Taking My ChoicesBrown Issues helps one

woman transition into a new life

7 Deeds 7 DaysGiving to others to get over yourself

Bullets, Bruises and a Two-Drink MinimumStaffers learn that fear is a state of mind

Strength Through AdversityFamily bond thrives despite

leukemia and muscular dystrophy

MAINLINESpring ’08

photo Gilberto Ramirez

CONTENTS

14Feature

ML /08

A local family refuses to give in to hardship and despair after their children are diagnosed with grave illnesses. Instead, they bravely meet their challenges and share the secrets to their daily victories: laughter and living moment-to-moment.

StrengthThrough Adversity

067 Deeds 7 DaysMainline editor givesphilanthropy a try

03Bullets, Bruises and a Two-Drink MinimumStaffers take their own advice and take fear by the horns, look it in the face and laugh nervously. Best of all, they live to ride again another day.

13

18

Hope Springs InternalFrom break-up to break-through, one writer’s love affair with self-discovery—proof-positive that sleeping single in a double bed may not be fun, but it certainly is peaceful!

Former City College students reflect back on their collegiate roots and inspire others with their collective success and recognition.

Continuing the Legacy

Taking My ChoicesAfter years of living the gang lifestyle, one woman seizes a chance for change in the form of a group called Brown Issues. She also gained a fresh perspective and a new circle of supportive friends.

09

cover photo illustration Chris Hedberg

STAFFMISSION

Initially, the mission seemed simple: collect a series of stories about personal growth. Personal growth. The words spelunked through our brains, coagulating like sour milk. We then found ourselves asking, what is personal growth? Is it a notch on the kitchen door every year on your birthday? Is it a mantra borrowed from the Far East that is repeated every morning? Do you have to become a saint for a week, fixing all the ailments of the world, before you can consider yourself to have grown?

Growth, we found, is a word that defies strict defi-nition. Those interviewed came from all modes of life: former gang members, struggling students and close-knit families emerged—all with stories that took us out of our petty everyday worlds and helped us to see the bigger picture. But what surprised us most is that the little stories touched us as well; the staff members chose their own new challenges to complete, conquering fears that had been instilled in us since childhood. Needles, guns or public speaking? Bring it on.

Overall, we found that it wasn’t the glorification of God-like deeds that moved us to action—it was com-ing together as a group and having the courage to admit that yes, we all have fears, and while some of them may be completely irrational, they are no less important. We hope that the stories collected here inspire readers to embark on their own journeys toward growth, no matter how small these deeds may be.

Editor in ChiefShae Hancock

Managing EditorJulie Tobias

Photo EditorTerri M. Venesio

Copy EditorsAmanda BoosCatherine Foss

Design EditorSteven Mok

Design TeamAmy ChanLori Llanillo

Anthony MagdalenoJoe Porras

PhotographersSteven Clark

Chris HedbergChun Kim

Gilberto RamirezKeri Wood

AdviserDawn Blunk

Mainline ContributerSarah Ravani

Mainline, the Sacramento City College non-fiction magazine, is produced by students of the Journalism 403 class once a semester. The views expressed in Mainline do not necessarily reflect those of the City College Journalism Department, Sacramento City College or the Los Rios Community College District.

Contact:Mainline, Journalism DepartmentSacramento City College3835 Freeport Blvd.Sacramento, CA 95822-1386(916) 558-2696blunkdm@scc.losrios.edu

words Shae Hancock photos Chris Hedberg layout Lori Llanillo

says, was a functioning addict who kept a job and cooked “and was there, but wasn’t really there.”

The children she played with were the sons and daughters of her parents’ friends, who were also in gangs.

“[Gang life] is a culture, it’s passed on through generations,” Marisa says, thinking back to her childhood. “I don’t even think we realize it.”

As a child who grew up in a gang environment, Marisa was taught at a young age the gang motto that had been handed down: community, awareness, unity, security and education (CAUSE).

“It’s all about just us. It’s okay to oppress other people, as long as it benefits us … It’s okay to beat up other people as long as it benefits us,” Marisa says. “We were taught this at a young age.”

“Gangs began in prisons,” Marisa explains, “and so the ‘us’ isn’t even us. It’s the people in the prisons.”

This is when Marisa began to question the atmosphere she had been brought up in.

“I would think, ‘I know I am do-ing bad things, and it’s not even for myself.’ The gang mentality really messes with your head and your emotions,” Marisa says. “It perverts them.”

“Our goal is to open the eyes of people of color to the injustices of the world,” Marisa says. “We have the power and knowledge to change things.”

ong dark brown hair, a friendly smile and an infectious laugh— these are all things Marisa Lara has plenty of. She dresses in business attire, slacks and button down shirts, is currently taking 18 units, and she’s doing well in all her classes. She’s active in a club on campus called Brown Issues, which visits area high schools and reaches out to students in need of guidance from a peer.

As she adjusts her shirt, the slight-est hint of a tattoo is visible. Pulling the collar of her shirt a little farther apart, she reveals one of the only remnants of her past life, her life as a gang member. The word “Broderick” is inked across her chest, signaling her involvement in the West Sacramento gang.

“I was in a gang,” Marisa says matter-of-factly. “I am still in the pro-cess of distancing myself from it.”

Marisa is 18 years old and gradu-ated from high school a year ago. It was only last semester, while still deep in the gang lifestyle, that she found her path.

“This semester has been life changing,” she says.

But her newfound path has not been an easy one.

“My parents were in a gang,” Marisa recalls. “They taught my family, my brothers, my sisters, my nieces, my nephews; it was passed down to us.”

Her life as a gang member began young. Marisa remembers watch-ing her parents party all night, and she and her siblings ran around the neighborhood at all hours playing hide-and-seek. Her mother, Marisa

Pulling the collar of her shirt a little farther apart, she reveals one of the only remnants of her past life, her life as a gang member.

ChoicesFinding supportive friends leads 18-year-old Marisa out of the gang life and into the classroom.

Taking My

03

She is talking about one of the goals of Brown Issues, and it’s a big change from where she was not so long ago. Marisa found a way to help herself through Brown Issues and now focuses her energy on helping others.

“Gangs are a problem, especially in minority communities,” Marisa says.

Her realization of the dangers of gang life was not an easy path.Marisa spent a good portion of her teenage years in juvenile hall

and on probation. When the going got tough however, her friends from her gang didn’t come to her aid or even visit her during her stay at juvenile hall.

“A lot of bad things happened to me, and I just learned to accept them,” Marisa says. “People never really gave me the chance to feel smart because I was in a gang.”

It wasn’t until she met members of Brown Issues that she learned it was not right for these bad things to happen to her. She learned that her opinion mattered and was encouraged to voice her opinion. She was on the fence about leaving the gang lifestyle behind her when a tragic and very personal event pushed her over.

“I was dating a guy last September, and he brought five other guys. We were supposed to be going to a party,” Marisa says as she shifts in her seat. “They took me to a house and raped me.”

What made it worse, is they were in a gang that was also affiliated with Marisa’s own gang.

“These were people from my own gang and they are not sup-posed to do that to me,” Marisa says, recalling the confusion she faced.

She told her new friends from Brown Issues about her disbelief that her fellow gang members would hurt her that way, and she got a simple answer that helped her to see the truth: the gang didn’t care about her.

“I always knew they didn’t care, but for that to happen to me,” Marisa says, “it was one of the big changes.”

It was then that Marisa started to immerse herself in Brown Is-sues.

“I went in [to a Brown Issues meeting] thinking gang life was an

okay lifestyle, but came out knowing it wasn’t.”Even when some of her friends from her gang found out what

happened, they offered to do something about it, but Marisa didn’t want the violence to continue.

