"A Welsh Perspective"
by Sarah Walker

Sioux City, Iowa

For a long time, I believed it was my destiny to become a medical doctor. All through high school and my first two years of college, I was convinced that there was no other possible option. However, I began to have some doubts during the first semester of my second year, a time that would become the worst four months of my life. Everything that could go wrong did, and I became very discouraged with the direction my life was taking. I began to realize that becoming a doctor no longer appealed to me, but I was not ready to accept this yet. I decided that I needed a new perspective and some serious thinking time. I began looking into study abroad programs and finally settled on a program in Swansea, Wales, where I spent the spring of 1998.

Studying abroad was one of the most incredible experiences I ever had and I gained many valuable things from going there. I had the opportunity to travel the UK extensively and spent a month backpacking mainland Europe. I was able to immerse myself in several different cultures and see how they are both extremely different from and strikingly similar to the American culture I have always known. I saw many great things and many ordinary things and loved them all. One of the most important parts of the entire experience was the reflection I gave to my life. Time to think was plentiful while I was there. Swansea is on the coast and I took pleasure in walking down to the beach where I could listen to the waves. Many idle hours spent on trains also added to time for thinking. An important part of my trip was that I went there alone, and thought I met many people, it somehow always felt as though I was alone over there at heart. Everything and everyone were foreign to me. This allowed me to really focus on myself and my search for sense and direction in life.

Wales was a milestone in my education because it enabled me to consciously change the course of my life. Traveling alone and with people I did not know very well gave me a confidence I had never had before. I had to rely solely on myself and now I have a faith in my abilities that allows me to maintain that confidence. As a result I have discovered some important things about myself. I realized a strong desire to change the world around me and inspire others. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that there are better and more enjoyable ways to use my unique talents to help others. While I was in Wales, I admitted to myself that medical school was no longer an option I wanted to pursue, and I began asking myself what I wanted to do with my life and why. To answer these questions, I searched my background and the activities I found most rewarding and enjoyable. I wanted to identify the key elements that define who I am and who I will become.

One of these elements comes from my ethnic background. I am half Meskwaki and half Caucasian. Until I was in the first grade I lived on the land and in the culture of the Meskwaki. Since then, I have lived in various towns/cities throughout Iowa, all of which have had limited percentages of minorities.

The time I spent on the Meskwaki settlement made a strong impression on me. I vividly remember standing in line for government food, handouts for poor Indians who could not afford much. I remember that I always had to wear hand-me-downs or clothes that my mother had sewn because we could not afford to buy new. I remember learning as a young person the differences between how people treat others based on things like race and socioeconomic status. I was treated differently by white people because I was Indian, and sadly, I was treated differently by Indian people because I was half white. I could not win. I learned exactly what it means to be a "have" or a "have-not." Fortunately, things in my life have changed significantly since I was younger; things have gotten better because of efforts made by my mother. Nevertheless, those experiences have stuck with me.

I believe that treating people differently based on minority or economic status is a terrible but unfortunately common fact of life in this world. Often, these groups of people are unable to change their situation. They have limited resources and knowledge with which to fight discrimination and injustice based on these characteristics. Therefore, the only way to change this is through empowerment. Helping people obtain access to various resources such as money, time, knowledge, and other people decreases the imbalance that exists. It is also essential to promote greater understanding between people from various cultures and of differing status. Fighting ignorance can do much to encourage us to see one another not as races or genders but as people.

During my semester abroad, I thought about my experiences as a young person. I really believe that the discrimination and prejudice that my family and I faced made me a stronger and more understanding person. My past strongly influences the kinds of activities I choose to participate in now. After coming back from Wales and reflecting on all the different parts of my life, I realized that most of my drive to become a doctor had not been about science or medicine, but about helping people. Therefore, I decided to take a more active role in changing the world around me.

The best was I have accomplished this is through my work at the Agape Café. I have an intense belief in the value and importance of service to others. One of the best parts of every week comes early on Wednesday mornings when I volunteer at the Agape Café. The Café is a program that serves a hot breakfast to the homeless people of Iowa City, but it is different from a soup kitchen in a very fundamental way. We do not just send the people through a line, chatting to the volunteer next to us. We serve them in a restaurant style setting, treating them with respect, getting to know their names, and leaving them with their dignity. I truly feel as though I am serving others in a valuable and meaningful way, and it is this feeling that compels me to return to the café every Wednesday morning at 6:45 a.m. Working at Agape is something I am proud of and my experience there has ensured that volunteering in my community will always be a part of my life.

I remember what it is like to have people believe that you are not meant to succeed, and I can not think of anything much more discouraging than that. To me, I am helping in some small way to do this. Thus, my drive to help people in this manner is at the core of my actions and beliefs. Wales gave me the chance to develop a clarity of mind that did not exist before. It was a defining experience.

To create rhythm and movement I play with light and line. A dot in successive progression or simply stretched out leads to a line and a line expanded leads to a plane; given volume to a plane we get 3-dimensional surface area. Therefore a line is everywhere. It protects, encloses, creates boundaries, opens up areas, and has rhythm and movement. Gradually, it emerges to measure structural proportions like the Golden Section by Euclid. A line is measured like a musical score or an arithmetic problem. The powerful lines of electric connection of nerves and veins within us, of water, wind current, plant fibers, of the gravitational pull of the earth, sentimental and emotional attachments, attractions towards things dear to us, are all perfect examples of how a line can be viewed.

We can sense all of this around us, but we cannot see some of this. Light is the one factor that can help us see. Light plays an important role in our daily life. The sun is a source of life and energy and we live our life based on the relationship of sunlight with the earth. Therefore light is an important part of nature and is like a bonding compound, bringing this world together.

I like to use light and line to create objects, which have a purpose other than the role of just art. As a designer I find function playing a substantial role in my artistic instincts; thus my art more often than not has spontaneity and naturalness combined with a practical purpose of use. In this case I have created objects of illumination simply called lamps.

My artistic and spiritual inspirations come from a combination of influences; first is my natural surroundings; and the second is my cultural background of India, the country of my birth. Therefore you might observe in my work a steady influence of Indian designs and imagery, alongside shapes and forms.

For example, I was inspired by the tree "flame of the forest" or Gulmohar when in full bloom. The Gulmohar is a tropical tree extensively found in India. It's a large tree with beautiful bright orange and yellow flowers, which bloom only in the hot summer months of April and May until the monsoon hits in June. Most parts of the year, the Gulmohar is just green with delicate little leaves. Come January, the tree sheds all its leaves and is bare, getting ready for the bloom. Once it blooms, it's a riot of color without the leaves. Growing up I was constantly fascinated by the rhythmic vibrancy of color and movement seen in the Gulmohar, and I wanted to capture some of this experience and memories into my art.

I believe organic forms and fluid lines are elements intrinsic in my natural surroundings. Thus I feel that this naturalness found in organic forms is important to my creative instinct. The internal core of my creativity has an uninterrupted communication with the natural world. In my own art I find the use of forms organic in character most fascinating and intriguing. The spontaneity of the forms is the root of my artmaking, giving it a life of its own.

One of the objects of illumination I made using electrofoaming is called chakra. A simple dome-like structure with a filigree-like pattern on it, illuminated with a soft-scented candle. The delicate pattern of the dome is inspired from typical Indian motifs found in nature. For example, I used lotus flowers with the leaves, with is the seat of Hindu goddess Sarasvati representing knowledge, music, and art. Yaksha and Yakshini are spirits of the trees in Hindu mythology. I made stylized portraits of these figures signifying trees. I also used other animal and plant motifs like betel leaves, peacocks, parrots, and swans. As I lit the candle, the light and shadows created extended out into the room, on the walls or the people near the piece, uniting the piece with the viewer and the environment it was placed in. My design thus symbolizes these experiences and encounters, which are a part of most people's daily lives. This piece is called Chakra because I believe that life is cyclic and the Chakra symbolizes the circular motion of life. Chakra means central point. It is used in various contexts; for example, a chakra can be an energy center and is also the weapon of the Hindu god Lord Vishnu. The chakra in Hindi language means circular or spiral in shape and energy. To me, the dome signifies the circular motion of the chakra. Therefore I emphasized the same in my art by using motifs which talk about our frequent encounters with our environment.

In the next piece I made I used the electrofoaming technique. The basic idea and inspiration I carried over from my earlier piece. But this time I had a profound experience while witnessing the creation of life which contained an innocence unaltered by any unnatural or preconceived ideas. One day as I was germinating some bean sprouts for a meal, I found a creation of a sapling most intriguing. As I watched the bean germinating, I noticed the shy split of the bean, the gentle curve of the stalk reaching out between the protective arms of the bean. The delicate contours of this new life form made me want to reach out to it. This reinforced the fact that the internal center of my creativity has a strong link with the natural world. Taking this experience further into my thought process and my art, I toyed with the idea of making illuminated objects into more dynamic forms.

In the next piece I produced I took my inspiration from the germination of a bean. The idea was not to duplicate the bean in an illustrative manner but to portray my intuitive conclusion about the inner substance and energy I experienced. By contemplating the optical/physical appearance of the germinating bean, I abstracted the form into a dome-like shape. I saw the cycle of life in the circular dynamic of the dome shape, similar to the earlier piece. The form was made as though it were half of the bean. Since my goal was not to make an illustrative piece, the half bean has a suggestive feel about it, encouraging a thought process in the viewer.

I always felt a sense of freedom in my art especially during the process of creating it. This sense of freedom is the key to my expression. The different emotional values seen in my works of art sets forth a sense or feeling which has no counterpart in any vocabulary other than of the work of art itself. Consequently in my art I have conveyed my inspirations, my emotions, and my thought process; by successfully creating pieces which have a distinct individual character. This character is also a part of my soul. I thus feel that I am on the correct pathway to self-expression and will continue in this direction, like the continuous spiraling motion of the chakra itself.

