students in the Addison Metro. Allcommunication should be directed to Michael Dufresne([email protected]).© 2015 DeVry Educational Development Corp. All rights reserved. AC0159 1

ContentsDriving While Black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Tedric JacksonBaseball Field. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Eddie MazurUntitled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 May, student at Hubei Normal University, Huangshi, ChinaMy Lotus Lake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Chau LeUntitled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . 12 Jennie StephensWhen Mercy Found Me. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Kelly PetersonFarms Meet the City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Joe KesslerBattle of the Bands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Spencer Karlovits“Do You Know That I Love You?”. . . . . . . . . 38 Frances EndenciaThe Belittled Janitor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Jasper ZornozaTrapped . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Anthony Catalano 2

Volcano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Ruben SorianoCombat Musings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Ryan CarrickProfile of Rosemary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Mercedes CzernekCOLLaboration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55Photographers and artists are acknowledged in text. 2013 STORY CONTEST WINNERS1ST PLACE: When Mercy Found Me by Kelly Peterson2ND PLACE: Driving While Black, by Tedric Jackson 2014 PROSE CONTEST WINNERS1ST PLACE: Farms Meet the City by Joe Kessler2ND PLACE: The Belittled Janitor by Jasper Zornoza 3

Driving While Black by Tedric JacksonIt was five years ago and spring had finally sprung. Itwas a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining bright, andthe beauty and aroma of spring blossoms were in the air.For months I had been anxiously awaiting for spring toarrive so that I could take my new car out of storage. Thewinter before, I had purchased a luxurious 2008 LexusSC430. It was a sporty, black, hard-top convertible. HadI known the profiling that would come along with itsownership, I may have reconsidered my purchase. Theseasons had changed, but I was about to realize that someracial perceptions had not. It was a disappointing truththat I had to face.As I mergedonto the highway,the voice of my GPSsaid, “Continue onI90 East.” I wascruising in the leftlane at about 65mph. With the topdown, I could feelthe wind in my hair.Periodically lookingin my rear viewmirror, I noticed anIllinois State Policecar approachingfrom behind. Afterconfirming myspeed, I was Photo by Thomas Stempienconfident that I wasnot violating the posted speed limit, and it was withoutpurpose that he was behind me. I signaled to change lanes 4

to allow the officer to pass, but as I changed lanes, so didhe. He continued to follow me and I became nervous. Itwas not until I saw the flashing lights reflecting in my rearview mirror that my stomach dropped as if I was on aroller coaster preparing for the stomach- turning descent. Ireduced my speed and pulled over to the shoulder of thehighway.After I pulled over,I rolled down thewindow before turningoff the ignition. I wascontinuously checkingmy rear view mirroranxiously awaiting hisarrival. The officerapproached my car andasked to see my license,registration, andinsurance. I was politeand complied with therequests of the officer.He then asked a series ofquestions: “Where areyou on your way to?Why are you going toChicago? What do you Photo by Thomas Stempiendo? Who do you know in Chicago?” He continued to askirrelevant questions without explaining why he pulled meover. My then nervousness quickly turned intoaggravation. Although we both knew I had done nothingwrong, I felt as if I was being interrogated. His failedattempt to deliberately provoke me led him back to hissquad car.Frustrated by his harassment, my heart was beatingoutside of my chest. I sat in my vehicle trying to maintainmy composure, waiting for an explanation that was belated 5

but deserved. I was burdened with a negativepresumption that I had to disprove before being able toestablish mutual respect. Despite the significant racialprogress our society has made, I was treated with a level ofsuspicion because I fit the “profile”. I was a young blackman driving a luxury vehicle. Therefore, it was assumedthat I must be involved in illegal activity. After running my plates and license, the officerreturned to my vehicle. He continued to antagonize mewith questions. Speaking through the passenger window,he asked, “Who owns this vehicle?” I refused to answerbecause he could see that the name on the registrationmatched the name on the driver’s license that he washolding. After failing to find probable cause, the officersnapped my license in half and said, “With a car like this,you can afford to get a new one.” He threw the twopieces in the passenger seat and sarcastically said, “Have anice day!” With rude boldness, he walked back to hissquad car. I was in disbelief at what I had experienced. Ithought the law was supposed to serve and protect not toharass nor target people because of the color of their skin. As the officer returned to his squad car, I restarted myvehicle. I signaled to re-enter the highway. As I lookedinto the rear view mirror I could see fields of cotton, apainful legacy of slavery and segregation, a time I thoughtwe had overcome. I was not judged by the content of mycharacter or by my success, but instead identified andtargeted because of the color of my skin. These acts ofracial profiling keep our society suppressed. As I focused back on the road ahead, I was shakenwith disappointment. Although we’ve come a long waysince the days of slavery, there are still clear signs ofdiscrimination. I continued my travels with the hope thatone day change will come. I glanced in the rear viewmirror again, this time facing the truth. 6

Baseball Field by Eddie MazurIt is the place where friends, family, and enemies cometogether. When you walk up to the fence, you can just feelyour inner child running free. When you suit up thenervous feelings you have feel like butterflies in yourstomach. Those who are confident release those butterflies and play the games of their lives. When you step on the dirt, you will never want to leave. The game you commit yourself to becomes a lifestyle. Though all good things come to an end, you can do nothing but enjoy the moment you are in. Fresh air on a sunny day is the perfect weather for a perfect game. Walking onto the freshly groomed field for that afternoon game is the best way toPhoto by Sarah Howell spend the day, surrounded by friends, brothers, andmentors. When the competition begins emotions run wild,and the best way to play is by capturing all emotions andplaying based only on your instincts. When the gamecomes down to the final frames, the sun is setting and thelights glow on the worn field. Baselines disappearing, cleatprints covering the infield, and the torn up outfield grassall showing the dedication put in by the teams. At the endof the night, one team rises above the other, the team’strophy gleams off the lights, the celebration begins, andthe field now becomes a memory. 7

Untitled by May, Chinese student at Hubei Normal University; Huangshi, ChinaClear streams wander through the vast green field.The sky is pure blue.While clouds float leisurely.Azure sea water sings gently.It seems that there is no limit among the sky,The earth and the seaHills are well-placed on the fieldSapphire-like lakes scatter here and there.Golden sunshine streams and sparkles on the sea.Standing on the cliff,One may have an impulse to jump offAnd hug the pure sea waterPhoto by Kylie Dean 8