“I get my justice by telling young men and young women that it’s not okay to do things like that,” Marisa says firmly. “The gang lifestyle is not a good lifestyle regardless if your family’s in it or it’s a way you’re taught.”

Marisa now looks to the future. Together with Brown Issues, she wants to tackle the issues and help prevent people from having to go through what she did. Standing beside her are people like Manuel Favela and Jose Hernandez who helped to introduce her to Brown Issues and guide her along her path to reformation, and who believe everyone has something to offer.

“Brown Issues does not have a particular mission statement or political platform. We welcome anyone who wants to come. It offers a greater discussion,” Manuel explains.

“We sit in a circle. We are all the same,” Marisa says. “They didn’t judge me ... I changed, but they respected me all throughout my change.”

One of her friends from the club told her to read the serenity prayer, which helped her to let go of the things she can’t change and look to the future.

The members of Brown Issues often gather to talk about current issues facing not only people of color, but the world as a whole. If the club were to have a motto it would be “your feelings will get hurt,” which is written on the board when they meet.

“We offer actual communication,” Manuel says. “We are your friends, not your leaders.”

“We argue with each other, but it never lasts,” Marisa laughs.Marisa participates in many of the committees Brown Issues of-

fers, but one of her favorites is visiting the high schools because it is a nostalgic experience for her.

“I saw girls giving each other dirty looks, and I remember being like that,” Marisa says.

“I think a lot differently.

I think about the

consequences,

about what I

have to lose.”

04

“Our goal is to open the eyes of people of color to

the injustices of the world.”

Having a family intertwined into the gang lifestyle seems like it would make it harder to get away, but fortunately for Marisa, her parents have been supportive.

“They are excited I am taking my choices now,” Marisa says smiling. “They are in their forties and just now beginning to change.”

“They are excited. I have made it to 18, and I’m not married and don’t have any kids,” Marisa says. “That is a reality for some of my old friends.”

Marisa hasn’t just changed the way she dresses. She has also changed her thought process.

“I think a lot differently. I think about the consequences, about what I have to lose,” Marisa says. “I am involved in so many things now … I have much more to lose.”

Marisa plans to finish her general education requirements here at City College by the spring of 2010, and then transfer to Sacramento State University where she can continue on to become an English teacher—using her own experiences and knowledge to reach out to people just like her. She even plans to go back to her old high school and teach, and start a Brown Issues club there.

“Some people [ask] if I regret what I have been through,” Marisa says. “No, not at all. It has helped me be that much more passionate to strive for change.”

Marisa instantly wanted to help them, but she knew, just like with herself, it would be a process.

“One of our goals is to be closer to the community,” Marisa says, “to struggle with the community.”

Marisa has come far in the past few months, but a recent situ-ation has shown everyone, including herself, just how far she has come.

Recently, Marisa says a man sexually harassed her, but she didn’t know how to react. With the gang mentality still rolling around in her head, Marisa did not want to talk to the police. She also did not want to fight him, which would have been her reaction months ago.

So she did nothing and was in the library on campus one day where she says the man confronted her again. She remembers trying to get away, all the while thinking in her head “this isn’t right.” She says he slapped her as she turned away, and the two began to argue. Finally, library staff and police stepped in. Scared and confused, Marisa did not know who to call. Instead of calling her former friends, she called up one of her “real friends,” Manuel, who sat beside her the whole time.

“I really feel like this shows my progress,” Marisa says excitedly. “It makes me feel like I can do anything.”

05

Giving to others to get over yourself

words Julie Tobias layout Anthony MagdalenoSEVENdays

My first good deed involved the fact that I am a big anti-litter-ing flag-waver, so I

decided to clean up a public park.

After a disappointing Christmas and yet another break-up with my boyfriend, I moved out of our small apartment and moved in with my best friend, her husband and their two small children in their tiny house. No privacy, no bedroom door, no sunshine—just weeks of cold rain, midnight empty-bottle crying jags (me) and middle of the night screaming meltdowns (the toddler), followed by crack-of-dawn temper tantrums (the 6-year-old) and snot-nosed screaming meltdowns (me). When my self-pity was wearing on everyone’s nerves and all the neighborhood mini-marts were sold out of wine and Kleenex, I finally decided to snap out of it.

It occurred to me that while I may be going through a very bad patch, many others have it worse. One morning I noticed the same homeless man I had seen so many times before on my way to work, asleep under an awning, rain sheeting down mere inches from his face and pile of belongings. I became aware of drenched people waiting for the bus and thought about the fact that at least I had rain gear and a scooter. Later at work, I really listened to the latest news from Iraq and thought about the conditions our soldiers are facing. Wanting to make a difference, however small, I formulated a plan, and a week’s worth of philanthropy seemed appropriate. Seven decent-sized, doable activities that would touch someone or something a little less fortunate than I am, and make a day a bit more bearable. As I began thinking of ways to help others, a strange thing happened: the blue fog started to lift. This exciting ex-periment was already making a difference—in me.

My first good deed involved the fact that I am a big anti-littering flag-waver. I decided to clean up a public park—nothing too big, mind you. I am, after all, only one person. Selecting a playground near my friend’s house, I arrived with blue rubber dishwashing gloves and a roll of trash bags, only to discover the park was already tidy and presentable. Kudos to the Sacramento Department of Parks and Recreation! Next stop, the Oak Park Community Center. Bonanza! I picked up trash and cigarette butts on the grounds, along with plenty of candy wrappers, Cheetos bags and juice boxes around the basketball court and monkey gym.

Total Time: One hour Total Cost: Gloves and trash bags, $4.93Good Feeling Rating: 2 out of 5. Even though there were already food wrap-

pers on the ground and a pop can tossed next to the recycle bin by the time I circled

photo Keri Wood

06

back, I was setting a good example for the boys playing basketball. Perhaps my subtle commen-tary on pollution and poor dietary habits will unconsciously stick.

For my next act, I went to the local animal shelter on Front Street (916-808-PETS). This was a biggy. I envisioned showing up to walk grate-ful doggies, maybe clean out a cat box or two. It seems this is exactly what the City of Sacramento Animal Care Services does not want. In fact, the shelter is the opposite of a few of my ex-boy-friends: they want a commitment. The fi rst step to earning my volunteer apron was a 90-minute ori-entation. This covered the basics: collecting per-sonal info and animal interest, and scared off those in search of a quick do-gooder high. Next came a two-hour general shelter orientation, which included more detailed demands and a tour of the facilities: lots of sad-faced dogs in lockdown, annoyed and angry cats, raucous roosters, a few disinterested bunnies and even a handsome pot-bellied pig. Finally, I made it to the animal-specif-ic training class—four hours for dog people and two hours for cat fanciers. My fi rst hands-on kitty day was a 1.5 hour mentoring session, where I worked with some regular volunteers freshening up cages, petting and feeding the cats and kittens and changing their litter boxes.

Total Time: Seven hours of orientation, plus a commitment of six volunteer hours a month.

Total Cost: ZeroGood Feeling Rating: 4 out of 5. Once I got

through the training, I was richly rewarded with a thick layer of cat hair on my clothing and purred thanks from my new feline friends. This volunteer activity is not for the time-strapped or for some-one that just wants to pop in on occasion, but the looks on those furry faces could spark a love affair that would never disappoint.

The third mission was to ship out a care package for a soldier (I got his name from www.anysoldier.com). Since many people feel strongly about supporting our troops, I invited my class-mates to contribute and the box started fi lling up. Soduko, crossword puzzles, paperback books and lip balm. Hard candy, sunscreen, wet-wipes and magazines. I also typed a letter of encourage-ment for my soldier, hoping the positive thoughts would reach out across the oceans and sands.

Total Time: Maybe an hour, including mail-ing

Total Cost: About $100Good Feeling Rating: 4 out of 5. I was

drawn to this project because I was able to rally behind a brave young man who was far away from friends and family. Now when I hear the news in the morning, I know I’ve done more than just listen—I’ve acted.