Howard Stern earns his living as a nationally syndicated "shock jock" working on the radio and for E! Entertainment Television on cable television. He is notorious for shocking his listeners and viewers by making offensive, racist, sexist comments on the air while his three sidekicks laugh or add their own commentary. His partners in crime include two white men, Fred Norris and Jack Martling, and one black woman, Robin Quivers.

It is confusing that a woman, especially a black woman, would be able to tolerate Stern's humor and Quivers is aware that her position on the Howard Stern Show has caused controversy among some women and the people in the black community who accuse Stern of sexism and racism. In her autobiography Quivers: A Life, Quivers writes "Women want to know what I'm doing here--just how is it I can work on a show like this, and not just because of the nudity. Some women say 'I feel so bad for you'--like I couldn't leave if I wanted to. Or 'You should be ashamed of yourself. You're contributing to the degradation of women just by being there'" (Quivers, tape 1).

Quivers does not believe she is contributing to the degradation of women by accompanying Stern. She told Billboard writer Phyllis Stark that she serves three purposes through her position on Howard Stern. Stark writes "[a]s the show's news person, her primary job is dispensing information. Her second role is that of a listener and a foil for Stern and the rest of the team. Finally, she says, 'I am the voice of reason on the show'" (Stark, 80). However, on the television show Quivers does not appear to be a news person at all, in part because she is not given air time to read a list of news events as she is on the radio. The hour-long episodes provide very little time for commentary to occur between Stern and his team because airings are split by frequent commercial breaks and Stern manipulates the majority of air time by giving his own opinions and by interviewing his guests. It is logical--after all, it is his show.

Quivers is not a consistent "voice of reason" on the television show. For example, a show that aired November 1 this year on E! Entertainment Television focused on a Stern fan named Nikki who sought Stern's advice on whether she should get breast implants or not. When Nikki told Stern she jobs and is from Charlotte, North Carolina, he asked "In Charlotte you run from the white man, huh?"

"You must love the forwardness and bravado of our black people."

Nikki did not flinch, although she is black. Quivers reacted, but not to the comment about "running from the white man." She said "What are you talking about? 'Our" black? Like you own the blacks?" Quivers did not argue Stern's racist generalization about Charlotte, North Carolina, and if she were seriously upset about his comment about "our black people" she would not have laughed and would have pursued the argument or reprimanded him in a more forceful manner. Stern sidestepped conflict, drowning out her complaint quickly by turning the conversation back to the issue at hand and telling Nikki she needed breast implants.

This example illustrates that Quivers does not consistently reprimand Stern for his behavior. If she were the voice of reason, she would be constantly at war with Stern, and would have argued with Stern about his obscene comments about Nikki's body AND about his racist comments. If her reactions are serious, the intent is lost behind her laughter and brief comments as she plays a part in the Stern show's chorus, giggling with Martling and Norris.

Stern's show frequently centers on him and his opinions--this was apparent on a November 3, 1999 show when he interviewed Rosanne Barr. Quivers tries numerous times to squeeze in a comment regarding her thoughts about Barr's fear of sexual relationships with men while Stern speculates why Barr has lost sexual interest. Throughout the argument, Quivers asks Stern and Barr repeatedly "Stop, stop. Just let me say one thing," but Stern continues to yell at Barr and vice versa. Quivers is unsuccessful in interrupting until the argument between Barr and Stern explodes. By that time, whatever Quivers wanted to say is a moot point and the conversation has long since passed the point at which Quivers wanted to comment.

Stern is in charge and Quivers is along for the ride. But she cringes at accusations that she is a token, black female for the show: "People have gone so far as to suggest that I'm just a token, that my being there gives Howard the license to say all these things about blacks. I consider that the most racist, sexist thing anyone can say. It's tantamount to saying that being black and female makes it impossible for me to actually be a creative force on a radio show so I sit there, taking abuse just to get a paycheck" (Quivers, tape 1). It is no surprise that people question her role on the show. She is ambiguous, laughing at racist and sexist jokes and she regularly witnesses women strip to nothing while Stern comments on their bodies. His sidekicks Jackie Martling and Fred Norris add their own obscene commentary and sound effects to the spectacle. On a 1996 show that was rebroadcast November 4 this year, Norris plays cat "meows" as sound effects while Stern encourages his nude guest, Sue, to touch herself for a Polaroid shot that he says he'll send to Penthouse magazine. Quivers watches from the background in her radio box and says nothing. For some people who disagree with Stern's behavior, saying nothing to reprimand him is as incriminating as agreeing with him.

Quivers defends Stern and her role on the show in her autobiography by writing "[f]or the record, Howard is a very sweet man, and there's no way that sweetness doesn't underlie every outrageous joke" (Quivers, tape 4). Quivers is defending Stern's behavior, and consequently she is indirectly defending herself. After all, her fame grew as a result of working with Stern on The Howard Stern Show.

Phyllis Stark writes the Quivers says Stern does not intend that his offensive jokes by taken personally or seriously and that his humor is purely entertainment. "I have no trouble defending myself because we do an entertainment show. People want to make it (into) some social commentary. I feel sorry for those people" (Stark 80). Quivers is assuming that the Stern show audience--whether it's on radio or television--thinks whatever Stern may say is in just, but Quivers is not thinking of the people in the audience who laugh because they believe Stern's play-acting is real and they agree with bigotry.

Quivers has a variety of reasons for staying with Stern, but a primary reason is he is a No. 1 radio jockey who helped boost her broadcasting career. At one point, she and Stern split up so he could join NBC in New York. She told Redbook "[i]nstead of staying in D.C., I went to a completely different place. I didn't realize I had name recognition there, which is very marketable. Basically, I sold myself short" (Frank, 124). Quivers implies that Stern made her valuable and marketable in the broadcast field because of his popularity and fame.

Quivers told Stark she always knew Stern would be successful. "Why would I tie myself to a loser? I always knew we'd be No. 1. ... The reason I had to come with Howard is that he was so different and creative" (Stark 80). Quivers makes an important point: Why would Quivers work with Stern if he were a loser and she did not enjoy working with him? But do her reasons for working with him offer enough justification to defend herself if the face of critics who accuse Stern, Quivers, and his coworkers of perpetuating stereotypes and bigotry?

Some listeners have strongly reacted against the airing of Stern's show. Colorado legislators voted to remove his show from the air because Stern asked on air why the Littleton school killers hadn't tried to rape their victims before murdering them (Business Week, 23). Colorado's House of Representatives reacted and demanded that Stern be taken off the air from the Denver radio station KXPX.

Even if Quivers truly is the voice of reason for the Howard Stern show, her voice cannot override the shocking effect Stern has over his audience. The First Amendment seems to offer him adequate protection and so do his fans and coworkers like Quivers. As a result of his fame, his shocking words transcend reason. Neither he nor his staff take responsibility for the effect of their careless comments and behavior when staff such as Quivers offer a disclaimer that dismisses their responsibility by saying they are "there to purely entertain" (Billboard, 80).

Although Quivers recognizes that her name is "marketable," she is ignoring the fact that she owes her fame and popularity not just to Stern, but to her audience. Quivers underestimates her impact on the Howard Stern Show audience when she says the show is only entertainment and she is ignoring the fact that many fans view her as a role model. Perhaps Quivers should add a fourth purpose for her position on the show: Being a role model for her listeners and viewers.

Most Korean fathers seem to have some things in common. One is that that they take on much responsibility. Most Korean fathers seem to me to live only for making a living for their family. They work very hard for a living and the future of their family. Another is that they are authoritarian possibly because of the effects of education and the culture. Our culture considers men as important beings and requests that women submit to them. Therefore, women and children have had to submit to their husbands or fathers and it has been considered a virtue. A boy is more important and respected at home as well. For example, if there are special foods, it is taken for granted that those are for a father and a boy. When I was a child I was taught not to pass by my father's head when he was napping on the quilted bed clothes. Also, I didn't share shirts with my brother. My mother said, "If you do, they will not have good luck because you are a girl." Of course, this is my special example in my own home that was conservative. Actually, the culture is changing so that most people seem to be thinking that everybody is equal.

My father is a typical Korean father, and my mother grew up in a traditional man-centered society. My father is authoritarian and takes on a big responsibility for the family. My mother seemed to accept his attitude and told me and my siblings to be subservient to him also. From my younger point of view, it is not fair and only my mother was sacrificing for her family. My father is just like a king or guest. He didn't do any household chores such as cleaning and cooking. He fixed many things, for example, electrical devices or the roof or stairs and our bicycles and car, which I regarded as a man's business. The times he had to fix things didn't occur frequently and fixing something was not hard work but interesting from my point of view. Therefore, it seemed to me that he didn't do anything.

Until I graduated from the university, I thought that my father was cold and unconcerned about my family. He seldom demonstrated his love for our family and seldom conversed with us. He was a strict father also. Therefore when I made a mistake, I was afraid of what he knew. If my mother said, "Let your father know this," I begged her not to tell him. Actually, I have no memory of being scolded by him. In most cases, he was quiet but this made me feel more anxiety. When I was a child, my father was just difficult for me.

I didn't understand his big duty. I just missed a considerate and kind father and didn't see kindness and a love for our family in my father's mind. I thought that he didn't love us because I felt that he was not kind and soft but strict. He was always busy as well. Like most Korean fathers he came home after I fell asleep and went to his work before I got up. I could only see him on weekends. I didn't know why he worked so hard at that time. He was an office worker and because a factory manager of his company that had many factories. Now, I realize that what made him work so hard is society and his responsibility to my family. It seemed that his hard work didn't always make him happy and that he wanted more time with the family. He would feel conflicted between his responsibility, which is forced by our society, my family and by himself, and his freedom. And he possibly wanted more relaxation and free time to enjoy his life.

Now I understand why he was like that then and feel his deep love for our family because I became an adult and can see other reasons why he was like that, such as the influence of society and his responsibility. I think he couldn't demonstrate his love for us because he was taught like that. He didn't know how to enjoy time with his own family. He just worked very hard to support us. Due to his effort, our family enjoyed a comfortable life style.