My Lotus Lake by Chau LePeople have memories that are sparked by manysituations. Places often make people rememberexperiences from the past. Many places hold memories forme: the sea, school, and foreign countries. One particularplace that reminds me of my childhood is my hometown’sLotus Lake.The view from the shores of Lotus Lake calms meevery time I see it. Closet to the shore is the lake’s smoothsurface, blue by day and sparkling black at night. My favorite time to stand on the shore is midsummer at twilight, when I watch the water’s blue darken and become more general, blotting out the day and all its troubles. I listen to waves lapping the dock and think my thoughts, or just let my mind clear. On night with a bright moon, I stare out of the path of light across the water, losing track of time and sometimes even myself. Farther out, on the opposite shore, a forest of pine trees reminds me of the cool shade I enjoyed while hiking there. ThePhoto by Nicholas Janasek pine smell is the first thing totrigger the memories. Evenings when there is still enoughlight, I look for the break in the trees where the main trailstarts, thinking of the many times I have walked it. Duringthe hottest, most trying summer of my life, the cool beautyof the trailside trees, ferns, and moss soothed my nervesand brought me back down the earth. Beyond the forestare rolling hills, soft gray in the morning and near dusk.The expression “old as the hills” comes to mind, and it 9

feels like a just description, not an insult. The soft grayhulk of them makes me think of an ancient, huge, andeternally sleeping creature – something that predated meby millions of years and will outlive me for millions more.For some reasons, I always find these thoughtscomforting. Therefore, standing on the shore of LotusLake is the best for me than any medicine. For me, Lotus Lake is not only a pleasant place torelax. It is also a friend - a dear and close one who sharesjoys and sorrows. I spent most of the time flying colorfulkites, playing hide and seek, and swimming with all mynaughty friends. I still remember how happy I was when Ibecame the winner in the game searching for crickets and Photo by Susan Pilafasgrasshoppers. But the funniest moment that I would neverforget is playing the tag game in the rain. Every time I lookat the rain, I always wish that I could turn back time toplay that game with all my friends on the shore again. Thanks to Lotus Lake, my swimming skills werehoned at a very young age. I can vividly recall a time whenmy father told me not to go to the lake alone because it 10

was dangerous. But he never knew that I was alwayspracticing my free-style swimming in that lake. All thosememories are so real that I feel like they just happenedyesterday. Lotus Lake is the one and only to hold my mostbeautiful memories. The memories and favorite places aredifferent for each person. I recommend one thing to you:if you don’t hate to be photographed, you had better takea picture of yourself in your favorite place. It will helpremind you of your memories. I hope you have goodmemories in many places. Photo by Brandon Metz 11

Untitled by Jennie StephensLooking up in the sky todayGray smoke clouding the sunI see a soul flying highAnd feel an ache in my heart.Was it a friend or my familyA stranger, but so much in commonSnowflakes falling down to land on my noseBut they don’t melt, only smearAnother tear for another numberLost among the seaNot of sadness, but of thanksTheir sadness has endedThe end of their sickness and working no moreStill waiting my turn, I cry for youPhoto by Ashly Thomas 12

When Mercy Found Me Story and photos by Kelly Peterson The sun was setting over the farm, sending rays ofgolden light across the living room floor. The warmbreeze was gently playing with the curtains of the openwindow, filling the room with the sweet smells of spring.I was lying curled up on the couch, listening to therhythmic ticking of the cuckooo clock, trying to keep the storm clouds in my head from overtaking me. I could feel the pain in my heart start to intensify as I recounted all the heartache that I endured over the past five years. I couldn’t stop a tearfrom rolling down my cheek as I thought about all thetests that God had put me through – it didn’t seem fair. Iclosed my eyes, wishing with all my heart that somethingcould take the pain away. I heard someone enter theroom, but I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. I feltsomeone kneel down next to me and gently put a soft,cool hand to my damp cheek. “Sweetie,” I heard a soft,loving voice say. “What’s the matter?” I slowly openedmy teary eyes and looked into Margie’s kind blue eyes. Ishook my head, because I didn’t know how to put my painand emotion into words. Margie sat down on the couch,put her cool hand on my forehead, and looked at me withconcerned eyes. “Tell me what’s going on, honey,” shesaid. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” I took adeep shuddery breath, not knowing where to begin on my 13

laundry list of concerns and fears. I have many questions,but few answers. I just don’t understand. I don’t think I will ever understand why bad thingshappen to good people. I will never be able tocomprehend the logic that God uses every day, so I don’teven try anymore. When I was a kid, I thought that goodthings happened to good people and that bad peoplewould be punished in some way. Barney taught me to benice to my friends and that kindness would makeeverything okay. As a teenager, I got a small taste of thecruelness of reality when I suffered a severe bout ofdepression during my senior year of high school. Thedark storm clouds in my head seemed endless and Ithought I would never see the sunshine again. I didn’tunderstand what I had done wrong to deserve suchheartache and suffering. Despite the gloominess, I alwaysfell back on my childhood way of thinking: bad thingsdidn’t happen to good people. I had always heard growingup that life is an unexpected journey, but I didn’t realize atthe time just how unfair it could be. The storm eventuallydissipated as I started college and entered into adulthood,but the clouds never truly went away. I never thought that I was the poster child for a“good” person, but I knew that I was not a bad one either.I made the usual teenage mistakes, but always tried mybest to make goodchoices. However,on February 24th,2008, my innocencewas taken from meforever when I wasdiagnosed with avery rare andaggressive bonetumor in my cervical spine. At the tender age of nineteen,my carefree way of life was gone. The tumor not only 14

threatened to take away my mobility, but threatened toend my life as well. It was able to be successfullyremoved, but the surgeries were sheer hell. It felt likesomeone was pounding industrial sized nails into thebones of my neck with an oversized mallet! It was theworst pain that I had ever felt in my life. In addition to the physical agony, I had to deal withthe emotional suffering and the inevitable buildup of thoseominous storm clouds. I felt completely helpless, like Iwas a prisoner in my own body. There aren’t words todescribe the horror that you feel to learn that a quarterinch of bone may have been the difference between lifeand death. The doctors made it clear to me that I wasextremely fortunate that the tumor was discovered when itwas. If I had delayed going to the hospital by even a fewweeks, the outcome could have been disastrous. While the tumor was successfully removed, I am leftwith permanent daily reminders of the ordeal throughchronic back/neck pain and nerve damage. Now, anoptimist might say that there is always a positive to lookfor. For example, I did not die nor am I paralyzed. I hadaccess to one of the best spinal surgeons in theChicagoland area and he knew how to save my life. Just tobe clear, I know all that. However, I still could notunderstand why such a bad thing had happened to me andI wanted to know why. Why did I have to go throughsuch a gut-wrenching experience? Why did I have to bethe one person in a million to developing this particulartumor? Was God in a bad mood on my birthday? Whatdid I do wrong to deserve such suffering? While I was at home recovering from the entire ordeal,I found out that another family had been torn apart by thecruelty of life. I was sitting in bed late one night, browsingthrough various social networking websites, anddiscovered that one of my former softball teammates hadpassed away suddenly. One moment she was alive, 15

practicing with her drill team in her high school cafeteria,and the next moment she was dead on the cold, hardfloor. Lauren was only eighteen when she died. She hadeverything going for her: a beautiful face, spunky spirit,loving parents, three older brothers who supported her,plans to attend Northern Illinois University after highschool to study dance, and dreams of opening her owndance studio one day. In the blink of an eye, all of thatwas gone. Lauren diedfrom a commonheart condition – amitral valveprolapse. She hadbeen diagnosedwith the conditionas a child, butnever gave it asecond thought.She didn’t need to. This type of heart disorder is usuallybenign, and patients experience long and productive liveswith no symptoms. For reasons I will never understand,God decided that Lauren’s time in this world was done.He left her parents without a daughter and her brotherswithout a sister. He left her St. Charles dance teamstunned and heartbroken. He left school officialswondering if there was anything more they could havedone to prevent a young life from ending so suddenly. After I found out about Lauren’s death, my mind wasreeling. Why did someone so young and so beautiful haveto die so suddenly? I can’t imagine what it must have beenlike for her parents to get that phone call from thehospital, telling them that their only baby girl was goneforever. After all, it could have easily been me. I couldhave been me who collapsed suddenly had the tumor hadgone into my spinal cord. It could have been me, pale, 16