My fourth assignment, a tree-planting, began on a cold and sunny Saturday morning. I was lost in Del Paso Heights, my sunglasses fogging upat every traffi c light. The destination was AlanoNorth, a Narcotics Anonymous meeting house,where the Sacramento Tree Foundation (916924-TREE) asked volunteers to assemble. About 22 participants showed up and we all learned the proper way to plant a tree. No small saplings these, but rather tall and slender youths ready to make Alano North’s back yard tree-licious. Start

by making a four-foot circle, get all the grass off and put aside. Then really dig in, trenching down about 18 inches inside the hole, leaving a pedes-tal in the middle, maybe only eight inches down. Un-pot the tree, loosen its roots, place it lovingly on the pedestal, and start fi lling the trench back in with weed- and grass-free dirt, avoiding the root ball. (Really sweating at this point.) Sheesh, pound in two eight-foot posts with a leaden post hole driver, secure the tree to posts, dump on some mulch, then do it all again. My volunteer-partner and I planted two.

Total Time: 2 hoursTotal Cost: NadaGood Feeling Rating: 3 out of 5. The bis-

cuits-and-gravy breakfast was welcome, and the NA men who were smoking cigarettes and su-pervising while we worked said thank you. Plus, I got a great upper-body workout. The best part was contributing to a greener planet, putting something back for a change rather than con-suming. This might make up for all those tissues I destroyed.

Fifth on the list was a clothing drive for WEAVE’s “Suited for Success” program (www.weaveinc.org). WEAVE stands for “Women Es-caping a Violent Environment,” and the Suited for Success program collects business clothes for women who are trying to get back into the workforce but may not have interview or work clothes to get them started. I sent out an e-mail to my friends and co-workers, explaining the charity and the need, and bags of duds started trickling in. This was a great cause, plus it gave me (and everyone who participated) a chance to clean out our closets.

Total Time: 1.5 hours, including drop-offTotal Cost: ZipGood Feeling Rating: 3 out of 5. With very

little effort on my part, there were so many beau-tiful clothes that I had to call in someone with a very big trunk to help haul it away. This trans-lated into many opportunities for women who may just need a nice blouse and blazer to ace an interview and start a new life.

For my sixth act of kindness, I chose to pur-chase some Starbucks gift cards and give them out to a few homeless people I see on a regular basis. Why a coffee shop? It struck me that everyone wants to forget his situation on occasion and just sit down, drink cof-fee and read the paper. The fi rst person I ap-proached wanted no part of me, or my coffee card. As he worked on a hand-rolled cigarette, I could tell he’d rather I didn’t bother him. The next man in my path was also worn and dirty, but gladly ac-cepted my offering.

“ O n the street, the name’s C a t m a n ,

It struck me that everyone wants to forget his situation on occasion and just sit down, drink coffee and read the paper.

photo Keri Wood

photo illustration Terri M. Venesio

With a group of volunteers from the Sacra-mento Tree Foundation, Mainline Managing Editor Julie Tobias spends an afternoon planting trees at the Alano North Narcotics Anonymous Meeting House in Del Paso Heights.

07

but my real name’s Greg Carr,” he responded warmly when I asked his name. I told him I was reaching out with acts of kindness and wanted him to have a small token. “Thank you, sweetie, and god bless you,” he smiled.

The third man was slight and weathered, standing on a milk crate and fishing cookies out of a dumpster behind Safeway. He was wary when he saw the camera, but softened and told me his name is Red, which I assumed referred to his ruddy complexion. He also thanked me and called me “sweetie.” I hope both men read the envelope holding the gift cards: I had inscribed, “Enjoy a cup of coffee and know that someone is thinking about you.” And I have thought about all three of them every day since.

Total Cost: $15Total Time: Less than an hour. There are

plenty of domicile-challenged folks in this area that made this an easy undertaking.

Good Feeling Rating: 5 out of 5. I am go-ing to continue to have some coupons or gift cards on hand, to give out spontaneously. This is a good deed that really gives back and gives a face to a very real problem in our area.

The final installment of my good deeds is really a combination of several little ones. This started with simply being aware of the count-less opportunities available every day to make a contribution. I attended “Empty Bowls,” an an-nual charity soup lunch in which the proceeds go to feeding the hungry in our area. I chose to pay $5 to wear jeans on a few Fridays, knowing that the money went to Sierra Adoption, a char-

ity my office supports. I donated some money to a retired minister whose wife is gravely ill. I gave $5 to Easter Seals when I was in the grocery check-out. I surreptitiously put $5 or $10 in my friend’s gas tank each time I used her car so she wouldn’t have to do it in the morning with both kids fighting in the back seat.

Total Cost: Incalculable Total Time: OngoingGood Feeling Rating: 5 out of 5. This is a

pattern I intend to make into a habit. A good deed doesn’t always cost money, but sometimes it’s the quickest way to make a small difference.

This whole experiment in philanthropy began as a selfish way to get me out of the dumps but turned into an eye-opening experience. There are countless ways to make a difference every day because there are numerous victims of circumstance, people less fortunate, beings without a voice to protest or reach out for help. Making a person’s day brighter can be simple: letting somebody in front of you in traffic, or giving a stranger a compliment. It can be as in-volved as volunteering your time to a charitable organization. It can be as easy as giving someone a couple of dollars—or as difficult as not judg-ing him or her about whether that cash is going toward booze. The power is within all of us to open our hearts and give a little of ourselves. What we get in return is priceless.

etting somebody in front of you in traffic, or iving a strtt anger a comppplil ment. It can be as in-olved as volunteering yyour time to a charitable rganizatition. It can be as easy as giving someone couple of dollars—or as difficult as not judg-

ng him or her about whether that cash is going oward booze. The power is within all of s to open our hearts and give a little f ourselves. What we get in return is riceless.

photo Chun Kim

photo Steven ClarkJulie hands Red, a homeless man, a gift card to Starbucks.

At the City of Sacramento Animal Care Ser-vice Center on Front Street, Julie is getting ready to open one of the cages and feed the cats.

08

As a staff putting together a magazine about personal growth, it would be hypocritical of us not to take our own advice.

But did we dare step up to the challenge and face our own fears? Bullets flew. Needles abounded. And some of us even ended up with a few bruises.

Luckily, we all made it out with at least a good story to tell.

BY MAINLINE CREWPHOTOGRAPHS BY STAFF | LAYOUT JOE PORRAS

Boy, was he right! As I sat in the waiting area of the City College nurse’s station and filled out all the paperwork, it struck me. “I’m getting tested for STD’s,” I thought. This realization, combined with the frustration of having to repeatedly write my name, DOB and social security numbera dozen times made me almost panic. I started wondering what other people were thinking of

me, and if they could tell just by looking at me that I was waiting to be tested for STD’s. Would they think I was pregnant? Or what if one of my professors walked by and saw me? Talk about awkward. After they took my blood, they asked me to wait in the hall again for ten minutes for the results of the HIV test. That felt like the longest 10 minutes I can remem-ber waiting for anything. I felt like I was in an old western movie counting down

to high noon. And I knew that I didn’t have an STD! It made me wonder what someone else would be feeling going through this process if they thought they had actually contracted some-thing. Finally, the nurse came out and told me that my results were negative. Thank goodness!I was happy to leave, and even happier that

I didn’t have an STD. And I’m glad that I was brave enough to go through the process, because if I’d had something, I would have wanted to know. It’s important to know your health status. Even if you think you’re healthy, you should get checked out anyway, just in case.

All my good shoes and boots have scuffed toes from tripping up stairs. I certainly can’t dance and absolutely cannot dirty dance, unless you count falling in the mud at a redneck wedding.