My father will be 62 years old this November. Now he is not young and strong any more. He has changed. He likes my children and enjoys taking care of them, his grandchildren. It surprises me. One day I asked him, "Why didn't you take care of your children like you do your grandchildren?" He answered, "I was taught that a man should not express his feelings carelessly. By the way, how often did I express my feelings in front of my parents?" It is a sad history.

As the culture changes, so does he. Nowadays he enjoys driving my mother and his grandchildren anywhere including to the supermarket. Sometimes he prepares food for himself. I couldn't imagine him doing these things in the past. From his recent life, I feel that he was also sacrificed by the culture. I love my father. I wish him health.

Calvin Miller is about 6'2" tall, slim but not skinny, about 180 pounds, dark-skinned with waves all around. Calvin is a real athlete, built like a small forward for basketball and a wide receiver for football. Everyone said he looked like Kobe Bryant on the LA Lakers.

Calvin comes from Mississippi but moved to Chicago the summer of my junior year in high school. He was loved by the girls because of his southern accent in the northern regions. I guess they thought it was sexy.

Like a chameleon, Calvin would come into any new environment and come out as the best or at least make himself known. He was so modest, he could be the center of attention everywhere he and I went but never know it. If he knew his status was so great he never let it go to his head.

On a Tuesday after school, four of us go to the Ford City Mall, one of Chicago's biggest malls, to pick up some outfits for the party on Friday. We walk around the mall, window shopping at some stores like CODA, Marshall Fields, Carsons, and the regular outlet stores, Tommy Hilfiger, FUBU, Pelle Pelle. We eat before really buying something. Dantrell and Vada go to the Pelle Pelle store for their outfits and Calvin go to the Tommy Hilfiger store the for freshest stock. About twenty feet from the spot where we departed from Vada and Dantrell, Calvin glances downward at me like a king or queen would glance at a begging peasant. It wasn't an arrogant look. It was just the way he looked at me because I was shorter than him. For a second, I'm on edge, wondering what his expression meant. He clears his throat to get ready to unload some feeling that he's had about me.

"Don, you know that out of all the fellows you are the only one who makes me feel normal and welcome."

It's not that everyone hated that Calvin came to Tilden, it's just that everyone cast him to be higher than he really wanted to be. I guess he thought that I liked him for him and now what he could do for the team or the school, academic-wise.

My eyes bucked, mouth wide open. I was stunned that he thought of me as the coolest guy in school, even though his status was much higher than mine. Before entering the store, he stops me and points my eyes toward his vision of a light skinned girl with long, straight hair and green eyes. But I saw a big headed girl who was light skinned with long hair and green-contacted eyes.

"Look at that gal over there," Calvin says. "She gotta be da finest gal I done seen today."

"Yeah, for sho," I say. "But she got a big head."

Her head wasn't really that big, it was just really round, like a circle or donut.

Calvin rolls his eyes and glazes his lips to say his favorite two words, which come out in a high-pitched (but not screechy) voice: "YOU FOOL."

I smile and put my arm around his shoulder, directing him back towards the store, not to discourage him from thinking the way he did about her, but to reassure him that it was "all good" that he thought that way, but right now, we just don't have the time. If we did, we'd go over there and talk to her and before you know it, he'd have her phone number, her address, her birthday--all the information you'd normally get from someone after you've know them a long time.

Although Calvin was one of the best friends I ever had, he was also one of my best teammates. On the court is when I really knew him. He would play a game of basketball like it was his retirement game or his last day on earth. His work ethic on the wood would make him and earn him most valuable player for that year. He had the aggression of Charles Barkley, the finesse of Kobe Bryant, and the ability to win like Michael Jordan. Everybody thought that Calvin was just a great player by nature, but in reality, he was just like me or the next player, working hard to get better.

It was an away game at Kelly High School and we were playing like the '96 Bulls team. Every shot that we put up in the air fell right into the basket. Everything was going well to me. It felt as good as a hot summer's day sitting on my porch drinking Crystal Light Lemonade watching pretty girls stroll by. By half-time we thought it was too easy and that we were going to blow them out by 20 points.

But at the beginning of the third quarter, they started to come back, and before we knew it they were within two points of taking the lead. While faces and actions were set to stun, Calvin's expression went from a smiling athlete to a pissed off consumer. He knew it was getting competitive and he was mad that we didn't notice. The way Kelly was playing was like their lives were on the line. It was clear to us by the beginning of the fourth quarter that they wanted to win. Calvin was playing like a mad man.

He was everywhere. He was on the rebounds, on the steals, and making the clutch shots. In other words, he was a one-man team. If Kelly wanted that "W," they were going to have to go through Calvin Miller to get it.

Five minutes before the game was over we found ourselves with a four point lead, but winning by four points was not good enough for Calvin. He seemed to be everywhere at the right times. He made two steals and went the bucket to match. I game him a backdoor pass for the short jump shot, but before the buzzer went out, Calvin put up a miracle shot from way beyond the arc, which gave us three points to win by thirteen. We ended up winning and he ended up with thirty points to seal that victory.

Everybody thought that we were going to win by two or lose by two, but we won by thirteen. After that game everybody was raving about how we came back and won. But Calvin was upset for two reasons. One, we got behind, and two, he thought we could have played harder.

It was graduation time from Tilden High School. That meant that all of the graduates would do something crazy. I guess it was a tradition. Some would get tattoos, color their hair or shorten it. Others would go so far as to get facial piercings. But me, I just wanted both ears pierced. My mother didn't want me to get my ears pierced, she'd only permit one ear to be pierced.

I wanted to get both ears pierced because I'd thought that I'd look better in the yearbook pictures with the silver hoops and besides if I'd gotten one pierced, come gang would think that I'm in the rival gang. My mother didn't understand why I would want both ears pierced. I remember her saying to discourage me "Only gay men get both ears pierced. You wouldn't want people to think that would you?" Now that might have been true for her generation, but as for the ninety-nine graduating seniors, that would be the coolest thing. I explained to her that one earring would have a negative impact on me. But with two, it will leave me in a neutral position. She didn't care about the so-called tradition that the seniors before us had created but she was concerned about why I would want my ears pierced.

It was a Tuesday night, which meant that my mother and I were watching our favorite TV show, "OZ." I was playing with my dog, Mecca, like I normally do when suddenly I found myself on the ground, Mecca nibbling at my ear. As I got up from wrestling with her, wiping the dog slobber off my ear, to sit back and start watching the show after a quick commercial break, my mother says "Were you trying to get Mecca to pierce your ears so I could be convinced to let you pierce them? Why do you want your ears pierced so badly?"

I say, "It's a fashion thing. I want to look good."

"Well, can't you look good without them? I mean, money never made the man."

"I know that, but it's something I want to do. It's something that I will have to live with. It's my individuality."

"Can't you be your own individual without them? You can get noticed for what you are, not what you wear."

"MOM," I say in a defeated tone.

After about a week of arguing, she let me get both ears pierced and said, "You are old enough to make your own decisions. I hope you make the right ones."

It took me a long time to figure out why she didn't approve of me getting my ears pierced. It wasn't because she thought only "gay men" do it. It was because she knew that I was growing up and that I could make my own decisions about how I was going to live my life. I think my mom thought that she was losing that little boy whose decisions she always co-signed, if not made. And in actuality, she was. But in return she was getting a young man who was capable of making his own decisions about his life. It's not that my mom was strict, it's just that she had to learn how to live with a young man without the help or guidance of a father figure.

The essence of the ear piercing controversy was that my mother didn't want me to have two pierced ears, but in reality she didn't want me to grow up. That meant that all my decisions wouldn't have to come through her. Instead, I would make them. I wanted the silver hoops because of a fashion statement that I wanted to make, but the fashion statement and other cool things that my mother helped me with in the past were becoming no more.

I like watching the change of the four seasons in Iowa City because I came from a country where there was no seasonal change. However, I do not like the January of Iowa City because it is just too cold.

In addition to the freezing January, I also dislike the water and the scenery in Iowa City. The water is really of poor quality and the scenery is too flat. We can't see any mountains.

Not only can't we see mountains, we are also too far from the ocean, which happens to be one of my favorite things.

However, Iowa City has a low crime rate, friendly people, and a rich academic atmosphere. In Iowa City, I don't have to worry about walking home late by myself. In Iowa City, people are willing to help others; people also care about education and research.

Although there are not enough direct flights going to different cities, Iowa City itself can provide an international feeling. All kinds of cultures are available to me. Particularly, I enjoy eating exotic cuisine, like Mexican, Korean, and Japanese food. Even American Chinese food is exotic because it tastes different from my food at home.

This is my last winter in Iowa City and I'll probably forget all the irritation things but keep all the beautiful memories in my mind.

Davis County is a very small community with many of its attractions occurring at the Davis County Fairgrounds which has grown tremendously in the past century. Most of the events that occur here are during summer and fall. The most notable are the annual county fair and IRCA Rodeo, but now we also have the Iowa Missouri Ford Club Car Show, the TTT Quilt Show, and the Music Festival. The Fairgrounds is also the home of the Bloomfield Speedway and a common place for the residents to have reunions and receptions. The Davis County Fairgrounds is a place that draw in the whole community and it holds it together by carrying on traditions and preserving the culture.

The Davis County Fair has a long tradition and rich history. In 1854, the first Davis County Fair lasted only one day and was not at the present location. The first one to be held on the present site was in 1879. At this time the fair only covered 20.5 acres whereas now it covers 59 acres of land. This summer we celebrated the 137th Davis County Fair. There was no fair between 1943 and 1945 because the federal government requested its cancellation due to a national emergency--World War II. The first merry-go-round was on the grounds in the 1890's, which was propelled by horses.