cold, and still in the casket. It could have been my life thatwas cut tragically short. There were nights where I wouldcry, both for Lauren and for myself. Lauren’s death reallyaffects me and I don’t know why. There were times whereI feel guilty that I had lived and she had died. Why wasmy life worth more than hers? Why did God call herHome and leave me in this dark, miserable world? Itwasn’t fair. It still isn’t. I can’t imagine being in Lauren’s parent’s shoes,knowing that her life could have been saved had an AEDbeen used. I couldn’t understand why God would want todo something so tragic – why did she have to die? Wewere never close friends, but we were softball teammatesfor a season. Her father was a wonderful assistant coachand I can’t understand why such a good man had to gothrough such a horrific tragedy. I don’t think I ever will. I never fully healed from these emotional wounds –the pain had cut too deep. However, time continued tomarch on and I had no choice but to follow. Before Iknew it, I was walking across the stage to receive mycollege degree in psychology. I then had to make a criticaldecision – what was I going to do next? I was tornbetween furthering my education in psychology or tofinally pursue my high school dream of becoming a nurse.For me, the decision wasn’t difficult. I thought about thenurses who took care of me when I was broken andterrified and wanted to give back to those who helped me.I wanted to be the light in someone’s darkness. Eight months after I graduated college, I enrolled innursing school. It turned out to be a very difficultprogram, but I enjoyed the challenge. The first two yearswere great – I felt like I had found my niche in life. Imade new friends, did well in my classes, and got a parttime job on campus that I enjoyed. Life was going great.During my third year, however, the dark clouds started toform over my head again and I couldn’t get away from 17

them. Little mishapsseemed like giant failuresand simple stressorsturned into majormeltdowns. I felt like Iwas trapped in a darkroom with no windowsor doors. I could feelthe walls of the roomclosing in on me, slowlysuffocating me. There were times when I didn’t know if Icould go on. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go on. I feltlike God and everyone else had forsaken me - I had noone to turn to. I felt all alone, even in a roomful ofpeople. I couldn’t do it anymore. I finally stopped my rambling long enough to catch mybreath and slowly turned my tearstained face to look up atMargie. “Oh Margie, why me? Why did all this shithappen to me? Why did my life have to be turned upsidedown by a tumor and depression? Why do I have to gothrough all this?” Margie started to answer, but I couldn’tstop asking questions. “Don’t you ever ask why? Don’tyou ever want to know why bad things happen in yourlife? I mean, have you ever asked why Beth, your onlychild, was born with Cerebral Palsy? Have you ever askedwhy you and Paul have to go through so many challengeson the farm, like the Maple Sap House burning down orrain flooding the crops? Don’t you ever want to knowwhy bad things happen?” Margie looked thoughtful for a minute before sheanswered. “Sweetie, when I was in Training School forthe Salvation Army, I experienced my fair share ofchallenges and I questioned every single one of them.And you know what? It made me nuts! I couldn’t go onliving like that. I had to make a change.” 18

I shook my head forcefully. “No!” I exclaimed.“You don’t understand! Dammit, I have been trying tofight these feelings for a long time and I still fail. I can’tdo it anymore! I can’t do it!” Margie took a deep breath and firmly patted myshoulder. “Sweetie, look at me,” she said with a firm voice.I shook my head again and buried my face in a pillow.Margie sighed. “Okay, then let me ask you a question.What do you see when you look at Beth?” The question threw me off for a minute and I had tothink before I responded. “I see Beth,” I said slowly. “Isee a beautiful, intelligent young lady who is filled withspirit, perseverance, and a drive to be successful. I see thatsmile that can light up an entire room.” A smile crept across Margie’s lips. “You don’t see thewheelchair? You don’t see the Cerebral Palsy? You don’tsee the disability?” I slowly lifted my head off the pillow and shook myhead for a third time. “No. I see my sister. A wonderfulperson who has a body that doesn’t work correctly.Someone who has to fight every day to be normal.” Asthese words sunk it, the tears began to flow again, strongerthan before. “It’s not fair, Margie!” I sobbed. “Why did 19

this have to happen to Beth? She doesn’t deserve the painand suffering! She doesn’t deserve all of the adversity.Why does such an amazing young woman have to sufferfrom this disorder? Why did God have to make life sochallenging for her?” Questions kept swirling in and outof my head, faster and faster until I felt like I was going toexplode. “Oh Margie,” I choked out, “why does Godhave to be so unbelievably cruel? Why did I have to gothrough so much pain in my life? Why did Lauren have todie? Why do bad things happen to good people?” Margie listened, then wrapped her loving arms aroundme and held me close. I could hear her gentle heartbeating into my ear as I sobbed into her blouse. I couldfeel her hand gently rubbing my back and her head layinggently on mine. In that moment, I was safe in her arms –I didn’t want her to ever let me go. Margie let me cry for alittle bit, then gently lifted my chin to look me directly inthe eye. “I want you to remember something, sweetie,”she said in a soft voice. “There is a positive to look for inany situation, no matter how bad it may seem at the time.God doesn’t make mistakes. He knows what He isdoing.” Margie began to stroke my hair as she explained thatmy tumor experience might have been a gift. “You weremeant to go through this, baby girl. You were meant touse that empathy to help others. It will make you a betternurse. You were chosen to go through this for thatspecific reason.” I felt Margie’s arms around me tighten asshe explained that a positive thing had resulted from mydepression and dark room. “You don’t have to gothrough any of this alone, Sweet Pea. God saw youstruggling and brought you to us. We wouldn’t havegotten to know you if it wasn’t for this dark time in yourlife. And you know what? We love you so, so much.” Itwas much harder for me to see the positive in Lauren’sdeath – I didn’t think that anything good could come out 20

of it. Margie looked thoughtful for a few seconds.“Honey, Lauren didn’t die in vain – she died to saveothers. She raised awareness of AED’s in schools and theimportance of heart testing in young athletes. She hasdone her job on Earth. Now she is in Heaven – she iswith God.” Margie’s eyes began to well up as sherecounted Beth’s life. “Bethy is a gift with a very specificjob to do. She is supposed to teach people how to smileand to spread happiness to others. She is supposed toteach other perseverance and determination. Paul and Iwere given Beth so that we could love herunconditionally.” I saw a tear roll down Margie’s cheek asI turned to look up at her. “We have to trust in God,” shesaid in a wavering voice. “We have to trust that everythinghappens for a reason.” Suddenly, Margie had a revelation. “Sweetie,” she saidthoughtfully, “let me ask you something. Why did youreach out to me for help when you were struggling withdepression? Why did you decide to message me onFacebook one night and tell me everything that was goingon? After all, you didn’t really know me very well. Wehad hung out for a few days at the DuPage County Fair,but we really didn’t know each other. Why me? Why didyou decide to let me in?” I paused for a few moments, not sure how to answer.“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I remember it was March1st and I felt like I was all alone in the world. I felt like Ineeded someone to talk to. Anyone. I saw that you wereon Facebook and I felt the need to contact you. I don’tknow why I contacted you specifically. I just felt like Ineeded to – like it was the right thing to do. I can’texplain it. Nothing has been the same since that night.” Margie smiled. “That’s God, honey. He knew that youneeded someone and He lead you to us. And we are nevergoing anywhere. We love you deeply and are never goingto let you go, no matter how hard you try to push us 21