Therefore, my assigned challenge of attend-ing a “strippercize” class was extra challenging. In these one-hour torture sessions, strong, smart women get together and dance like they need the money. No, poles were not involved, but there was plenty of hip-grinding, booty-shaking, hair-tossing vixenry going on.

The “Dance X” class, at Healthy Habits on J Street, is taught by far-from-demure “Delicious Donna.” A low-impact aerobics class that focuses on learning some tricks of the, er, trade while burning fat and calories; it involves improvisational

movement interspersed with Britney-esque dance moves and sex-kitten body sculpting. Improv takes creativity and rhythm, two OTHER things I don’t possess. Between double-count pelvic thrusts, we were told to “do whatever we want” with our hands. I did the robot.

I shimmied, sashayed and stomped like a drunken she-Frankenstein. I even peed my spandex a little during the super-sexy stretching. Once I stopped thinking about how much this “wasn’t me,” I really enjoyed the experience. Most of all, I felt a glittery sense of accomplishment. Getting overheated, getting over a mental obstacle and get-ting over myself gave me a rush of personal power that is usually only wielded by our sisters of the pole. Feeling so pure yet so dirty can’t be wrong.

Strippercize

Julie TobiasNo one would ever accuse me of being graceful. I don’t glide when I walk, I often run into walls and cornersand I trip on cracks and curbs.

STD Test

Amanda Boos“It’s not as easy as you think it is,” my friend Brandon told me. “Even though you know you don’t haveanything it’s still scary.”

09

photo Keri Wood

photo Keri Wood

Stand-Up

Terri M. Venesio

“Are you actually going to perform a comedy routine on stage? You’ve got more cohones than me.” I really don’t know why I’d get such a reaction from my friend Ed, or any of my friends for that mat-ter. I’ve been trying to make people laugh pretty much my whole life, and although I’ve said, “I’m a stand up comedian,” plenty of times over the last few years, I’ve only performed once at a photo club exhibit.

I figured that this was the perfect excuse for me to not be a one-gig wonder. I got some material together and headed down to Laughs Unlimited for their open mic night.

Since I like getting in front of people and talking, especially if I’m trying to make people laugh, I was very comfortable with the performing part. At the same time, I was a little nervous with the material I was using. With the exception of the bit about how only guys 45 years and older hit on me, I hadn’t tested any of my jokes on anyone prior to getting on stage.

Given time to come up with some new material, I’d totally do it again. Besides, I ended up axing my best bit (the one about trying to do the hover move over public toilets) due to time constraints. It’s my favorite bit to perform, and I feel Sacramento has been deprived by not seeing it.

Laughs UnlimitedComedy Club and Lounge

1207 Front StreetOld Sacramento, CA 95814

Office: 916.446.8128

Acupuncture

Chris Hedberg

Of course, I kept this detail to myself as the acupuncturist asked me questions about my history and why I was getting acupunc-ture. I told her I’d like to feel better and have moreenergy. Maybe better flexibility. And I wanted to fly. She said she could help me with the first two.

I started the session lying face down on a padded table with a cushion under my ankles to relieve any tension in my back.I couldn’t tell when the needles were being inserted. There wasa lack of sensation for most of the needle placement. The only time that I was aware of being poked was on my wrists and the top of my skull. Even then it wasn’t what I would consider any-thing more than a pinch.

After placing the needles on my neck and back,the acupuncturist left for some time and let me lie there while quiet music played in the background. It was relaxing.

There was discomfort if I tried to move my wrists while “poked,” so I suppose this is indeed stationary treatment. After getting two needles in the back of my neck, I could feel my pulse beating just under my throat. My back felt warm. I felt tired.

Every so often she would come back and remove the needles and place more needles elsewhere.

I was not transformed or energized, at least not perceptibly more than what a large, fresh-squeezed orange juice would pro-vide. But I did have a pleasant experience. I learned that I don’t have many problems or physical ailments, at least nothing that can’t be cured by getting enough sleep, eating right and regular exercise. And I’m no longer afraid of sharp objects.

Though never a fan of sharp objects as a child, I have always been intrigued by the idea of using needles to healailments. This might have something to do with seeing Neo from The Matrix getting poked by a thousand needlesto cure muscle atrophy.

10

photos Gilberto Ramirez

photo Gilberto Ramirez

Kickboxing

Gilberto Ramirez“Okay, now assume the ready position and give me a clear and loud, ‘Hi-yah!’” Wanting to unleash the crazy, competitive photographer in me, I chose a Taekwondo karate class as my personal challenge.

A portion of the class time is set aside for one-on-one sparring, and points are given for specific hits made: one point for a punch or kick to the mid-section of the body and three points for a kick in the head. “Go!” yelled the instructor, but I hesitated.

Earlier the instructor went over some basic beginner moves, but when thrust into the spar, I froze. My opponent quickly landed a punch to my stomach and scored a point. Then some-thing inside of me heated up. I moved in and landed a kick to the stomach: one point. Then I blocked the next punch and returned it. Another score! “What the heck!” I told myself, and I vaulted into the air, swinging my foot to land a final kick to the head of my adversary. Success! The room was filled with “Oooh!” and “Yowwouch.” I had won!

Yep, I beat a 100-pound girl, who is also my girlfriend. Victory was fleeting. As the instructor walked us to a nearby Subway to get ice for her face, I was dragging my feet far behind. I couldn’t bear to look at her bleeding mouth and swollen cheeks. The lesson I took away from that challenge is this: never hit your girlfriend, not even for a story.

But on a mundane Wednesday night, I found myself loading up the first of four guns I was to shoot that night at a range in Elk Grove. As I spun the tiny bullets in the chamber, I felt like I was about to play a game of Russian roulette. Holding that first gun, I felt powerful. Well, once I got over the fact that I was holding a weapon designed to kill. I kept waiting for someone to run out and say, “Wait! Stop! You’re giv-ing that girl a weapon?” But nobody from the sky reached down to pluck the gun from my shaking hands.

To my surprise, there was no big bang when I pulled that trigger for the first time – it made a little pop like a New Year’s Eve fire-cracker. The bullets sliced neatly through the forehead of the little paper man whom I was supposed to be killing. Then, I was graduated to the big boys – guns so powerful that it took all the strength I could muster to keep the gun from flying forward. The final gun was called a Glock, and looked like the weapon of choice for a seasoned bank robber. No matter how much I prepared myself for the impact, with every pull of the trigger I’d squeeze both eyes shut and brace myself for the loud “boom” that followed. Needless to say, the paper target man escaped with his life during that last round.

Walking out that night, I could still feel that power pulsat-ing through me. Once I figured out that the gun wasn’t going to jump out of my hands and turn on me, I loved the feeling of pulling that trigger, time after time. Perhaps shooting a gun is about facing something I’ve been taught to fear. Next time, I’ll try to keep my eyes open.

Target Practice

Catherine FossGrowing up, my parents didn’t even allow us to have squirt guns. I still change the channel when a violent movie comes on. So when the idea of firing a pistol came up, I didn’t even want the gun in the same room as me, much less between my fingers.