The community plays a big part in the fair. They must provide the cattle, run the cattle show, and provide the 4H exhibits. Some of the members of my society participate in the main events in the grandstands including the auto destruction derby, western music concert, tractor pull, as well as the horse, stock car, motorcycle, ad go-cart races. The crowd usually cheers louder for its local heroes, like motorcycle driver Monte Hill, late model racecar driver Doug Hopkins, and modified racecar driver Jeremy Townsend. Other ways to attract the families and individuals to the fair are Kid's Day and Senior's day, which usually have the biggest turnouts. Kid's Day is a day for children to go on unlimited rides, on the carnival that is brought in, for $5 and do different activities for free. Senior Citizen's Day is when the horse races are held as well as many other activities for the elders, such as bingo and a treasure hunt or scavenger hunt. Others go to the Davis County Fair to socialize rather than to play games or watch the grandstand events. Some people who have moved even come back to Davis County just for the fair and to see old friends at one time and place. The fair is a big event to draw all the residents in and cure isolation that results from the many families who live on farms. It allows people from Davis County to get to know each other better and to show off their talents.

The second biggest attraction to the fairgrounds is the Fort Bloomfield Rodeo which has been around for 20 years. The rodeo is generally held around the 4th of July and is accompanied by a large fireworks display. Some of the events are barrel racing, bull riding, steer wrestling, team and individual calf-roping, bareback riding, and breakaway. Barrel racing, which is maneuvering a horse around three barrels as fast as you can without knocking them over, and breakaway, which is roping a calf before it makes it out of the arena and then letting the rope go, are events for women and for boys under the age of 14. There are even two events for the children--mutton busting and pulling stickers off of calves. Mutton busting is riding a sheep for as long as you can, but some of the sheep have been shaved to make it hard for the children to hold on to them. Some local cowboys always compete in the rodeo, like Clint Humphrey, Eric (E-Rock) Hootman, and Ed Good who love to have the crowd cheer them. The funniest part of the show is the dumb clowns brought in by the rodeo circuit, and their dumb stunts. The Fort Bloomfield Rodeo is now held in its own arena which the community paid for instead of in front of the grandstands. This new arena is a much better place for us to watch the competitors perform and show what they can really do.

The fairgrounds' first regulation half-mile racetrack was built in 1908. It was shut down in 1974 due to lack of interest and lack of money but because a few men from Davis County worked to rebuild it, it reopened in 1991. This group of men is called the race track committee and the community thought that for their time and efforts they should be able to attend the races for free for the rest of their lives. My father is part of this group who got the Bloomfield Speedway up and running again. There are many local racecar drivers whom a great deal of the public turns out to watch. My dad builds a racecar, so I am one of the hundreds of fans who attend regularly. The many types of races held at the Bloomfield Speedway that I remember include sprint cars, motorcycles, legend cars, miniatures, late models, stockcars, hobby stocks, modifieds, and two-man cruisers, and horse races. When the racetrack was first opened it was for dog and horse races and the first car race to be held there was in 1946. This is an excellent event for the dwellers of Davis County to attend once a week instead of watching television. This is an example of the two way street in my community--the drivers showing their talent and the inhabitants having something to entertain them.

Another small attraction is the Iowa Missouri Ford Club Car Show. This event has grown over the years and reached its high of 110 cars this year, the 15th annual show. This event is for the people of Davis County to show off their Fords and see other people. The main models include Mustangs, Thunderbirds, Galaxies, and F-150's. Some people drive hundreds of miles just to show off their cars--a convenient way to meet new people who have older cars that you once had or would have liked to have. My father is a member of the Iowa Missouri Ford Club. I entered my 1994 red Ford Tempo into the daily drivers' class two years ago and won second place. It is a great feeling to know that your neighbors voted for your car.

This year was the 10th annual TTT Quilt Show at the Davis County Fairgrounds. Individuals and quilting groups make all of the gorgeous quilts and always create a book telling their history. Some of these old quilts have interesting histories and are set up on displays with other items dating back to the time period in which they were made. My great aunt Ruby has put 5 different quilts in the shows. Mrs. Wiegand made a quilt out of her son's old blue jeans and hat decals for him and displayed it one year. These beautiful quilts are not for sale. Some people in the community just like to go to the TTT Quilt Show to look at what others can do. There are always crafts for sale there and food. The money made at the quilt show is then given to a senior at the Davis County High School in the form of a scholarship--which I was lucky enough to receive my senior year.

The newest event at the fairgrounds is the Music Festival. This year was the third annual, which for the previous 25 years was held in a small town called Drakesville, about seven miles northwest of Bloomfield. Basically, all that I know about this event is that there is music played all of the time for three and a half days. The only type of music played there is old country music--a great pastime for the community to listen to the old classical country music played on instruments that are no longer used in most bands today. This is an activity that allows people to socialize and helps bind them together.

The Davis County Agricultural Society has also built two big buildings on this land that are great for wedding receptions, class reunions, family reunions, and auctions. The newest building was built four years ago and has heating and air conditioning which makes it perfect for any time of the year. This is a great place of class reunions because a majority of the older classes have not moved away or have come back. One drawback is that the ones who never leave the area do not attend because they don't think they have changed or that anyone will be there whom they have not seen in awhile.

The fairgrounds is where most of the big events take place in Bloomfield. People can go to the fairgrounds in Davis County to some of these wonderful occasions and see people who they have not seen in awhile. The only downfall is that most of these events only occur during July, August, and September and there is nothing to do the rest of the year. It is always good to see a person from my community competing and it is a wonderful opportunity for a person to be able to show off their talent. The fairgrounds is an excellent place to celebrate spectacular affairs such as family and class reunions. The Davis County Fairgrounds is a place that ties together the small society and helps preserve the culture--a place where everyone feels welcome and can show off his or her talent in at least one event.

Korea is notorious for its high death rate due to traffic accidents. The main reason for that is speeding. Most Koreans are busy in their lives and they look like they are in a hurry in everything they do. Especially when they drive, they get in even more of a hurry. When I first came here to America (Iowa), I found out that driving in America is different. Americans are not in a hurry when they drive, so I felt somewhat weird and I thought that something different was going on. The most important thing in driving is safety, which mainly comes from driving slowly. The lower the speed, the easier you can control your vehicle, therefore slowing down is very important for preventing traffic accidents. Both Koreans and Americans know that the traffic rules are made to prevent traffic accidents and keep drivers and pedestrians safe, but generally Americans obey the traffic rules and Koreans don't. During three months of my American experience, including two times failing the driving test, I think I found some reasons that can explain the differences. In my thought, what makes the difference of safe driving comes from the difference from the traffic culture of Koreans and Americans.

One thing that makes the driving safer is the speed limits. As you can see in America, there are many signs on the road that indicate the speed limit. According to a summary of Iowa State statutes related to speed which I got from the web, the speed limits very depending on the road from 20 miles per hour to 65 miles per hour. In Korea, the speed limits for roads are very simple and not as strict as in America. If there is one lane for one direction, the speed limit is 60 kilometers per hour. If there are two lanes, the speed limit is 70 kph. If there are more than three lanes, the speed limit is 80 kph. And on the highway, the speed limit is 100 kph. Additionally, recently I've heard from Korea that the speed limit will increase by 10 kph because of drivers' complaints. The rule stipulates just to slow down when you are near a school area or when there are pedestrians or some obstacles in the road. According to the Iowa Driver's manual, speed and stopping are intimately related. The higher the speed, the longer it takes to stop the vehicle. Therefore, driving slowly is very important to prevent a car accident. In that respect, indicating a speed limit on the road frequently is very important.

Another thing that makes driving safer in America as the stop sign. You may see more stop signs than speed limit signs on the roads in America. There are also stop signs in Korea. but not many. Since the stop sign in Koea doesn't appear frequently on the road, I overlooked it often. If there is a moving car in an intersection, we stop, but if there is no car, then we can go without stopping. In America, you can see that sometimes four- or three-way stop signs work as a substitute for a traffic light. And at almost every intersection in which a main road and a side road cross or meet, there is a stop sign. All cars should completely stop in front of that sign and the driver should look around carefully before starting again. I think it helps to drive carefully and also to slow down the speed.

The most important and biggest reason for safe driving is that people learn good habits from the beginning when they start to learn driving. As I mentioned above, Americans look like they could drive faster, but they stay at the speed limit. From the driving test, they learn to keep traffic rules. In Korea, when a person gets the driver's license the most important thing to pass the exam is how well you can control your vehicle exactly as in the Iowa Driver's Manual. The examiner tells you everything that may cause you to fail the driving test and the driving test itself is very conventional. In America, however, the examiner seems to care more about observing traffic rules than controlling a vehicle.

I can drive both in Korea and America (right now with a driving permit), but I feel safer and more comfortable in America because of the strictness of the traffic rules and people's intentions and efforts to obey them. Although sometimes I think it's stupid and I feel uneasy driving a car at such a slow speed, it is worth to observe the rules as long as the rules are for our safety in driving. And I think that we Koreans should learn to observe the rules we made like Americans do.

I watched a documentary about West Lake on TV last Saturday night that reminded me of West Lake.

West Lake, which is located in Zhe jiang province, is the most beautiful lake in China. Although I went there 6 years ago, its beautiful scenery is still hovering in my memory.

When you are riding a boat on the lake, you will feel its beauty, mildness, wideness. You cannot see where it will end. Its end seems to be connected to the blue sky. The water in the lake blinks like trifles of the fish, and several boats drift freely on the lake. Beside the lake, there are a lot of willows hanging down to the surface of the lake, like the long hair of a beautiful girl.

The water is calm; when the wind blows, the water moves slowly, like one piece of blue silk. When you touch the water using your hand, you will find the water is smooth and cool with the water dripping slowly along your fingers.

The water is clear, like a mirror. When you lower your head to see the lake, you can see the green grass growing in the bottom of the lake and some fish swimming freely in the water.

On the middle of West Lake, there are three towers forming a circle which is named Moon Tower. It was build in the Ming Dynasty and its design is very ingenious. According to the tourist guide's introduction, you will see eight moons in the lake on the night of the Chinese Moon Festival.

West Lake is a beauty in my heart. I hope I will have a chance to see her again.