away.” I took a deep, shuddery breath and nodded.“Questions are not bad, Sweet Pea,” continued Margie.“Wanting answers is not bad. I don’t ask why did you choseto talk to me that night. I could have, but I don’t. Instead,chose to embrace the results rather than question themotives. I chose to help you, support you, love you, andalways be there for you. I love you like a daughter. Andyou know what, Sweat Pea? That is all that matters.” Margie held me for a while and let me feel her tender,motherly love. I slowly began to feel a sense of peacebegin to wash over me and the darkness began to lift.Margie gently kissed my forehead, then looked straightinto my eyes. “Bad things are always going to happen,sweetheart. There are many things in this world that wecan’t control. However, we do have choices. We canchoose to look for the positives rather than dwell on thenegatives.” I let the power of the statement sink in as I laymy head on her chest and closed my eyes. Suddenly, Ithought of my favorite quote from The Lord of the Ringsand how our lives are a sum of the choices we make. Inchapter 2, as Frodo realizes that the great ring of powerhas come to him, he bemoans his fate to Gandalf whoreplies, “So do I and so do all who live to see such times.But that is not for them to decide. All we have to do isdecide what to do with the time that is given to us.” Irealized that I wasn’t just a passenger in the game of life –I have some say on how it turns out. I don’t have to sitstill and watch time pass me by. I have a choice. It is fair to say that challenges presented themselves tome throughout my life, especially in the past five years. Istill won’t say that the tumor was a blessing, but it certainlytaught me resilience, determination, and gave me adifferent lease on life. It is also hard to find the positiveswith depression. However, if I hadn’t been going througha rough patch in nursing school, I wouldn’t have gotten aloving and supportive second family. If Beth didn’t have a 22

disability, she wouldn’t be the sweet, caring, and lovingsister that she is. I still can’t say that a lot of good hascome out of Lauren’s death, but it did teach me toappreciate the time I have. You never know when yourtime might be up – God doesn’t always give warnings. AsEleanor Roosevelt once said, “Yesterday’s history,tomorrow’s a mystery, today is a gift. That’s why they callit the present.” I have my present. Now it’s up to me touse it. I was planning to end the story there, but it doesn’tend there. I wish I could say that Margie’s words instantlymade everything better and that her love caused thefeelings of pain, guilt, and despair to instantly go away. Iwish I could say that the clouds vanished and werereplaced by a clear blue sky. Unfortunately, this hasn’tbeen the case. The journey of recovery is just that: ajourney. I used to tell myself, I’ll get there, I’ll get there...Now, I wonder where “there” is. Is it a place whereeverything is perfect and there are no more tears orquestions? Is it a place where tears and fears are replacedby joy and laughter? I don’t know the answer to thosequestions and I doubt I ever will. What I do know is this:I am still struggling. Every day is a battle. Some days, Icome out victorious and feel like I can conquer the world.Other days, I am struck down and defeated by the burdensof everyday life. I know in my heart that it is important tolook for the positives in life, but it isn’t easy for me. Thescars on my wrist may have healed, but the scars on myheart still bleed. Despite all the turmoil, I continue to battle on. I stillwake up each morning and face the day ahead, even whenthat alone seems like a daunting and overwhelming task. Imay be a broken person living in a broken world, but Iknow that I am not the only person to feel this way. Iknow that there are others out there on similar journeys,many of whom are afraid to share their story due to fear of 23

retribution or judgment. I used to be one of those people,afraid that the world was going to look down on me basedon the feelings that I felt. It takes a lot of courage to behonest with yourself, and even more to write it down onpaper and share it with the world. However, if sharing mystory can help even one person, then it will be worth it.None of us have perfect lives and none of us have liveswithout pain, but nobody should ever have to suffer alone.Nobody should have to feel like their life is meaningless orworthless, like I do sometimes. After all, life is a journey,not a destination. There may be no “there” for me totravel to, but I will continue to trust God, lean on Margiefor support, and continue on my journey, one step at atime. As J.R.R. Tolkien says, “It's a dangerous business,Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, andif you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where youmight be swept off to.” 24

\"Everything has beauty,but not everybody sees it\" ConfuciusPhoto by Thomas Stempien Photos by Kylie Dean 25

Farms Meet the City by Joe Kessler “When all the world is overcharged with inhabitants,then the last remedy of all is war, which provideth forevery man, by victory or death.” This quote from ThomasHobbes’ Leviathan is a grim prediction of the future ofmankind that is shared by many environmentalists. As itstands, the world’s growing population and shrinkingfarmlands are forcing modern technology to its limits inorder to increase the yield of crops that farms canproduce. While this technology has gone a long waytowards feeding the world so far, the United Nationspredicts that the world population will reach 9.6 billion by2050, and with 80 percent of the world’s farmable landalready in use, that poses a very real issue (Mendleson 1). World hunger has been an issue that has facedmankind since our inception, and has only gotten worse aswe have begun to grow and expand. Energy and wastemanagement has also risen to the top of environmentalistslist of concerns in recent years. One of the majorcontributors to the growing food, energy and waste issuescan be found within the cities that house so much of ourpopulation. Cities require vast amounts of electricity andfood to function properly, and they produce an equallyvast amount of waste. Since cities dominate so much ofthe surrounding land to provide housing for theirdenizens, the solution implemented throughout historyhas been to supply food to the cities from nearby farms.This time-honored system comes with some equally time-honored issues; transporting the food from the nearbyfarms can be a costly, time-consuming logisticalnightmare; it also means that the city is completelydependent upon outside sources to keep it fed and happy,and this can also put a strain on the farms. The mostobvious solution to this problem is one that has only been 26

made plausible by new advancements in technology; growthe food in the cities themselves through a process calledvertical farming (Skyscraper Fresh). While vertical farms Photo by Nick Campagnolohave sprung up in multiple cities across the world, ThePlant in Chicago plans to be a test site to see if verticalfarming combined with new green technology can create atruly self-sufficient city-based farm. Vertical farmingprojects like FarmedHere and The Plant should receivemore support and encouragement as they may be the keyto alleviating the nation’s hunger and energy issues. Put simply, vertical farming is the process of growingfood inside of a multi-story building, with crops on eachfloor. The idea for vertical farming is most commonlyattributed to Columbia University microbiologist DicksonDespommier and his first class of students from 1999 whowere examining the issue of growing food on the rooftopsof New York (Fairley 1). The students found that growingfood on rooftops alone would only be capable of feedingaround two percent of the population, until Despommiersuggested growing food inside of buildings, sort of likegreenhouse skyscrapers (Fairley 1). In 2005 Despommier 27