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photos Chris Hedberg

photo Chris Hedberg

Point and Click

Shae Hancock

Opening My Own Gallery

Steve Clark

Subsequently, she stomped her feet on the floor and threw a bit of a tantrum. This was the sixth piece of paper she had used on a single print. Even in the darkened room, she can see everyone stop what they are doing in order to look her way, trying to figure out who let a five-year-old into the photo lab. I wish I could say this wasn’t a short story about me, but unfortunately, I can’t. Even at almost 20, I still have the occasional outburst, and this photography class seems to especially bring out the child in me. A writer by trade, I took a beginning photography class this semester thinking it would be an easy A. I mean, “point and click,” there’s nothing to it, right? Wrong. After I got over all the foreign terms like aperture and contrast, I moved on to developing film and processing prints. The first thing I had to get past was the icky smell of the chemistry used in film developing. Next was the dreaded dark room. In the first two weeks of class I went through $20 worth of paper—I just couldn’t get it right. There is a trick to photography that has taken me almost a semester to realize: the key to getting a good shot is seeing like a photographer. You have to “see in pictures” as I was told by a fellow student, and nothing could be closer to the truth. Now, I often find myself viewing the world through the lens of a camera. This is not to say all of my assignments turn out perfectly, but I’m beginning to see things differently. For me, that new-found outlook is worth every piece of paper I ruin in the lab.

“Son of a Bisquick!” said the budding photographer as her print slowly crawled out of the processor in the dark room of the City College photography lab.

George Bernard Shaw once said Life isn’t about finding oneself it is about creating oneself” which are great words but seemingly impossible to live up to.

The catalyst for this challenge started this past summer. While wine tasting in Napa, a friend and I went to several art galleries, including Snyder and Caldwell, where I saw a phenomenal artist who made life-size sculptures of horses out of old car fenders and body parts. That’s what set me on fire. At the other end of the spectrum, I also saw ridiculously overpriced prints that resembled giant inkblot tests. I knew that in giving a vehicle to the countless artists that I’ve had the pleasure to be acquainted with, we could put together an unforget-table experience.

The biggest roadblock to this challenge has always been the money. I was apprehensive about contacting businesses and asking them for donations. It was hard to be in a position of asking for help. But somehow, from the advertisements to gathering paintings, things just started coming together. Here I was, a virtually unknown art collector, and people were trusting me with their life’s inspirations. Marketing, sales and advertising – I had never realized before that I

had so many skill sets. Suddenly, I was standing in it: my gallery. Later, people asked me: “Why didn’t you do this earlier?” The truth is that I didn’t have the focus earlier in my life. I had the desire, but not the drive to pull it off.

Ronald Cook, curator of the Harlem Street Gallery for over 36 years, once said that “life calls you to greatness only a few times. The best thing one can do is answer and not worry about who else is in line.”

Through this challenge, I have learned that prioritizing my time is a necessity because art is about aesthetics, and aesthetics take prepa-ration. People intent on buying art gravitate to the most appealing atmosphere available. I’m proud to say that this is what ambiance will mean to everyone who enters my gallery.

Visit Steven Clark at his new gallery, Ambiance: The Meeting of Art and Jazz, every second Saturday at 1001 Del Paso Blvd.

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photos Gilberto Ramirez

photo Terri M. Venesio

Over the years, I’ve signed up for Match.com, Yahoo! Personals and eHarmony (not all at the same time), going on dozens of dead-end dates and even eking out a couple of six-month relationships that ended badly. I was now in a haze of dating despair, feeling like I had almost drowned from my last dip in the dating pool. But, a firm believer that we make our own destiny, I promptly logged onto Craigslist Personals and went on two blind dates.

The first guy was about my age, smart, nice and funny. He had a good job, owned a home and didn’t have roommates. He also ate chicken curry with his hands, carried a backpack and stepped on my feet. Twice. While I agreed to go out with him again when he asked me out to dinner, he was a little mild for me. Plus he stood me up for that dinner. NEXT!

This man was about five years older and had a 17-year-old son. He had a good job, owned his home and maintained witty online banter. In person, unfortunately, he was slender and slight, extremely nervous and rather effeminate.

I couldn’t get the picture of my big, confident and manly ex-boy-friend out of my head. It was obvious that I wasn’t ready to date other people and also that I was still stuck on him, even though I hadn’t seen him in five weeks. I was still angry and having visions of revenge-by-sex. I was also quite lonely and conjuring up excuses to contact him.

To prevent myself from making a big mistake, I went to see a profes-sional. Dr. Carol Ekstrom, a licensed psychologist for 23 years, helped me to understand the pull of an ex. Ekstrom says matter-of-factly, “It’s a grief process, leaving a bad relationship. But after the trauma of the break-up has worn off, the fantasy starts in again. You question yourself and make excuses: maybe you had it wrong. Maybe you were too, too, too … You’re both lonely and miss each other. If you decide to see each other, you’ll be right back in it again.” She continues briskly, “Two people can love each other very much, but sometimes something gets in the way. Maybe one person has a conflict and needs to grow up on his own.” It’s almost as if she knows my situation. What if that person ultimately can resolve his conflict? Can the pair reunite? Has it ever happened successfully? “Theoretically,” smiles Ekstrom, knowing where I’m going with this. “But the most important predictor of the future is the past. And it’s really, really hard for a person to change. The only time they will change is for them-selves. It is painful to see themselves clearly for the first time, and they will only tolerate it if it’s something they want and need to do, if what they want is stronger than the pain. If [that person] can address [and change] patterns in their lives, maybe the couple can work it out.” She doesn’t sound very convincing, or convinced.

A clean break was in order then—getting healthy and changing bad patterns so as to not repeat them. Dr. Ekstrom kindly offered advice. “So much of who we are is unconscious. You really need to get inside it and know what it’s about.”

The “it” being why we make those poor choices in the first place. She continues, “Don’t feel the need to be absolutely on top of things because life is an experiment. Have confidence in your own perceptions and believe in yourself. Emotionally, that’s hard to do sometimes. Often, people can see it coming but then deny it. This is why you need good

people in your life who are more than just nice. People who will give you good feedback.”

At this point, I was feeling strong, steely and so “over it.” I was a pillar of strength when I met my ex for lunch to discuss a financial issue. That afternoon, money was one thing that didn’t come up. I backslid right into bed with him. I was going to renounce him and leave right afterward, but ended up going shopping for domestics instead. Nothing fixed or resolved, not even any well-deserved yelling or name-calling. Just like the doctor ordered. Kicking myself and feeling the loss of the relationship anew, I thought back to some wonderful instruction that Ekstrom gave me about how to put yourself first. She had softened before launching into her anal-ogy: “Think of yourself as a baby. What do babies need? Besides the basics: food, water, shelter and clothing, babies also need structure, and they need to feel good. Maybe give them some nice distractions. You can take on a project. You need to notice and acknowledge how you’re feeling, and take good care of yourself. Most importantly, compliment and praise yourself when you do a good job. If you’ve made it through a difficult morning and you haven’t called that person, give yourself a pat on the back. This concept feeds on itself. You will get stronger!” All of this made sense to me; looking back at the last few weeks, I recalled hugging myself and talking aloud in soothing tones when I started to hyperventilate. I also felt bursts of bleary-eyed happiness when I wore a new shiny silver bracelet and when I colored my hair ruby-red. These gentle gestures of self-nurturing kindness coaxed me through some tough moments.

Another turning point came the second time I met up with my ex, this time to “just talk” over tacos. Once we were no longer in the thick of things, clarity emerged. We discussed not only the explosive break-up, but also the events that led to it. The fact that he actually apologized meant a lot to me. The fact that he was going to a counselor and working on his own issues impressed me. The fact that he talked about his childhood and kept his temper surprised me. I even discovered a couple things about myself during that conversation: I am not perfect, and it’s good to shut up and listen once in a while. Also, though I may be involved, it’s not always about me. And tacos + tears = sexy. That wise saying, “You can’t see the forest for the trees,” is true. And you can’t see anything with the lights off.