I was born in the countryside, Nishio City, next to Toyota City in Aichi Prefecture, Japan. While Aichi Prefecture, similar to State, is abundant of green it is a traditional, exclusive, and conservative area. Historically, there is a notorious general, Tokugawa Ieyasu, who established the Tokugawa shogunate in 1603 and was born near my city. People are influenced by him and respect tradition.

My family consists of my parents, my elder brother, my elder sister, and me. My parents wanted children to write Japanese words--Hiragana, Katakana, and Chinese characters. My parents believe that it is better for people to be good at writing well. It is said in Japan that to write our own names well is to represent how intelligent we are. Even if people are not smart, they are thought as intelligent when they write their names well. Moreover, it is said that writing characters expresses one's own character. Therefore, my parents forced us to practice calligraphy. Calligraphy is a traditional writing, using a black ink brush in order to write Japanese words. In Japanese schools, every third or fourth-grade student must take calligraphy class once a week.

When I was seven years old, I started to practice calligraphy. Every Sunday, my siblings and I went to my teacher's house by train. On the first day, I was a little nervous about my first experience. As I wrote my name in pencil, I was worrying about whether I could write with a thick brush. I sat next to my sister and glanced at how she was doing. She was pouring water into an inkstone, rubbing it in order to produce black India ink. If I did not pay attention to the ink, I spattered the ink on my clothes. I was careful to rub it. About ten minutes later, my sister started to write the Hiragana (the cursive form of the Japanese phonetic syllabary) with a writing brush on a white piece of paper. Japanese words consist of Hiragana, Katakana, and Kanji (Chinese characters). Since the easiest word is Hiragana, children start to learn Hiragana.

In a silent room, several students, including me, concentrated on writing. My teacher, the old person with white hair, had a smiling face. He looked around the room and instructed me how to write. He always praised our work even though the students wrote badly. I was excited to write it. But I felt tired because I had to sit on Tatumi mats and keep silent. However, I was looking forward to buying some snacks after practicing Calligraphy.

To tell the truth, my purpose to practice calligraphy was not to learn but to eat snacks after the calligraphy class. My mother gave us ten yens (equal to ten cents) every Sunday. She gave us permission to buy something that we wanted after the class. My mother was a good mentor because she read our minds about what children were interested in. Almost every Sunday, as I was pleased to eat snacks, I kept on practicing calligraphy with my siblings.

Two years later, my parents found a more popular teacher who lived near my house. We went to his house on bicycles. My previous teacher was kind. However, the students were not satisfied with his instruction. On the other hand, my new teacher gave more detail about how to write well. The new teacher had about forty students. He was so enthusiastic that he did not give a green light to go back home until students wrote well. As I learned from my new teacher, I gradually realized that I needed to concentrate on writing calligraphy. Before starting to write words, I learned to concentrate with my mind, looking at ink. The more I found the importance of writing calligraphy, the more curious I was about doing it. In general, children started off in the first or second grade. At best, children continued to practice calligraphy for two years. In my case, keeping on practicing for ten years is unique in Japan. I did not have a desire to become a calligraphy expert. However, as time went by, I enjoyed not only writing words but also finding the essence of calligraphy. I passed the promotion test. There are fifteen grades in the test. After ten years, I reached the final, most difficult grade. Since I passed the bar exam to become a teacher, I helped children write calligraphy when I was a high school student.

Through my elementary, junior high, and high school, I was praised by my homeroom teachers and classmates. I was confident enough to write on the black board at school.

When I started calligraphy, I was reluctant to do it because I was bored to write and sit on the floor Japanese style. However, since I had learned calligraphy for ten years, I learned not only to write well but also to persevere in my efforts. Moreover, when I look at other's writing, I am able to find other's character through writing. Without notice, I become an expert to see through one's character.

As I walked down the hallway to my first classroom, I noticed the eyes of strangers were staring without harm but their target seemed to be me. It was the first time I've ever met any American kids around my age so I looked at them much more strangely than they looked at me. The first bell rang; students were making noises as they entered the classroom. Sitting in class, I felt so dark and dreary, so different and distant from the other students. I was isolated; my bracelets were the only things there with me. I was concentrating on playing with them around my wrist. Eventually, I disliked the fact of being a new student. Moreover, I disliked the fact of being in a whole new country.

During one break time after many school days had passed, I finally found myself in the playground. It was amazing how crowded the place was, and it sounded like an enjoyable time for all. But those happy moments were so far from me. I stood there like a big statue among the kids. My eyes shut and my mind went blurry. I heard chatting and laughing voices. I saw people holding one another's hands running in a circle and I seemed to be the only one in the middle. I gasped and froze but awoke when something tapped my shoulders. It's her, I know her! An American student sitting next to me in our math class every day. Her gentle eyes with that soft voice melted my icy body. I was ready to give her a warm smile, but it went back coldly when I saw a group of girls, perhaps her friends, were attacking us.

There came another day of school, but this day appeared so bright. I saw my math classroom filled with sunshine; there was a warmth and cheerful reflection. I felt as if this room was so familiar and these strange faces were somehow much closer than before. Even sitting at my usual desk felt more comfortable. I glanced over to my right side. It's Kelly and she gave me a sweet welcome smile. I was so excited as she smiled at me. Someone was finally noticing my presence! While in class, I was chewing gum and making a big bubble. Suddenly, Kelly bent over and used her hand to pop it. And she pointed at some sign posted on the upper right corner of the chalkboard, which I later understood. It said something like "No drinking, eating, or chewing gum in the classroom!" I then knew that it was so important to feel like I had friends again.

My favorite class was math partly because Kelly was in there and most excitingly because I understood the problems and answered all of them thoroughly well. Though it's English that I didn't understand, we shared the number language because it's for international use. I was outstanding in my math class. In retrospect, I had won awards for math contests before I left America. My math level was higher than my American classmates'. Frequently, I was the only one in the class who was able to give the correct answer to our teacher for hard questions. Therefore, I eventually became my math teacher's favorite student and gained a better respect from other students.

From each day onward, I felt happier. I was no longer feeling lonely. One day, I decided to go outside again. Reaching the playground, I observed the heavenly surroundings. I heaved a sigh to relish the fresh air. I remembered there were somber images for this place the first time I met it. On the contrary, this time its views extended more beautifully. The spacious land with grasses grew lively green; its flowers blended in bright yellow. The dandelions flew above the ground. The kids were running on it softly. The students were dispersed into different crowds or groups. There was a group of boys playing basketball on the court, taking their shirts off to show their masculinity. And over there were other groups of girls pushing one another on the swings, so purely feminine. And there, the other side was tight together with a group of more mature girls acting so ladylike.

I was a new participant in Kelly's group. Beth, Shawna, and Tammy were in our same 6th A class. Other girls were our classmates too but in different sections. Since I was new to them, I seemed to be in the center of their universe. Every one of them tried to talk to me. I know they respected me for my math intelligence and perhaps they liked me out of pity because I didn't speak English at the time. Whatever the case, I felt as if I got the most attention of all. They acted very affably. More admirably, they tried to teach me English. We were leaning against the columns of the school; Kelly was pointing at her nose and asked me what is this? I said "nose" and she looked happy as I got the right answer. Then Beth pointed at her cheek and asked the same question. They did that continually in turn. And every time I answered it right they would give me big applause. I liked them very much because of their friendliness.

It was 1992 when our middle school became too small to keep us for another couple of years. We entered high school when we were in 7th grade. The transient year flew so fast; how amazing that I'd already finished a half-year of school in America. I remember before I entered middle school a half-year before, I was wondering and imagining if America's schools were going to be any different from my school in Vietnam, and I would cope with a totally new environment. Nevertheless, I was happy when the hardest period of acculturation had passed. I was even happier that I had friends again, as I thought I had lost them all when I left for America.

High school had begun for us. This school turned out to be another new place for me. It definitely was bigger than our middle school. It's a three-story building, and it looked old but appeared durable and imposing. There were older students and their cars were in the parking lot. Usually people were proud to announce themselves as high school students. However, there is always a beginning price to pay for that. And I believe most high school students can commiserate with my meaning.

It was a hard time in the beginning of the year. We used to be the head of the whole school, but then we were the tine ones in this bigger world. New students were usually humiliated. I witnessed one time a classmate Mark walk into a science classroom while I was there with my ESL teaching assistant to discuss whether I needed to take a science class with Mr. Schwartz. Mark entered the class with all junior and senior students. He soon knew that he was in the wrong classroom, but that didn't help him any. The students in the classroom were giggling and murmuring to one another as they stared at Mark with amusement. After a few seconds of embarrassment, Mark quickly walked out of the classroom. But the evil laughing wasn't all gone when Mark was out of sight.

I know some of my friends were being teased as well. That became a common thing in high school as I later found out. The big guys bully the little guys. I was luckier, I never felt like I was made fun of, well, not that I knew of. I was being watched carefully by teachers in every class, simply because I didn't speak English well and it was against school rules to humiliate foreigners.

I was required to take 2 more years of ESL classes. So I was at the stage of making new friends again. I hardly had any classes with my friends from middle school. We were scheduled into different hours; we were no longer in the same class all day long. I used to meet them only in the hallway. But I didn't see that many happy faces anymore. They fought so hard to survive the first year. They were trying to fit in. Each of my friends scattered into different groups. Consequently, everybody seemed so distant from one another and only a simple greeting "hi, how are you?" lasted among us.

I valued the time I had with these American girls, not because they were trying to teach me the language but because they were teaching me the culture. Observing our physical differences, I was afraid to talk to American people at first. Through these little friendships, I learned that American people don't bite, they are friendly. Besides that little lesson, this experience also brought my self-confidence back. It was not being the best math student that made me proud. I was proud from the attention and respect I had from them.

I was walking in the hallway and smiled at those who I once considered my best friends. But our connection drifted apart with those smiles. We were no longer close. This corrupted feeling was so familiar to me. Oh, that similar feeling was just how I felt when I left for America. I'd left all my childhood friends behind. There was not a forever "good-bye" between us--we can still by in physical contact with each other some other day. However, the closeness was gone as time went on and it's irrevocable. It was such a pain to see it happening again. Therefore, it's a sad thing in life to lost my good friends, not once but twice.