posted the results of the experiment online where itsparked world-wide discussions and no small amount ofinterest (Fairley 1). Since then the concept of vertical farming has beenadded to and implemented in a number of cities across theworld. Most common vertical farms consist of rooftopgardens along with multiple level plant farms inside of thebuilding that are surrounded by LED lights that mimicsunlight, and a complex rotating water system to keep thecrops alive (Fairley 1). Some vertical farms have evenbegun to include fish tanks where fish are raised alongsidethe crops, that way the fish waste can be used as a form offertilizer for the crops through a process called aquaponics(Marks 1). Some more advanced farms now implement anew method called hydroponics, a process through whichplant life is grown in water instead of soil (Marks 1). Asidefrom just producing food vertical farms also help toregulate building temperature and keep the air inside oftheir parent buildings clean and fresh (Marks 1). Whilemaintaining an indoor ecosystem can be a dauntingprospect, it allows for much greater control of plant lifethan traditional outdoor farming methods (Marks 1). Theindoor environment means that vertical farmers have nocause to fear for their crops in even the most severe ofweather conditions (Marks 1). Growing crops throughvertical farming also helps to conserve and manage watermuch more efficiently than in traditional farming methods,which help to curb one of the most persistent issues thatconventional farmers are faced with (Marks 1). Perhapsone of the most widely welcomed benefits that verticalfarming offers is that the indoor environment means thatso long as vertical farmers maintain their buildings well,there is no cause for them to implement either insecticidesor herbicides, meaning that all vertically farmed crops areorganic and all natural (Marks 1). 28

One of the most revolutionary of these vertical farmsis a work in progress based in Chicago called The Plant(The Plant). The brainchild of environmentalist John Edel,The Plant is housed in the former Peer Foods factory andis geared towards demonstrating a new system of closingenergy loops to keep The Plant completely self-sufficient(Fulton). While still a work in progress, plans for ThePlant intend for the 93000 square foot facility to house “Harvest Sunset” Photo by Kelly Petersonlocal businesses as well as the traditional crops that mostother vertical farms contain (The Plant). Edel hopes toattract local bakeries and a brewery as well as a kombuchabrewery to The Plant (The Plant). In addition to thevarious businesses it is in the process of acquiring andassembling a massive anaerobic digester and separateheating and cooling system that will take The Plantcompletely off the grid (Fulton). This new system ofclosing energy loops is dependent upon each installmentof the plant supporting and reinforcing the other (ThePlant). The Plant plans to utilize a hybrid of hydroponicsand aquaculture to maintain and improve the relationshipbetween the plant life and the fish that will be raised insidethe facility (The Plant). Plant life will be grown both inside 29

the facility and outside the facility and will be wateredthrough the fish tanks so that the waste from the fish willprovide nutrients for the plants, and in turn the water thatthe plants clean will be recycled back into the tanks for thefish to live in (The Plant). The spent barley from thebrewery will be used to feed the fish, and all waste fromthe bakery as well as the spent grain from the brewery willbe used to fuel the anaerobic digester which will breakdown the organic waste through a process that breakswaste down and converts the end result into a productcalled biogas which will then be combusted to generate theelectricity which will power and heat the plant along withall of the businesses that it will house within (AmericanBiogas Council). In spite of the numerous benefits and promisingpotential that vertical farming has shown so far, there aremany who are skeptical of the process as a whole. Some ofthe various concerns that are centered around verticalfarming deal with the taste and quality of the crops thatare produced, as well as the amount of energy it wouldtake to keep the plants alive year round (Cox). Manyskeptics argue that vertically grown plants must be inferiorto those that are grown on conventional farms becausethey rely more on artificial lighting to stay alive andtherefore have very little direct contact with the sun(Marks 1). The largest and most frequently argued issuewith the vertical farming model is centered on how plantswould be able to acquire enough sunlight to survive (Cox).Skyscraper grown plants would be subject to positioningof the sun to the building at all times, not only would theglass windows block a large portion of the sunlight thatthe plants would need to absorb, but the plants wouldblock each other due to the angle at which sunlight wouldpenetrate the building (Cox). This argument reinforcesitself by claiming that the amount of energy required inorder to successfully grow and maintain a large yield of 30

nutrient rich plants such as fruits and non-lettuce greens,does pose a very real and severe issue for the verticalfarming method (Cox). While critics don’t argue thatartificial LED lighting can be used to grow and maintainplant life for an extended period of time, they do contendthat the amount of lights and the energy required to powerthem far outstrips the potential yield of plants that couldbe produced (Cox). It is also argued that a major flaw withthe vertical farm plan is that even if vertical farms were tobe implemented in the various empty and unused citiesacross the world, it would still be impossible for verticalfarms to produce enough food for the cities to becomeself-sufficient, they would still need to rely on outsidefarms in order to feed themselves (Cox). Critics also arguethat growing the plants in such close quarters would notbe enough to eliminate the issue posed by pests or disease.The fact that the plants would be in such proximity wouldactually help disease to spread from one plant to the nexteven faster than on conventional farms (Cox). Thesecomplaints and more make up the largest portion of theopposition that vertical farming faces. While there remain a number of dissenters who arguethat vertical farming projects such as FarmedHereconsume too much energy while producing too little yield,when compared to conventional farms they are at leasthelping. The implementation of vertical farms is still afairly new concept that will require some tweaking overtime. The idea of actually succeeding in producing thekind of self-sufficient closed loop system that The Plantenvisions may seem far-fetched, but the implications andbenefits of such a system are worth the attempt. Manyexisting vertical farms across the world have begun toshow substantial yields at decreasing costs thanks to LEDlights and some ingenious building designs (Fairley 1).Currently, it may be unrealistic to imagine that even if ThePlant’s closed loop system manages to prove successful 31

that vertical farms could manage to completely replaceconventional farms or solve world hunger. Even if verticalfaming does seem like an implausible solution to the ageold problem of vertical farming, it shouldn’t be discountedjust because the science behind perfecting it is a work inprogress. Large scale vertical farming projects likeFarmedHere have managed to continually produce largeyields of crops while implementing new ways to keep costsdown (FarmedHere). The influx of fresh vegetables thatthese projects have managed to produce has already begunto supplement city food stores and supply local restaurantsand markets (FarmedHere). “Heron Hideaway” Photo by Kelly Peterson From the research, it seems clear that vertical farmingprojects should be met with greater backing until it isproven that vertical farming cannot hope to create asustainable indoor farm. In fact, even if The Plant provesto be unsuccessful in implementing the closed loopsystem, vertical farming should still be shown moresupport. Vertical farming doesn’t need to solve worldhunger or completely eliminate the need for conventional 32