Ekstrom states that “Every relationship, no matter what the outcome, will leave you in a better spot, even if it means the relation-ship has run its course.” This is because you learn things about yourself emotionally during the healthy sorting-out process. You grow each time. By that logic, I’m now so healthy that I should be immune to any future broken-heart epidemics or low-grade idiocy outbreaks going around. Like the chicken pox, once you have it, you won’t get it again, right? Ha! If only there was a pill to prevent re-infection of judgment! All the self-discovery I’ve made along the way could fill a medical journal, and for some reason, this chapter is not finished yet. To embrace pain is mas-ochistic, and to avoid it is weak and pathetic. Painful events of all shapes and sizes are inevitable and strangely cleansing, especially when you try to understand and learn something from them. There’s an old camp song, Going on a Tiger Hunt: you can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you can’t go around it, you gotta go through it.

HOPESprings Internal

words Julie Tobias

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Seven-year-old Kami Fuller digs through her crayons to find the right color to finish her new book. As she flips through the pages, the vibrant colors of her crayon art explode, causing her butterflies

of all shapes and sizes to flutter across the page. Kami proudly reads the name of each one and details her plans to make more to add to her but-terfly book.

Before reaching for her blue crayon, she stops to scratch her head. You might imagine she’d reach into a head full of long, brown silky locks, but Kami’s head is bare. She asked her father to shave it after the hair loss began. The vibrant butterfly artist was diagnosed with Acute Lymphatic Leukemia (ALL) seven months ago, and she is now undergoing chemo-therapy to fight it. Despite the ravages of chemotherapy, Kami still acts her age, running around the house with boundless energy.

She has a wig she can wear, but Kami is a practical girl and doesn’t like wearing it, or hats for that matter.

“They bug my head!” Kami exclaims, patting the top of her buzzed head for emphasis.

“Mostly she just likes being bald,” says Kelli, Kami’s mom, as she at-tends to her older child, Kyle.

As much as Kami likes to color, Kyle simply enjoys sitting in his lounge chair listening to his iPod, clicking from song to song. The selec-tion is an eclectic one, ranging from Disney soundtracks to classic rock to Christian music. The cord of his iPod disappears into a tangle of electric cords from the equipment surrounding him.

As Kelli tends to Kyle, she talks to him about the day, asking what he wants to do as she changes his diaper. She then fits a sling around the 17-year-old and attaches it to a machine that picks him up, and lowers him into his lounge chair. After making sure his pulseoximeter is attached to his right toe, Kelli then checks his ventilator and the connection from the ventilator to the tracheal tube in his neck. After one more visual sweep of the equipment, Kelli walks over toward her daughter but is stopped short by a guttural sound from Kyle. She forgot his iPod.

STRENGTH THROUGH ADVERSITY

words Shae Hancock photos Gilberto Ramirez layout Steven Mok

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After finding Kyle’s favorite gadget on his bed, she makes sure the headphones are resting comfortably in Kyle’s ears, and then gingerly plac-es his hand over his iPod. At first his hand stays in place, but as Kelli takes her hand away Kyle’s begins to slip. Kelli grabs a small pillow and folds a couple of towels beneath Kyle’s wrist so he can use his iPod. Gently, Kelli places his wrist back on the iPod.

Rod Fuller, Kelli’s husband and Kyle and Kami’s father, walks into the room. Immediately he does the fatherly duty of pestering Kami, then walks over to Kyle and begins asking him questions, making sure he’s doing okay. Instead of waiting for an answer, Rod picks up Kyle’s left hand and slowly Kyle’s delicate fingers begin to form letters of the alphabet in sign language. To the untrained eye, it may look like Kyle is just wiggling his fingers, but to Rod and Kelli, it is the best form of communication they can hope for in light of their son’s genetic disease mus-cular dystrophy (MD), which prevents him from speaking.

While waiting for their first child to be born, Rod and Kelly began to form dreams and ideas of the upcoming years with their new addition, but were abruptly woken up by reality when Kyle was born.

“You’re expecting your first child, and all the things that you hope for and dream of, and it’s just not that way at all,” Kelli says. “We had no idea what was wrong with him until the moment he was born.”

“He was born very floppy,” Kelli says, recalling Kyle’s birth. “[He had] very little or no muscle tone.”

After his birth, Kyle was swept away from his parents while the doc-tors tried to find out what was wrong with him. During his first night of life, Kyle had to be resuscitated, bringing the fear of the unknown even closer to the surface.

They were shocked and scared, Kelli says, and the doctors had no idea what was wrong with him. One doctor told Kelli that there was something seriously wrong with their son, and that he would never be the same.

“That hit me hard,” Kelli says. “It was the hardest day of our lives.”“We didn’t know if he would survive the night,” Rod says.Kyle, as the Fullers found out, had a very rare form of MD—there

are less than a hundred known cases in the United States. In Kyle’s case, his muscle cells are incorrectly formed, according to Kelli. Instead of the cell nucleus starting out in the middle of the cell and moving to the side like it is supposed to, Kyle’s stays in the middle, causing his muscle to be in an almost fetal-like state, subjecting his muscles to future deterioration.

Kyle spent the first five months of his life in the hospital, and was only allowed to come home after the Fullers underwent extensive training from hospital staff. Nurses were at their home around the clock at first, but gradually reduced their shifts, to the dismay of the young mother.

“I was scared to death to be by myself with him,” Kelli says.Learning to care for a child is a difficult step for parents, but Rod

and Kelli’s unique situation called for even more patience and long suf-fering. They weren’t just worrying about feeding and clothing Kyle, they were worrying whether he’d live through the night.

“My friends would complain about their children crying,” Kelli recalls.

“And our darn kid won’t breathe,” Rod finishes his wife’s thought. “It’s all about perspective,” Kelli says.However, as the months went on, the Fullers began to get the hang

of caring for Kyle. Everyday wasn’t easy, especially with the thought of Kyle’s death looming, but days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months into years.

“It’s amazing how you adapt and just do what you’ve got to do,” Rod says.

“We have a strong sense of commitment to each other and to our family,” Kelli says. “We are going to make this work.”

It’s time for Kyle’s meal.“He has an amazing internal clock,” Kelli says. “He knows exactly

when it is time for him to eat.”Together, Rod and Kelli begin the feeding process. They both wash

their hands, and then head off for their specific duties. Rod readies the

formula, which is fed to Kyle though a feeding tube attached to the mic-key button fixed to his naval. Kelli then grabs the meter so she can test the levels of sugar in his blood—Kyle is also diabetic.

While Kyle is being fed, the family sits down to their own meal.As soon as the bagged formula has drained itself into Kyle’s feeding

tube, an alarm goes off. Rod gets up from the table and quickly walks to Kyle’s room. Without hesitation, Rod reaches for the oral suctioning tube on Kyle’s bed and turns on a machine, sticking the plastic tube in Kyle’s mouth in order to suction out anything that Kyle could choke on.

“Kyle does not cough or swallow,” Rod says, as he gently moves the catheter around Kyle’s mouth. “[We need to] control the drool there.”

Two short years after Kyle’s birth, Rod and Kelli found they were expecting again. They learned their child was a boy, and they had yet another thrill-ing adventure to look forward to. However, Rod and Kelli’s

elation was cut short when their second child was also born with MD. This time things were a little different—doctors couldn’t get the infant’s lungs to inflate. Two days later, he died. The Fullers learned after the death of their second child that MD is an X-linked chromosome issue, meaning it is normally passed on by the mother.

“Any boy has a 50/50 chance of being born with MD, and a girl has a 50/50 chance of being a carrier,” Kelli says.

Rod and Kelli decided they wanted another child, but this time, they would adopt. That was when a then-healthy Kami Fuller joined their family as an infant on May 2, 2001, completing their home.

From Kami’s diagnosis to everyday life with Kyle, laughing is just as much a part of their life as challenges are.

Kami and Kellie share a quiet moment at home. Lately, quiet mo-ments have been hard to come by between hospital visits and taking care of Kyle.

[ [

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Instead of living for the future, the Fullers have learned to, as Kelli put it, “take things day by day and get through a moment at a time.”