I believe every one of us has shared the same feeling of losing a friend at least once in a lifetime. The difference is how we lost him or her. Based on my experience, losing friends is very sat at the moment. There's still that naïve memory inside, but in reality that remembrance is no longer in my hand. Of course, there are many others whom I can be friends with. But through the friendship that I went through, my thought at the time was "So what is the point of making new friends if I keep losing them?" However, I was just a little girl then. My definition of friendship was simply anyone whom I could play with. Plus, I was a lonely girl when I first came to America. I am not that little lonely girl anymore. I now have the ability to choose friends. In finding a good friend, I have learned that looking at a person's personality is more important than simply thinking of someone I can only have fun with. With that propensity, I am very positive about perpetuating my friendships longer.

Overall, the experience of losing friends gave me a broader view of a cyclical life. Eventually, everything we have will come and go, either intentionally or accidentally; for example, relationships and jobs. Loss is typical, we had the ability to get it once, sure enough we have the ability to get it again. Loss is a thing that should be easily accepted, time will help to heal it. This experience made me a stronger person. I won't feel that much pain if I lost something that once belonged to me. I know that I can get a different and possibly a better one.

The auditorium is full of people conversing in the audience. On the stage the performers are shuffling their music and tuning their instruments as they prepare for the performance. The conductor enters, takes a bow, and all is silent. He raises his baton and the symphony begins to play. All of the instruments have different sounds, and the parts they play blend and harmonize with one another. The music would not be as exciting if every part were the same. The symphony is a symbol for life, especially in a community. Diversity and the coming together of each instrument is what gives the symphony its unique and special sound. This is also true in life and the world we live in. Individuals bring in their own input that influences others.

A symphony orchestra is composed of a variety of brass, woodwind, percussion and stringed instruments. Each of these instruments has its own unique sound but when played together they complement each other. Like a symphony and its instruments, the world is composed of many races and cultures. They are uniquely different but can have an influence on each other even if it is not intentional. If you are walking down the street, for example, and move out of the way so as not to bump into someone, they are influencing your actions when you move aside.

Individuality is an important part of the symphony. Each player has his or her own part to perform. These parts can be played on their own but do not have the same effect as when they are combined with the other parts of the orchestra. They blend into a harmonious piece of music. In other words, you can hear what each person has to contribute and how each performer works together. In life. each person has a talent that they are particularly good at. When they work together, it accentuates their talent. A surgeon can be very gifted but is more capable of saving a life if he has a team of medical personnel assisting him.

In an essay called "The Gospel of Wealth," Andrew Carnegie discussed his views on wealth, the public good, and individualism. He described individualism as "a nobler ideal that man should labor, not for himself alone, but in and for a brotherhood of his fellows, and share with them all in common." Carnegie felt that individuality was important, but should not be taken so far that it separates everyone from each other. Each person should contribute their own ideas that better help the community as a whole.

Another similarity between life and the symphony is that a performer may not always have the melody but will accompany someone who does. Or in another case, a performer will not always have a solo and the chance to be in the spotlight. In life, everybody has their moments of glory although they may go unnoticed like the accompanist. This does not mean, however, that they are any less important than anyone else. The melody does not stay with one instrument for the whole song but moves throughout the orchestra. As in life, everyone eventually has their moment to shine and their chance to be in the spotlight.

When preparing for a concert, the musicians are reminded by their conductor to stagger their breathing. They can, of course, breathe when they need to but they have to try not to breathe at the same time as the person sitting next to them. If everyone breathed at the same time, there would be a noticeable moment of silence in the song. This is yet another example that can be applied to life. People have to breathe when they need to breathe and to do what they want to do. They have to be an individual and know that someone will be there to cover for them.

The orchestra continues to play. It moves together as a group yet separately, with each person contributing their own part. Each musician is an active member of the symphony. We more together in life, contributing what we have to offer from day to day as active members in our community. The orchestra plays their last note and the song is over. There is a moment of silence that is broken by the applause of the audience.

"Damn that God-forsaken shelf,... I swear I'm going to rip that son-of-a-bitching thing off the wall," stirring up through the dirty sheets, rubbing his head, "shit!, I hate morning." Jake labored to reach for an open pack of Marlboros without disturbing the sheets that were keeping him partially covered. Forcing himself out of bed after a couple of drags off a tasteless cigarette, he found a pair of worn-out jeans to slip into laying in a heal on the floor next to the bed, as to prevent himself from shivering to death.

They call him Jake for short, his real name is Jacob Slader, an unemployed fiction writer, who is desperately lost in the depths of despair after finding himself frustrated with his life. His only true accomplishment was some obscure novel called Overtaking the Throne, that sparked a wave of controversy in local literary circles--something to do with a haunting realism to future events. Other than that, he lives a fairly mundane existence, completely void of any initiative to do much of anything, feeling sorry for himself most of the time--an utter loner with absolutely no friends.

One cold and windy, foggy fall day he decided to take a morning stroll in the park. Sometimes he lacks motivation to do anything until he decided to just get up and going, with little intention of ever accomplishing a thing. Placing his favorite old tattered denim jacket over his bony shoulders, he made his way out into the hall, down the corner and the flight of stairs into the crowded street already bustling with traffic.

He frantically walked along that familiar sidewalk with the many cracks with dying weeds pushing through them, as if in some mad rush to prove to himself that he wasn't a lazy, good-for-nothing. As Jake moved along, he started sensing some awfully strange thoughts he had found somehow unsettling. He couldn't quite place what was so different about this particular morning, for he was usually out in leftfield anyway, preoccupied with "some inner conflict" or how he thought things should be and the way things actually were. Passing the newsstand, happening to glimpse out the corner of his slightly out-of-focus eye, he glanced back to recognize a headline that struggled to stay in place in the rustling wind, "Mass Murderer Lurks in Kings Port." Great!, he thought as he continued in route to the park. Usually, he wasn't the kind of person to worry about things he thought didn't concern him; however, his throat struggled to swallow and he couldn't shake this distinct harshness that was far from his typical defense.

The morning air was fresh and exhilaratingly cool as he said to himself, "shit, I hate having to find something to do, I wish all these damned bastards could be a little less sociable," being extremely spiteful of others for appearing to have friends and looking as though they had something halfway interesting to do. As he entered through the old, tarnished, wrought-iron gates of the park, laden with ivy burnt from warmer days, he fumbled for a cigarette and struggled to get it lit in the windy conditions of the morning. Still half asleep, wishing he hadn't staggered out of his small, run-down apartment without at least four or five cups of his regular, pungent-tasting coffee, it dawned on him that he was out of coffee anyway, as well as any money or any kind of hope for the coming day.

Preoccupied by his devastating dreadfulness of the morning, he lost himself within the fine mist drifting off the dew nestled in the surrounding grass of the park, being completely oblivious to the morning's paper and wondering what the hell he was going to do that day. His mind often wandered to places that kept him stuck in a rut, that soon became an obsession of self-pity and hopelessness.

Pondering as he journeyed onward into the park, he said to himself, "Hum...the park...,it seems a bit quite for such a morning, it's usually full of people on their way to the many places that they go, wherever that may be. Even the vendors are absent from the park...shit, that's odd." Having somehow generated an ever-raging fear, finding it difficult to take the steps to move forward, he looked down and saw a weathered pamphlet that those religious types always attack you with. And thought for a moment about Divinity, the only true friend he every had, who fell to his death from the gnarled dogwood tree that was in his backyard, that the two of them loved to climb as children.

Coming back from his momentary daydream, he managed to continue walking along the wide cobblestone path covered by a canopy of hanging masses of entangled leaves drenched with the residue of bitter autumn, with little regard for what might lie ahead. Suddenly with a burst, an unrecognizable figure lunged out from behind some partly-obscured shrubbery, overwhelming him. Startled, he sighed at the sight of a scrawny-looking stray dog. Even though he was probably rabid, his threat of distemper was of little regard to his compelling impulses of something much worse. Staggering from the perplexity of his relief, the canine scurried off into some distant trees to take cover from a creature much more threatening than he could ever have imagined, even though thoughts of that nature were often found cluttering his head.

Since it had gotten late, so he guessed for he couldn't tell because his enraged senses had him reeling at the slightest inconsistency. Remembering the days when a walk in the park meant something new and exciting each time he made his way through it, it sounded much like a false memory that he must have picked up from someone else. Turning to step towards the comfort of his home, he noticed what appeared as a disgustingly disfigured man wearing an old Army trench coat, mattered with the stains of many musty days of being stuck in a free box at some rundown second-hand store. Vanishing in a slight bend that lay ahead, beyond his sight, he wondered if only for one last moment, hum..., what if...?

Reaching his destination, the entrance of the park where earlier he walked confidently onward with all the bitterness of what lie ahead and a lack of certainty of what to do with himself, he continued on. Vaguely recalling the old, dilapidated gate in the distance, nearing just ahead in the lifting fog--he broke free, out into the clearing. Jake abruptly dropped to his knees with intense pain, flaring as impulses down his bony spine, bringing him even closer to the half-frozen ground on which he had just walked so humbly.

Forcing up onto the weak and shaking arms from the cold pavement, Jake glared into a smeared pool of his own blood, glistening with the sheen of fallen leaves, littering the warm puddle, with a raising steam drifting away in the unrelenting wind. His desperate efforts were to no avail, as he dropped limp, face down in a blurry haze of uncertainty--what had happened?

Never again was he to walk in the park, as the howling winds blew, everything changed. His thoughts seemingly faded into a silent scream, as he could no longer go on, for he tried...one last moment.

His silent scream, heard only to him, continued onwards definitely into a shattering radiance that carried a distinctive haunting presence. Instantly feeling a frightening sensation of an unknown warmth that was encompassing him, as if an infant in a young mother's womb, disconcerted, he found a longing to be engulfed by the calming warmth. Without any forewarning, an unseen darkness flashed before him, bringing him instantaneously away from that fortifying warmth and throwing him into a bitterness of unrelenting frigidness, leaving him suspended in a murky bewilderment, unlike anything he's known before.