farms, it only needs to continue doing what it has so faraccomplished, help to alleviate the burden placed onconventional farms. As Despommier said \"It's the samesituation we faced when we announced to the world thatwe were going to the moon, Pour money at the problem,and you see what happens.\" Perhaps vertical farmingprojects like The Plant really are little more than a pipedream with the technology currently at their disposal, butif it’s possible to successfully put a man on the moon thensuccessfully putting a farm in the city shouldn’t be toomuch of a stretch. Maybe vertical farms hold the key tosolving the world’s hunger issue and maybe they don’t,either way, they have shown promise in helping to alleviatethe issue and with further support and backing may proveto be an even more valuable asset. Works Cited\"American Biogas Council.\" American Biogas Council. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2014.Cox, Stan. \"The Vertical Farming Scam.\" CounterPunch: Tells the Facts, Names the Names. N.p., 11 Dec. 2012. Web. 28 Apr. 2014.Fairley, Peter. \"Urban Agriculture Grows Up.\" Architectural Record 201.7 (2013): 4. Academic Search Complete. Web. 17 Apr. 2014.\"FarmedHere: The Freshest, Healthiest and the Most Local Greens in Chicago.\"Farmedherecom. N.p., n.d. Web. 17 Apr. 2014.Fulton, April. \"Food Scraps To Fuel Vertical Farming's Rise In Chicago.\" NPR. NPR, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2014.Hobbes, Thomas. \"Chapter XXX Of the Office of the Sovereign Representative.” Leviathan. N.p.: n.p., n.d. 144-52. Leviathan, by Thomas Hobbes. Adelaide, 1 Mar. 2014. Web. 28 Apr. 2014.Marks, Paul. \"Legume With A View.\" New Scientist 221.2952 (2014): 17- 18. Academic Search Complete. Web. 17 Apr. 2014.Mendleson, Rachel. \"The Future Is Hungry.\" Canadian Business 84.4 (2011): 45. Academic Search Complete. Web. 28 Apr. 2014\"Skyscraper Fresh.\" New Scientist 221.2952 (2014): 3. Academic Search Complete. Web. 17 Apr. 2014.\"The Plant.\" The Plant. N.p., n.d. Web. 17 Apr. 2014.\"UN, United Nations.\" UN News Center. UN, n.d. Web. 27 Apr. 2014. 33

Battle of the Bands by Spencer Karlovits“Catalyst, you’re on in five minutes,” yelled the stagehand as he meandered through the darkened hallwaybehind the stage. We had five short minutes until we madeour first actual performance at the battle of the bands.“Alright man, you ready for this?” our first guitaristJordan asked with an excited yet reserved smile on hisface. We damn wellbetter have beenready by this point.Our last fourrehearsals in ourdrummer Mike’sdamp, unfinishedbasement werededicated to thisone song. “Yeah Photo by Greg Dimitropoulosdude, I think we got this,” I answered back. As I grabbedmy bass and slung the strap around my neck and shoulder,I looked at the pads of each of my fingers. I was nowregretting the two hour practice we had earlier today as thehardened calluses on the tips of opened back up into freshblisters. my fingersKen, our second guitarist, snuck up behind me as Iwas grabbing my cables out of my case. “Yo, hey,Spence!” My head turned up quickly as I turned around tosee who it was. “Don’t forget to wait for the drums tostart back up after your intro solo to come in.”I answered back quickly. “Yeah dude, I got it. Yougotta remember to not come in early there though.” Helooked a bit annoyed that I called him out as he scratchedhis head, shifting his shoulder length orange, curly hair.“Listen, just chill out. We’ve rehearsed this shit so muchby now I’m pretty sure we could all play it backwards.” 34

Just then, we could hear the distorted guitars and ofthe punk act before us abruptly cut out. The silence of theact finishing quickly exploded into a cacophony ofscreams and applause. “Sounds like they nailed it,” Mike chimed in, with alittle bit of a disappointed undertone in his voice. “Webetter step this up.” The stage hand signaled for us to set up. We walkedsingle file through the dark hall to get us onto the stage.The red curtains were closed and only the work lights wereon making it difficult to see. The audience had died downto a murmur as the transition continued. As I approached my bass amp, the bassist from thegroup before me was still pulling his gear. “That was sick man, nice playing,” I stated, trying tobe polite. “Yeah,” he said as he turned his head up. He grabbedthe rest of his gear and stood back up next to the amp. Heturned around, almost smacking me in the face with hisneon-green, hastily spiked mo-hawk and just made his wayoff stage. “Jackass…” I muttered to myself. But now it wastime to focus. I plugged in my ¼” cable to the amp andstarted a sound check. The newly formed blister on the tipof my index finger decided to burst open just as I playedmy first note. The practice earlier today seemed to domore harm than good for me as I now had to play onfresh skin. “Just play through it, you gotta forget about it man,”Ken suggested as he saw me inspecting the damage. Now that everyone was set, our time to light this placeup was finally here. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer started overthe PA system, “gear up for Catalyst!” The curtains flew open and I was able to catch a quickview of the crowd of 700 people or so just before the 35

lights sprang on, blinding and scorching the stage like themid-summer sun. The crowd started cheering as we gotourselves ready to play. Mike gave me four clicks on his drumsticks for tempo.I played the first note of the intro solo as the sound of mybass swallowed the auditorium. I quickly forgot about thepain in my fingers while the adrenaline coursed throughmy body. Eight bars later, the heavy distortion of theguitars punched through the audience. Shortly after, Mikerolled in with a thunderous fill on drums. I tried to look out in the crowd to see their reactionnow that we were under way, but the luminosity of thelighting was too strong to make anything out. Finally, theend of the songapproached. Weall looked at eachother to sync upour last hit. Nailedit. The curtainsstarted to closeslowly. The lightswere slowlyfading. The crowderupted again, just Photo by Susan DiLillolike the last set. But they were so loud that we couldn’teven talk to each other on stage. We began to strike ourgear off stage. As I looked at my bass to unplug my cable,I noticed a drop sliding down the shiny black face of mybass. I looked at my fingers, which were now stained withmy own blood. “Well ain’t that the most metal shit?” Mike triedscreaming over the crowd. We wandered off stage as thecrowd finally died down. We only had one more sets untilthe results would be announced. 36

We ended up hanging out in the green room for thelast set. Exhaustion had finally settled in. Before we knewit, the last set was done and the votes were in. We watchedon the main monitor in the green room to hear the results. “With the votes in,” started the announcer again overthe PA “We can now announce the winner of the 2007battle of the bands.” I was sitting on my chair, barelyenough to keep me sitting up. “The first place this year,with the closest vote margin we’ve seen here in a while isbetween Catalyst and A-phunk. It is with great joy that Igive first place and $500 to…” His pause lasted longerthan waiting in line at the DMV. “…A-phunk.” “Dammit” Jordan yelled, throwing his empty bottle ofwater across the room. Everyone in the group was pissed off. They quietly picked up their gear and headed to their cars. As I packed my gear up, I could only think of how the crowd reacted. With a reaction like that, it was confusing as to how we didn’t win, especially with our preparation and determination. But as I was leaving, I couldn’t help but smile a bit. We played a flawless performance and we melted some faces. For a first gig, I’d say we kicked some serious ass. Photo by Morgan Bast 37