“You’ve got to be flexible,” Rod adds. For 17 years, Rod and Kelli have taken the old day-by-day cliché

and made it a part of their everyday lives, especially with Kami’s diagnosis of Leukemia at the end of October last year. Life is not dependent upon the vision of the “perfect” family life; it is more dependent on the survival of their children. Now, their reality is full of doctor’s appointments, nurses and trying to maintain a healthy home life.

Being in the second of three chemotherapy phases, keeping healthy and staying away from germs is important for Kami. Since her diagnosis, she has had to stop going to school and church.

“I miss my friends a lot,” Kami says. Since she’s been home, Kami hasn’t brought any germs from other

children into the home, leaving everyone healthy. While Kami may miss her friends, she knows it’s for the best. Last time she got a fever, she was in the hospital for four days, and she has had enough of hospitals these past seven months since her diagnosis.

Imagine the “happiest place on earth,” and most people will conjure up images of mile-long lines and overpriced churros, but to a kid like Kami it’s a utopia full of rides, princesses and sugar. Last August the Full-ers took their semi annual trip to Disneyland, RV camping at night, and spending the day in Mickey Mouse’s hometown. While exhausted, every-one seemed to be keeping up just fine, at first.

“I started to slow down,” Kami says, remembering the fatigue. But like any 6-year-old girl, she toughed it out for the sake of being

in Disneyland.Upon the family’s return she began struggling in school, Rod re-

members. She also began to have little pains all over, like in her shoulder or knee, but the pain would go away after a while. Rod and Kelli just chalked it up to Kami being a kid, but their parent radar began to kick in; something just wasn’t right.

“Children with leukemia are usually very sick,” Kelli says. “So no one suspected anything bad.”

Alarms really began to go off when bruises began to appear all over

Kami’s body, some the size of a dime. Still, not even the doctors were worried until they ran a series of tests and diagnosed the problem as leukemia. Kami was rushed into treatment immediately, barely giving the Fullers time to catch their breath.

“It was like being hit with bricks,” Rod says.The Fullers now had two children in the hospital. Kami was admit-

ted five days before Kyle had been scheduled for surgery to remove the kidney stones from his one functioning kidney. To make things even harder, Kami and Kyle were in two different hospitals.

“It was touch and go,” Rod says. Kami was sick and scared due to the chemotherapy, and the doctors

were having a hard time keeping Kyle alive. During Kyle’s hospital stay, his lungs collapsed and he almost died.

“It was a real rough ride [with Kyle], and a lot of unknowns with Kami,” Rod recalls.

After Kyle was stabilized, the hospital arranged to have him trans-ferred to the same hospital as Kami. Even though they were on different floors, this at least provided Rod and Kelli the ability to meet up with each other. Although their meetings were more like short coffee breaks and less like candlelit dinners, they were able to bring each other up to speed on the hardships during the previous night.

After a harrowing two weeks, both children were finally home. Together, the family tried to assimilate into their new lifestyle full of even more medicine bottles and the responsibility of keeping not only one, but two children comfortable.

Today, walking through the Fuller’s front door it isn’t remarkable. There is a couch, a TV, a dining room and a kitchen with all the needed appliances. A stranger would have no idea what these people have been through. It isn’t until you move into Kyle’s room, or the family room as they call it, that you get a glimpse into their life. The Fullers don’t wear it on their sleeve. In fact, Rod and Kelli have an almost nonchalant attitude about it.

“Another family would have different problems, but they’d still be problems,” Rod says, shrugging his shoulders.

Their faith in God and support for each other has gotten them this

Kami is receving birthday wishes from her classmates while sitting on the floor at Sutter Memorial Hospital with Greta, a volunteer service dog.

16

far. When others might have folded, Rod and Kelli played the hand they were given, no matter how risky. “God had prepared us for this,” Kelli says.

“I’ve been working on hospital equipment [in my job] for quite a while,” Rod agrees, as he looks over all the equipment that keeps his son alive.

“And I worked in the dentistry field before Kyle was born, so spit and suctioning don’t gross me out,” says Kelli.

Even with their faith, times have not always been easy. The death of their second son “rocked their faith,” as Kelli puts it. Like anyone would do, they questioned God and asked, “Why would God do this to us?” Presently, both Rod and Kelli are thankful for their faith and the impact it has had on their life. Looking over at Kami, Kelli feels God had a part to play with her adoption.

“God knew. He knew Kami was supposed to come to us.”Despite the challenges, and even to their own surprise, the Fullers

have beaten the odds.“It’s amazing we’re able to get through this,” Rod says about their

life so far.The Fuller family has made it through every obstacle thrown at

them, no matter how jarring or heart-wrenching it was at the time, and

they’ve managed to keep smiling despite it all. From Kami’s diag-nosis to everyday life with Kyle, laughing is just as much a part of their life as challenges are.

Embracing her new hairstyle, Kami hasn’t missed a beat, and neither has her family.

“Sometimes we’ll tease her about it,” Kelli says, through a warm smile. “She’ll be getting ready to go out and Rod will say, ‘Kami, you forgot to brush your hair,’ and Kami will yell, ‘That’s because I don’t have any, dad!’”

“We turned it around,” Rod says, talking about when Kami was diagnosed with leukemia. “That’s how we cope with things in this family.”

As for Kyle, the family engages with him as much as possible, and he is not immune to humor. Rod developed a checklist to go through with Kyle in order to get a smile out of him.

“Are your eyebrows working?” Rod asks Kyle. Kyle moves his eyebrows up and down, with the slightest of smiles

curling the edge of his lips. “What about your lips?”Kyle ever so slightly purses his lips a few times, to the amusement of

the rest of the family.“See?” Rod says. “We’re in good shape.”“[You have] to celebrate every moment,” Kelli says, watching her

husband’s exchange with her son. “We celebrate what Kyle can do, not what he can’t.”

Looking back on their life as a family, Kelli tries to hold back her tears, and simply says, “Life is a gift.”

Despite all the challenges that life brings the Fullers, they won’t be caught sitting at home. The family loves to go places together. They’ve been sight-seeing at the Grand Canyon, traveled to British Columbia and took a trip to Yosemite. One of their favorite getaways is Disneyland. Kyle enthusiastically signs Disneyland repeatedly to emphasize that it’s his favorite place to go.

“We have to find ways to enrich his life,” Kelli explains.

It will be a while until the Fullers are able to take another family trip. Kami is currently in the second and most intense phase of chemotherapy. Then she will move into the third phase, which includes two years of maintenance, before she will finally be in remission. She was recently set back when she contracted a 101-degree fever, and was again hospitalized for more than a week, where she spent her seventh birthday.

But there was little time for tears as Rod and Kelli swept into action, decorating Kami’s hospital room in the theme of her new favorite movie, Enchanted, and throwing an all-day party.

“This is the best birthday ever!” Kami exclaims as she carefully moves about her room, taking care to not pull out her IV again.

As the presents from friends, family and hospital staff pour in, Kelli makes room for them on her small, fold-a-way bed in the corner of the cramped room, as she and Kami wait for Rod and Kyle to join them. Soon, the whole family is together, and Grandma Fuller stops in to join the party too.

As his family laugh and talk with one another, Kyle sits in his wheel chair watching them, ventilator quietly humming. He seems deep in thought until his mother looks up and smiles warmly his way, waving as she says, “Hi Kyle!” Kyle’s steady stare softens as his ever-so-slight smile forms on his face and, slowly but surely, he wiggles his fingers in an at-tempt to wave back, as if he were saying Hi Mom!

When others might have folded, Rod and Kelli played the hand they were given, no matter how much of a risk it would be. “God had prepared us for this,” Kelli says.

Due to the effects of muscular dystrophy on Kyle’s body, Rod has to hold Kyle’s hand up so he can communicate with his family.