He had always thought that it wouldn't be like this--a light at the end of a long tunnel, maybe?... Hell, all he knew was that he masochistically enjoyed the great release that he had often tried to find numerous times back on earth. But this was different. He wanted to be consumed by this unknown force while at the same time realizing that this definitely wasn't right.

Breaking through to the other side, his ears were melted with the penetrating bellow, "I am Zabulas, I own you, I am your master--you are mine!" At that precise moment he realized his horrible fate, yet didn't care, actually believing that he deserved what he had coming, oblivious to how long an eternity actually was.

Layer after layer, terrible creatures were sparring from within, churning and lashing, just waiting for his arrival. These mutations were the remembrances of Man's tinkering with nature, genetically-engineered creations that went astray in laboratory experiments, a little gift for Satan, representing lost hope, aspirations, and shattered dreams. As strange as he found this, Jake soon became unaware of his own mortality due to his unshakable desires of greed and lust that just appeared to come from nowhere. His surfacing memories of the longing for power and respect--with all the beautiful women and honor he always thought money would bring, left him feeling angrily empty.

Wishing he could stop his thoughts from cascading over the embers of despair, his gloominess soon gave way to an insinuating sense of incontrovertible remorse and a loathing of his horrible circumstances. He soon discovered that "the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn," was extremely distasteful. Once Pandora's box was cracked, all his ignorance and ugliness came spilling out, leaving him gazing long into an abyss of an enigmatic fear and drowning in a tide of hatred.

The innumerable accounts of damned, lost souls soon found their way to his mangled carcass as he tried to emerge, anxiously ready to torture and antagonize. The only means of satisfaction for these heathen spirits stems from their chances to urinate, defecate, kick, spit, and spew up infected blood and vomit on their new arrivals. Clawing deep permeating wounds, as others gash your eyes out and sever your limbs from their natural position. Wrenching and jerking as each fights for a chance to see you squirm and fill you with excruciating pain, beyond horrifying belief.

As images of his past life struggled to emanate into a sprouting seed of hope, the undeniable face of reality reared its gruesome head and he laid sprawled out, worming in search of deliverance. Jake was taken in by the earthy gloom of charred, twisting roots buckling from the outreached hands of the numerous accounts of fallen victims of their own demise, disturbing his infatuation with the unbearable stench and the horrific taste of bone, teeth, burning raw flesh and blood.

Deep within the very essence of his being, blew a wind of change. Instead of despising his newfound company, the cloud lifted and he discovered a grand release. With Jake's revelation that "divorcing from law and morals, wickedness armed is hardest to deal with," and even though he realized that he's no saint, from somewhere he felt real compassion and an understanding for all the decrepit souls in his midst. For "chastity is the flowering of Man" and he's merely a just creature of appetite--lost in desperation. Nonetheless, "men do not know where Hell-demons direct their footsteps" and with his genuine concern for others at such a crucial moment, it didn't fall on deaf ears. Thinking of others, not himself, Jake began to pray, "so may justice and mercy soon disburden them, that God may spread the wings that lift them according to His desire," and with that, his contorted disposition temporarily floundered.

With a single thought that "fate often saves the doomed man when his courage is good," Jake realized for the briefest moment what was lost--the chance to change his wicked ways. Jake understood deceitful maneuvers from his experiences as a writer, the fight to get his written words published. Without consciously thinking, a sincere flood of regard for others devoured him--a constellation of thoughts from his life as an absolute and total fraud allowed him to question his role in his interactions with others.

Taking notice, Satan instantly forces his propaganda on Jake, "everybody's business is nobody's business" as he hurled him into a fiery pit, a boiling cauldron of unrelenting dire evil that attempted to steal his thoughts. Yet his empty hollowness remained somehow far from vacant, an underlying faith of hope merged into an armor of protection that unleashed a wind of change. Having latched onto a floating remnant of promise within the perpetual darkness, lunged an all-consuming light down on top of him, blanketing him in a calming warmth.

"Power from Heaven moved me and by its help I come. Not for doing, but for not doing," Jacob smiled with the delight of a loving child at what had appeared to be a miracle. Awestruck by a cornucopia of delightful sensations overflowing from Elysian fields, his heart fluttered with a joyfulness of an immense magnitude. Rays of brilliant light created an ambience of peacefulness that filled Jacob with an elation of relief--giving victory over his burden of doubtfulness and his fleeting lack of faith in himself.

"By spirit is understood a wind, that is an air or a spirit moved, which might be called as in the former place the spirit of God because it was God's work" permeated Jacob's thoughts with an encouraging vigor so intense that all other thoughts were entirely erased. In total disbelief at what had happened, a dominant voice pierced his thoughts, "WHAT IS BEHIND THOSE LOST EYES THAT BRINGS TEARS?" for Jacob had broken down with a mystifying fear.

"I'm weak and I'll never possess the conviction to obtain the discipline to change...I've always carried the weight of all my transgressions into the thoughts of tomorrow." Being his own worst enemy, Jacob had no choice but to be honest, for even in Heaven his selfish lack of consideration poisoned his thoughts. Every moment Jacob faced in his past life brought with it the experiences of shame-induced regret that he adopted by his lust for what he thought was "justice," a cankerous sore of deceit infecting his thoughts.

The voice of God cleared the air as if it were a great gust of wind grabbing his attention: "MY SON, UNDERSTAND THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SPARED FOR A REASON AND WITH CONTINUED FAITH IN ME, YOU WILL CONQUER GRAND ADVERSITIES." Jacob then knew through divine graces that he was special--as though the only child of a proud mother--and for the first time in his menial existence realized his potential destiny.

His wildest dreams were far from the excitement that came over him upon coming to terms with his shortcomings, which uniquely placed him far removed from the delight of being in such a paradise. His sudden wisdom of the very manner in which everything plays a predestined role within the entire scope of what is simply known as life was a magnificent feeling--when every mystery finds its home. These design features were more than any earthly human could ever imagine and Jacob felt ultimately blessed for having seen into the labyrinth, well beyond the release of never having a question, yet...still he began to think...

With that precognition of his next thought, God spoke, "HIS LIPS ARE ON THE TRUMPET, YOU MUST GO NOW AND PREPARE. THERE IS MUCH TO DO--YOUR PURPUSE WILL BE REVEALED WITH THE PASSAGE OF TIME." Jacob's newly-discovered conquest placed him in an unpredictable quest for rebirth, where every single moment of his life had led up to this exact point in time and the time to act had come.

Jacob's next thought aided insight into his ineluctable future, "if man could reach out to the moon, can't he also then reach out to his brothers in need?" This was a start contrast of thinking that blew him away---for this foresight would be his instructional guide, his new inner voice.

With that, a wistful trifling of realism filtered in from the bounds of an earthly domain. Jacob started to drift aimlessly back to his current state of recovering from his recent fatality. Unaware of where he had just journeyed, Jacob had to deal with the task at hand--moving forward with a reverent dedication to improve and change.

Today, there are still some people asking me why I decided to go to Russia. But that does not bother me at all. It always reminds me that once in my life, there I was in a small town called Vyborg in the St. Petersburg Region in Russia. There, I saw myself as an exchange student and an outsider in that community.

I remember as the plane landed in Moscow airport one day in August 1994, I could feel that my life would not be the same anymore. I would never have anyone to talk to like I had my best friends in my hometown. I would never be able to completely express my feelings like I could in the Thai language. I would not see my mom and my sister for a whole year. I knew I would feel alone. I told my friends who were also exchange students that I was afraid to step out of the airplane. We were all going to face the real world. Even though we knew we could not speak Russian, we were ready to face it. I hoped I would change my mind but I knew I was not going to.

It was summertime but my hands were all clammy and I was shaking. It was cold for me and it was much colder when I felt I was surrounded by strangers in the new world. I was in the middle of nowhere even though it was not the first time I went abroad. I had been in New Zealand before but they all spoke English. I did not know what Russian people were talking about. Sometimes they talked to me but I could only smile back even though they might be calling me names. I remembered one time I was on the bus with my host sister. One man came to us and asked me where I was from. When I said I was from Thailand, he insulted me by calling me a prostitute. With that I learned how Russian people thought about Thailand.

I knew some good and bad people around me. I had two host families. My host families were different from mine. They both had many members and different relationships with each other. For example, my Thai grandmother would never walk from her house every day to cook food for my family. My first host family was not as nice as I expected. They did not help me fit into the society like my second host family did. My first host family did not pay attention to me as they should. I was so glad that I moved to my second host family. I could talk to them whenever I had problems. I was close to my host sisters and I loved my host younger brother. I did respect my host parents in the way they raised their children. My host sisters and brother were the nicest Russian people as they always helped me with the Russian language. We loved to be together all the time. I remembered every day after school I played with my host brother. We would play Kung Fu and act like Jackie Chan, a Chinese movie star. He was only six and always wanted to kick my butt. And late at night I watched soap operas on TV with one of my host sisters who was in my grade. I was so lucky to be with them.

Time did not help me fit in much. To learn how to speak Russian was clearly complicated. Russian grammar was not easy. It was the most difficult thing I ever dealt with. There were so many rules to remember. It took me at least 4 months to speak in daily life. The language was completely difficult and it was much harder for me when I had no chance to speak Russian with anybody as people acted like I was not there when I tried to speak to them. The Russian language was not easy to learn. It was really hard for me to get the word out since I had such a small Russian vocabulary. I remember sometimes I had to write the words down on a piece of paper to make sure people would understand what I was talking about. Many people spoke too fast so that I could not catch what they were talking about.

For almost the whole year I was there I could hardly speak, not even in my own language. But that was not as bad as it sounds. To be an outsider did not mean that I would not belong to that group forever. I reckoned it as a challenge. I would face the obstacles going uphill, then I might come tumbling down. But I would try it again. I was glad that I opened my eyes, ears, and heart to learn about the cities, the people, the language, and also about me.