“Do You Know That I Love You?” by Frances Endencia “Do you know that I love you?” My father was lying in a hospital bed… My heart jumped, deep inside I told myself “No, dad.” I held his hand instead. “Take care of your mother.” He tried to saysomething, but something held him back. That being said,he dozed off. I was in the VA hospital. Without asking for myopinion, my father had consented to a new type of heartvalve surgical replacement. They removed his heart valveand replaced it with a metallic valve about six months ago.To prevent complications of blood clotting, they usedCoumadin as a blood thinner. When I found out about it,I was shocked. This is the same ingredient they use as ratpoison. The drug causes internal bleeding in rat poison.Apparently, they give minute doses to humans for peoplewith heart surgery or treatment. As I sat beside him, I began to remember my brother’sbirthday, six months ago. June 21, 2008. Two weeks before Jeremy’s birthday, Dad made thecheerful announcement while we were having dinner. “The doctors want to do the right side of the heart. Iam scheduled for heart surgery on Jeremy’s birthday.” Thedoctors informed me there is a high possibility I will notsurvive the surgery.” Dad always wanted to be a doctor. As an orphan whohad to work himself up, he could not afford to go tomedical school. Growing up in America when racialprejudice existed, nobody wanted to give him a permanenthome. By the time he finished high school, he had gone 38

to 17 schools. At the age of 14, he ran away from hisfoster parents, got a job and finished school on his own.Grandpa was Asian - brown, and grandma was white. Atthat time, whites were not supposed to mingle with othercolored people. There was a “white” restroom, and a“colored” restroom. Things changed as immigrationsstarted bringing other people from other countries toAmerica. I never met my grandma. The only thing I know isthey took all her children away from her. In dad’s last visitwith her, he described her to be a living vegetable, abyproduct of medicine. It was during a time when it wasusual and customary treatment for licensed medicaldoctors to take out a piece of brain from their patients.Perhaps, it was done to make grandma incapable of takingcare of her own children, a dark side of AmericanMedicine. Since dad could not be a medical doctor, he was soproud that I became a veterinarian. At least part of hisdream came true. To participate in the medicaldevelopment, he decided to donate his body to science.So, he was willing to participate in medical-surgical studies. “Dad, look at your own medical record! You’re aguinea pig!” I exclaimed. “Coumadin is rat poison…How can they give you ratpoison as treatment!” It was hard for me to explain tohim that there was something wrong. “You have had your gallbladder removed, intestinalresection BECAUSE of Coumadin; heart valve removal inyour left side. AND WHEN DID YOU GET A HEARTCONDITION? All you have is muscular dystrophy. YouNEVER had a problem with your heart!” “He had his heart evaluated,” my mother tried toexplain. “He was told he had a slow heart rate.” “Why not use a pacemaker then?” I queried. “This is a new heart treatment.” Dad replied. 39

“And what did they do? You cannot have surgerywhen you are on Coumadin. You will bleed to death.” “They stopped my Coumadin treatment for a monthbefore the surgery. On the operating table, they froze mybody to subnormal temperature to slow down thecirculation of the blood. Then they took out the valves onthe left side and replaced it with a metal one. I cannot goto a room with a magnet, since it will stop my heart frombeating.” “And remember, if I do die, just donate my body toscience. This way, there are no burial costs. VA will payfor any fees incurred.” I was furious, scheduling a life threatening conditionon Jeremy’s birthday. He finally agreed to have itrescheduled a week after. “Do you want to hear my heart?” Dad asked. Tic Tic Tic. In a quiet room, his heart beat loudly. As I saw dad, asleep, I decided to go home. I was alsoan engineering student, and I had exams in two weeks. Iwas having a hard time studying and keeping an eye ondad. I was on the path to a change in career. My sisters were coming from out of town. It was thenthat I decided to concentrate on school and then I canstop a session to take care of dad. February 14, 2009 The whole family was coming from out of town. Idecided to clean up the house to prepare for their arrival. We all agreed to visit dad that night. Dad was scheduled for radiation therapy that morning.I was contemplating whether I should stay with him orclean the house. I decided to do house work and visit himwith the rest of the family. The whole family was there. Even dad’s long lostsister came. We were all together. But time was runningout. 40

The Belittled Janitor by Jasper Zornoza Every August means the start to the new school year.Teachers awaiting their next group of kids, kids lining upoutside of the school, “new” students are looking for newfriends, and “old” students looking for their longtimefriends. All in all, everyone is waiting to start a newchapter in their life. We all used to be in that position,especially me, and it just happened to be that one of myfriends at my grade school was the Janitor, Mr. Neil. Ihave known Mr. Neil all of my life, and I have to say he isone hard worker. He makes sure that the school ispresentable inside and out for everyone. I respect him forthat, but sadly, others (co-workers) do not feel the sameway. Mr. Neil would like to be respected for his hardwork, but his co-workers keep pushing him down thesocial totem pole because of his job. If you asked students from any school what theirjanitors looked like, many would have no idea becausethey look down on the person who cleans up after them.Nowadays, students would say a typical janitor wouldprobably be a Mexican who speaks little English. Sadly, asstereotypical and racist as that sounds, that is what societyhas come to be and how they would label janitors today.Mr. Neil on the other hand is not Mexican and can speakEnglish very well. Mr. Neil is actually just a natural bornwhite American. The best way to describe a man like Mr.Neil is that he looks likes the Michelin Tire mascot! Asfunny as it sounds, that’s the best way I can describe him.Mr. Neil is tall in stature, and round around the waist area,but by no means is he fat. His hair is like that of JohnTravolta in the movie Grease, except instead of being blackand luscious, it is grey and luscious. If there is one thing Ihave always noticed about him, it would have to be theglasses he wears every day. The glasses are not like those 41

of Erwin form theDisney show, The SuiteLife of Zach and Cody.Instead, they look likeaviators, just without thetinted lens. The kids atthe school where heworks had a similardescription. My sisterand her classmates saidthat Mr. Neil looks likethe old grandpa from themovie Up, but with ahappier attitude on life.The last trait that thisjanitor portrays is that heworks so hard at makingthe school clean and intip-top shape. He neverseems to quit workingand is always ready totake on the next mess. Photo by Sarah HowellWhat’s wonderful about Mr. Neil is that his history ofbeing a janitor is not written in the work he does butinstead in him. In other words, he is his own history.When you look at the man you can see it in his eyes andbody, the toll that he has taken from the countless hoursof work. His eyes show the countless years of dedicationat making things clean at the school. He has seen thesimplest of messes to the “grand daddy” of messes, andcrazy, happy kids to super sad kids. From his body, youcan tell that he is worn out to his wit, but still continues topush. He would like to stop working but he has a family tosupport, just like any other parent.The co-workers don’t believe that cleaning up a schoolevery day is that hard. They believe that it is more of a 42