With smiles on their faces, the Fullers strive to maintain a normal family life.

[ [

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Continuing the Legacywords Steve Clark & Sarah Ravani

layout Amy L.P. Chan

So you just finished a semester of college, taking another small bite out of the world of academia. Twelve

units down—only 500 to go. Afraid that you’ll never see the light at the end of the tunnel? Meet three individuals whose roots start at City College. As the interviews unfolded, one by one, what came forward were the same stories we all face on a daily basis—but they pushed through it and established themselves firmly in the fields of media, art and politics. Meet Ron Edmonds, Kiron Skinner, and Mel Ramos, three former City College students who serve as an inspiration to always dream big.

AP photographer Ron Edmonds has taken pictures of many famous events and people such as Elvis Presley’s world tour and the return of POWs from Vietnam. Kiron Skinner has edited and co-edited several books on the subjects of foreign policy and Ronald Reagan. As a Stanford Hoover Institution Fellow, Kiron Skinner was also appointed by President George W. Bush to the National Security Board in 2005. Pop artist Mel Ramos has traveled the world displaying his work. His art has also been published in Time Magazine, Newsweek and The New York Times.

RON EDMONDSWhat brought you to SCC?

I was actually working at the time in another profession and taking classes and was offered a job in photojournalism while attending.

Where did you go after that?I was lucky and met Dick Fleming who

turned my life around by introducing me to the world of photojournalism. His great love of the craft and inspirational sharing of his knowledge of it opened my eyes to something I knew instantly I wanted to do. After a few semesters taking Dick Fleming’s classes, I was approached by United Press International who put me on a retainer for the use of my images. Shortly after

that I was offered a job in Honolulu, Hawaii as a staff photographer at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. I came back to California after being offered the position of Newspicture Bureau Chief in Sacramento for United Press International before accepting a job in 1981 with the Associated Press in Washington D.C., where I am still currently employed.

Besides Dick Fleming, what made you choose your current profession?

I saw that with my images I could inform and educate people about what was happening in the world. And best of all when you get the oohs and ahs when you make a smashing image and it appears on front pages around the world.

Was there a time in your life when you were overwhelmed by life’s ups and downs and challenges felt insurmountable?

My only ups and downs during my years in this business have been being away from my family for long periods of time and making my wife worry when out of the country and in a dangerous place like Iran during the Iran-Iraq war.

Do you feel that certain challenging situations have helped you to grow personally?

Arriving in a foreign country during a time of crisis teaches you how to be resourceful and make the best of the situation. Each day is a learning period as you learn more about the people and their culture and try to blend in instead of being the ugly American.

What is your most memorable photo shoot?Of course my picture of the assassination

attempt on President Ronald Reagan, for which I won the 1982 Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography, would be high on my list. I have been very lucky and covered a large number of historic events around the world—from President Reagan’s meeting with Russian leader Mikhail Gorbachev in Red Square to the 1993 historic handshake on the White House grounds between President Clinton, Arafat and Rabin.

Express File Photo

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Former City College students reflect back on their collegiate roots

KIRON SKINNERHow long ago did you graduate from SCC?

I graduated in 1979.

Where did you go after that?Spelman College in Atlanta. I graduated

in 1981 and then went onto Harvard and completed a master’s and Ph.D. in political science and international relations.

What kind of student were you in college?I had a great time there. I graduated

with mainly A’s and an associate’s degree in communications. I received my Ph.D. at 31 or 32. I did some work in between along the way. I was a research assistant for former Secretary of State, George Shultz, under Reagan. I also taught at Harvard for some time. I taught political science and was a government tutor for about five years working with undergraduates.

Was there a time in your life when you were overwhelmed by life’s ups and downs, when challenges felt insurmountable?

Not so much in college, but in graduate work was a trying time. Harvard is a really competitive environment. I was 19 when I went off to Harvard to start graduate school.

What was your strategy for success?I just kept moving forward. That was the

main thing. My parents were an enormous force of support and encouragement.

Do you feel that certain challenging situations have helped you to grow personally?

Yes. You learn in difficult times. But I think the growth I’ve had in my life has been at every phase. At every situation there has been something good that has come out of it. I’ve had good luck, good mentors and good friends, and all of that contributed in helping me grow.

Is there ever true progress without challenge?I think every case is different. Everyone

has challenges in life; I don’t know any life that doesn’t have it. I think that whether you’re prepared for it or not, it will happen. And I think you grow over time and you grow overall. The main thing is to try to get a lesson out of every situation

How did your time at SCC help you in the long run?

I can say that SCC is a very formative period for me. I had wonderful teachers and outstanding staff and faculty. They were first rate. I completely support the community college system, especially in the California system. Just the quality and the diversity of opportunities that were offered to students, I couldn’t ask for a better educational experience.

MEL RAMOSHow long ago did you graduate from SCC?

I never graduated; I went for one year only from 1953 to 1954.

What kind of student were you in college? I was an above average student and received

A’s and B’s.

Was becoming an artist your first profession choice? No, I went to Sacramento Junior College to

take pre-med courses. I thought I wanted to be a doctor. In biology class we had to draw bones and parts of the body. I liked it so much that after I enrolled at Sacramento State College, I became an art major where I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1957 and a master’s degree in 1958.

What are some of the things that help you cope with adversity in your day-to-day life?

Coming up with fresh ideas about my work. Sitting on my terrace in Spain. Drinking a glass of wine and watching the sunset after a day of painting. Reminiscing about how fortunate I am to have a loving, devoted wife of 53 years who gave me beautiful, intelligent children who gave me five wonderful grandchildren.

Do you feel that certain challenging situations have helped you to grow personally?

Of course, I’m sure there were. I tend to put life’s disappointments out of mind quickly and try to get on with it. I’m very fortunate that way.

What is your most memorable painting?“Chiquita,” 1964—a beautiful young girl

posing in a banana peel.

Courtesy Photo Kiron Skinner

photo Steve Clark

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Final Thoughts

This semester started out with more than a dozen bright, shining faces and a plethora of ideas and boundless energy. As the semester comes to a close, we find our staff dwindling and our sanity unraveling, but are no less proud of this issue of Mainline.

In 1995, former City College students Doug Herndon and Paul Esta-brook broke ground in the Journalism Department and published the first issue of Mainline. In creating an issue of Mainline devoted to personal growth, we feel that we are continuing the legacy of Doug Herndon and Paul Esta-brook, whose presence continues to infuse our pages.

The confines of Temp 3, our journalism quarters, serve as an incuba-tor for future journalists and photographers, and we would like to thank the people in charge who have so graciously given us their time. We would like to thank our adviser, Dawn Blunk, for bringing experience, enthusiasm and a lot of fun to this endeavor, as well as journalism instructors Dianne Heimer, Jan Haag and Ginny McReynolds. Without their support and commitment, this magazine wouldn’t have been possible. We would like to offer an extra thanks to Paul Estabrook—his photo critique and visualization of our theme gave legs to our vision and moved our production forward.

We couldn’t have put this together without the long, grueling hours put in by our designers, Steve Mok, Amy Chan, Joe Porras, Anthony Magdaleno and Lori Llanillo. Their patience, skill and lack of social lives were the final and vital touch to this magazine.

And last, but certainly not least, we would like to thank the subjects of our stories, without whom this magazine wouldn’t exist: Mel Ramos, Kiron Skinner and Ron Edmonds for being so gracious with their time (on such short notice) and for being so inspirational with their achievements. Cat-man and Red, for taking time out of their busy diving schedules to accept our humble gifts. May there always be goodies in their dumpsters. And most importantly, we offer our thanks to the Fuller family for letting us in their life and being an inspiration to us all.

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photo Gilberto Ramirez

“One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

—Andre Gine