Two people, a BOY and a GIRL walk in, buy two glasses of beer and make their way through the hordes of crowds, to a particular table, as if this is a regular activity.

Close on both the BOY and the GIRL sitting at the table. Both set their drinks on the table and take off their coats and sit down. As they drink, they brush aside the smoke-filled air.

BOY: (takes a sip of beer and sets it back down on the table and thinks. He puts his hands behind his head)

GIRL: (Wrinkling her face as if in disbelief)

BOY: (Waving his arms to make a point)

GIRL: (Rolls eyes in confusion)

Everything else?

BOY: (Starts laughing) I had to do all this meaningless

GIRL: (Pauses to think) Same here.

BOY: (Excitedly) No way! At least I have fun

GIRL: Well true, um; I never enjoyed high

BOY: (Snickering) God, if only he saw us now--

GIRL: (Excitedly waving her hands) He'd like,

But what?

GIRL: (Her voice volume gradually rising, she

also coughs a little)

Uh-huh. Sure.

GIRL: Think about it. What did we do last

weekend?

BOY: We came here.

GIRL: And the weekend before last?

BOY: (He points around the bar as he answers.)

We came here.

GIRL: And the weekend--

BOY: (Very irritably) I get the point, you don't

have to rub it in.

GIRL: I doubt that. But never mind.

Three, a--

Cut about thirty degrees to the right and close

in on the BOY.

BOY: Three?

GIRL: A 9:30, 2:30, and a 3:30

BOY: I would hate to have a 9:30.

Camera moves another thirty degrees or so to

close on the GIRL

eyes) Talk about structured.

BOY: That sounds a lot like my schedule.

GIRL: Yeah?

Cut to an over-the-shoulder shot, this time of

the BOY.

Cut the camera in the direction it came. Show

GIRL: (pauses)

You know--

BOY: (irritably, enunciating each syllable)

GIRL: (Glances around the room)

BOY: Na. Let's go.

The two of them walk outside before

BOY: (Very solemn, dull tone)

We see the BOY walk slowly and deliberately and watch his facial expression become more and more depressed as the reality of the rigid and structured lifestyle he will continue to lead sets in. He is silent as he realizes just how difficult his life will be for the next four years. We see him angrily kick an empty beer can down the sidewalk until he and the GIRL are out of sight.

FADE OUT

Hi, I am Angela Ward and I am a nontraditional graduate student at The University of Iowa. While there are many different definitions of what exactly a nontraditional student is, I am one because I am not an 18 to 22 year old student living on campus. I have two children Bradley, who is 13, and Kathleen, who is six and a half. She will tell you that the half is very important, she is not just six years old. I have written about what a typical day, a Thursday, is like for me and hope my story will raise your awareness of what it is like to be different on this campus.

5:45 am: What is that horrid discordant noise? Oh, the alarm clock. I hit the snooze button because there is no way I can make my body move from this bed.

5:54 am: Unnhhh — I do not want to get up, but I have to. I turn the alarm clock off and get a jolt from the temperature difference outside my blankets. Quickly I put on the sweats that I tossed on the floor last night — or was it earlier this morning? And warm socks — I live for warm, cozy socks.

6:00 am: A cup of steaming hot spiced cider and I go to the garage for my wake-up smoke. Since I only hit the snooze once, maybe I have time for one more — I have more cider left and I hate for things to come out uneven. I am planning to quit soon, but not during the semester. I tried that before, and it was not pretty.

6:15 am: What should I wear? I check the weather forecast and decide on a corduroy dress. This dress does not need to be ironed, does it? It looks okay now, but I know that in the daylight it will look wrinkled. I toss it in the dryer while I look for tights and shoes. Out of the dryer and it does not look any better. Rats. I need to iron it.

6:30 am: I am dressed but have to do my hair and face before my kids get up so I can have the bathroom to myself.

6:45 am: I am now weak from hunger. I toast a bagel and toss an extra one in my backpack for lunch.

7:00 am: Wake up the kids — they are not any more anxious to get out of bed than I was. I threaten Bradley with having to walk to school if he does not get up and get ready by the time I leave. If I remember, I have Kathleen lay out her clothes the night before, which simplifies my life immensely. Otherwise nothing I suggest is what she wants to wear and we end up arguing. I get her dressed while she is half asleep and put a brush in her hand while I go get Bradley out of bed.

7:10 am: Bradley finally stumbles out of bed and starts his bath which can be interesting because he is still half asleep and sometimes goes back to bed for "just a minute" and the tub gets really full. No overflows yet, though.

7:20 am: I help Kathleen brush her teeth, put her shoes on, and get her backpack ready. Bradley is now out of the tub and looking for clean pants to wear. He has a mental block about getting his dirty laundry downstairs to the laundry room, so this is often a pleasant little hunt.

7:30 am: I load the stuff for tonight’s Brownie meeting into the trunk: washable paints, art smock dresses, old pie tins, apples, a potato, and my book of game ideas.

7:35 am: Bradley needs to eat breakfast and "there is never anything to eat around here" according to him. I guess cereal, bagels, toast, and muffins are inedible. He grabs some cold pizza from the fridge and his shoes on his way to the car.

7:40 am: Now we have the inevitable argument over whose turn it is to sit in the front seat of the car. Never mind that it is a three minute drive to Kathleen’s school and that Bradley can then jump in the front seat when she gets out - you would think the front seat is a throne or something the way my kids argue about it. I would threaten them with riding in the trunk, except that they would probably want to do it.

7:43 am: Kathleen is at school where she is enrolled in the before and after program. I get her signed in and since she has arrived before the 7:45 cut-off — a small triumph — she gets to eat breakfast. Now back to the car to pick up two of Bradley’s friends and get them to school by 8:00 am.

8:05 am: Stop at the Hy-Vee store to buy limes and oranges for the Brownie meeting.

8:10 am: I drive to work, park in my assigned parking lot, and get my 50 pound backpack out of the trunk. I then walk up the 48 steps (yes, I have counted them) to the International Center where I have my graduate assistantship. Once inside the building, I take the elevator up two floors so I can catch my breath and not walk into work gasping for breath. (Yes, I know I need to quit smoking, but not during the semester.)

8:20 am: Okay, now I am ready for a nap. I turn on my computer, check my snail mailbox, and begin work. I really enjoy my work at the Center for Credit Programs, and manage to keep busy working with the nontraditional students.

11:30 I am hungry again, so I go to see what is on the menu at the café downstairs. Nothing vegetarian — again — so I guess it is a bagel and vendo-land for me.

12:00 pm: Back to work updating the database and checking on the students who need to finish their correspondence courses. Think about whether I have everything I need for the Brownie meeting tonight.

2:15 pm: Leave work to go to class. It is the discussion section for my statistics class, and usually I am the only one who shows up, so it is really a tutoring session with the TA. This is fine with me, because I struggle with the course. The other day I asked the TA if we could make a deal — he would pass mw in the class if I promised never to attempt statistics on my own — he laughed.

2:40 pm: Back up the 48 steps to work — who needs a gym membership?

4:30 pm: Call Mom to check on the kids. They are fine. I will pick up Kathleen at 6:45 for the Brownie meeting. Bradley is doing his homework and when he is finished he will help my Dad in his woodshop.

4:45 pm: Leave work to go to my practicum at the Women’s Resource and Action Center. Drive my car over and park in the ramp because it will be too dark to walk back to my car alone when I am done. Go over to the IMU to get something to eat for dinner — I hope they have baked potatoes. There is a volunteer meeting tonight so help arrange the furniture and set out the food. Bonus — I get to taste the food to make sure it is not poison. Every other Thursday night I leave the WRAC at 6:30 instead of 7:00 because I am the leader of Kathleen’s Brownie Girl Scout troop.

6:45 pm: Pick up Kathleen and go to her school for the meeting. Lug in the paint, art dresses, apples, potatoes, limes, oranges, pie tins, and the books — we are painting with fruit tonight to explore color and texture. First, we go to the gym to join the Cub Scouts for a presentation by a woman from the MacBride Raptor Project. She has brought an American Kestrel and a Screech Owl with her. Both birds are permanent residents of the Raptor Center because they are injured so badly that they would not be able to survive in the wild. Her presentation is interesting and the birds are fascinating. Next we get to paint with the fruit — the girls wear the dresses to keep their clothes clean, and they have a fun time painting without brushes.

8:00 pm: Time to clean up our mess — and it is a mess! The Brownie meeting is over and everyone has a lovely picture to take home. The room smells like limes so maybe the custodial staff will think we cleaned really well. I load my stuff back into the car with the paint-covered dresses all wadded up.

8:20 pm: Home finally! It is time for snacks and jammies for the kids. They hate to go to bed but I would love to be able to crawl into mine right about now. Hey — I never did get that nap I needed about 12 hours ago.

9:00 Hugs, kisses, and good night wishes. The kids are tucked in, have had their last drinks of water, and books are put away. Now I can study — if I can keep my eyes open — that is!

12:00 am: I give! I can no longer focus and my eyes feel like they have sand in them. It is time for me to head to bed, and I fall into a coma as my head is on its’ way to my pillow.

I would not change my circumstances, such as not having my children or not being in graduate school because both of these aspects of my life are central to who I am. I would change the culture of the University to be more inclusive of nontraditional students, however. While all the rhetoric and dialogue about diversity is important, it is not enough to simply discuss the subject. True acceptance of diverse students needs to become a reality. I don’t expect any "special" treatment because of my various life roles and responsibilities, but I do expect to be valued — as a person who has something to offer the higher education community as well as a person who can benefit from it.

There are exceptional places on campus where I feel valued, such as in the Writing Center, the WRAC, and at my assistantship at the CCP, but the pervasive culture on campus is not welcoming nor validating to this nontraditional student. There is no place for nontraditional students to gather and connect with one another, so student group that addresses the concerns of students who juggle school as one of their many life roles. I must seek my validation on my own and while I realize that ultimately everyone must also make his or her own way, some institutional support seems like a reasonable request.