chore that has to be repeated. The teachers believe thatteaching students is a much harder task since they have tomake every kid be successful in school. Now technicallythat is true, since the education needed for a teacher vs. ajanitor don’t compare. According to Miller, “to become ateacher the general requirements are a bachelor’s degree ineducation, student teaching experience, and a teachingcertificate” (Miller, 2010). Now the degrees andrequirements do vary depending on the age group.According to the website Snagajob, “a janitor does not haveany educational requirements” (“Janitor,” 2010). Theteachers win in the regard of formal education, but theteachers lose out on being a hard worker. Janitors actuallywork more hours for less pay then teachers do. Accordingto Snagajob, the average pay is about “$10.31 per hour”(“Janitor,” 2010). It’s a sucky job for minimum wage, eventhough janitors work just as hard as or even harder thanother employees. Now Mr. Neil has told me that his belittling is onlycaused by a few teachers, but is now growing into all ofthe teachers. I feel for the man some times because youhave to imagine being in his shoes for 60 hours out of theweek cleaning and repairing. I just wished that his co-workers could just open their eyes and see that he isworking just as hard at his job as they are. Mr. Neil hasdone everything he could possibly do, bringing up thesituation to his boss and even talking to the teachers thatpick on him about it. What Mr. Neil gets in return islaughter or no response. Sadly, Mr. Neil is still working this job and is stillfacing the same situation but with a twist. As a friend ofhis, all I can do is give him advice. I tell him to “ignore thehaters and push forward because someday you will be ontop.” He took this quote to heart and is now looking evenhappier than ever. With Mr. Neil’s situation, this can berelatable to many people, working with co-workers that 43

think that they’re better because of their status in theworkplace. I just wanted him to see that when the goinggets tough, he should just keep pushing till the end,because, who knows, “You might have the final say in it.” Photos by Michael Dufresne ReferencesJanitor Job Description. (2010). Retrieved from http://www.snagajob.com/job-descriptions/janitor/Miller, R. (2010). How To Become A Teacher. Retrieved from http://www.degreetree.com/resources/how-to- become-a-teacher 44

Trapped by Anthony CatalanoTrapped inside these wallsThat seems everlasting and tall.It’s hard to keep faith every nightI close my eyes knowing not to cry andquestion my God.I pray for a better tomorrow,Knowing change comes from deep within.I’d rather they come now more than ever,But if I could rewind back the hands of time Iwish we got out.I bend my knees and pray toward the sky.The sun is now setting showing colors ofyellows reds and oranges,For darkness will soon come.Until then I wait and pray,For I am no longer trapped inside these walls.Photo by Susan DiLillo 45

Volcano by Ruben Soriano The wind struggles to reach the top; his wideshoulders washed the beauty of the sky. At the pick, thegreen trees dance as the wind caresses the limbs. This isthe place where peace came to mind, where the sensemeets the soul, and the need of the man are minimized tohear and feel the beauty of nature. The incline way toreach the top creates a challenge, but the desire to conqueris imperative to dominate nature’s course. The natives tellstories about this place; some still believe that the warriorthat rested under the white cover is protecting them. Asthe spring comes to and the flowers bloom, the localsmarch to the top to show respect for the blessing thatnature has provided them. In the winter the cold feels like your bones are beingcrushed, but the majestic view provides you with amoment to realize how insignificant you are compared tothe power of nature. The rough way to reach the top maybe complicated for some, since oxygen is not at the sameif you compare it to sea level, but once you reach the topand take a look at what you have walked to get there, thesense of accomplishment is great along with the view thatlay before you. This is my experience and how I visualizemy trip to Ixtlaciualt, an active volcano located at theskirts of Mexico City. Photo by Nick Campagnolo 46

Combat Musings by Ryan Carrick Being shot is a truly unique experience. Combat aloneis an experience few have ever experienced, but gettingwounded is on a whole other level. When I got hit, therewasn’t anyone cheering my name or cool theme musicplaying in the background. Real life is far less glamorous. My platoon was finishing up what had been a routinepatrol in Logar Province, Afghanistan, when a strange setof events took place. An individual on a motorcycle beganacting very strangely when we showed up. He drovearound us in circles, all the while studying our position andtalking on a cell phone. When we approached him abouthis behavior, he was clearly uneasy and kept lookingaround as if backup were on the way. We suspected hewas edgy because he thought we already knew about hisdealings with the local troublemakers we were trying tofind. The reality is that we had no prior intelligence aboutany specific individual we should be on the lookout for.Intelligence or no intelligence though, this guy’s behaviorwarranted investigation. After a short series of questions,we decided he needed to come with us for furtherquestioning on our compound. We had no idea at the time, but we had just stirred theproverbial hornets’ nest. We had a little over twokilometers to walk back to our base of operations, CombatOutpost Baugess, a short trip that without enemy contactwouldn’t even take a half hour to complete. Unfortunately,the enemy didn’t need a half hour; ten minutes wasenough. The mid-day sun was perched high above us in aforever blue sky. If not for the energy-draining heat, itwould have been a perfect summer day. With our prisonerin tow, the platoon began marching back to base, 47

confident we had captured another bad guy in our ownprivate War on Terror. We quickly found our pace, followed by an enormousdust cloud that both encircled and clung to the platoon.Dirt and sand in Afghanistan isn’t the same consistency asthe top soil native to the United States, not even the kindfound on American Beaches. Afghan sand is baby powderfine, and billows high in the sky like a smoke cloud. Theslightest disturbance creates a plume that only the blindcan miss. Photo by Linda Zettek Without warning, rocket propelled grenades camescreaming into the platoon and AK-47 rounds werekicking up dirt all around us! We had been in more thanour fair share of firefights. Enough to gauge what is heavyresistance, and what is negligible. This was out of theordinary. The volume of gunfire and explosions wasenough to grab everyone’s attention and make us wish forbetter cover. The enemy wanted their guy back and they wantedhim bad. We quickly organized into a lazy “W” formationand began returning effective fire. Though it made us feel 48

better, it wasn’t quelling the enemy’s attack. Even thoughwe immediately radioed for air cover, it would be a whilebefore support in the form of Apache helicopters wouldbe on station and we couldn’t just wait in place until theyarrived. Our Patrol Leader, Staff Sergeant Camacho, beganyelling, “Bound back! Keep moving!” His order meant that we should continue ourwithdrawal back to the compound while providingoverwatch for any moving elements. Soon we weremoving, one element ready to provide cover fire in amoment’s notice while another leapfrogged behind them.The concept is simple on paper, but dangerous and tiringin the real world. Even on flat, open terrain, bounding isboth confusing and exhausting. We were doing it under intense enemy fire with a tonof obstacles in our way. We had to go over or around qalatwalls, through multi-tiered and well irrigated orchards, andcontend with the steep grade and oxygen depriving high-altitude Afghanistan is well known for. After a fewminutes of bounding around each other, the gunfire dieddown and we found ourselves speaking in whispersinstead of barking commands. The sound most evidentwas the platoon’s heavy, labored breathing as we fought tocatch our breath. A minute later, a lone Apache gunship entered ourairspace and began raining withering fire on any and allsuspected enemy locations. Their favorite hiding spot wasbehind a wall, or better yet, inside a building. Sometimesthough they were foolish enough to crouch behind a bushor tree, a trick that might work against a foe confined tothe ground. An Apache gunship though has no blindspots; it is a formidable foe. We had the upper hand, and our attitudes reflected it,but all was not safe. A few lone gunmen opened fire and Iimmediately felt some of the worst pain I have ever felt in 49