Youth Radio - Topic: National Network

They Got Me Through

rgee — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 07:52:46 -0500

Originally published by L.A. Youth, the newspaper by and about teens.

Editors’ note: L.A. Youth published this story from their archives to mark the seventh anniversary of their Foster Youth Writing Project and to highlight the importance of support in foster youths’ lives. Click here to read other stories by foster youth.

By Teresa Hidalgo, 18, Sierra Vist HS (Baldwin Park, 2005 graduate)

Before I entered the foster care system, I thought that I would walk in the same footsteps as my cousins. I would live in poverty and probably get pregnant at the age of 15 or be addicted to drugs. But everything changed when I met my foster parents. I experienced the support of a caring family and learned about college.

At the age of 11, I moved into my foster parents’ home with two of my five siblings. It was my third foster home in one year. I thought, “Oh man, here we go again. I need to start all over again, new school, new friends and a new family.” I was nervous, but as soon as we moved in, my foster dad made jokes. I saw that my brothers David and Ray were laughing and I relaxed.

Their house was beautiful and I had my own room. My foster dad helped my brothers unpack and my foster mother helped me unpack,which is something my previous foster mothers did not do. This made me feel welcome. While my foster mother and I unpacked my clothes, she talked about her family and asked me questions about my family and what things I liked to do. It was important for me to live with a married couple because my parents never married, and it was something I wished they had done. I guess I thought that if they were married, there could have been more stability and maybe we could have been a closer family.

Before we went into foster care, my siblings and I had been living with my grandmother. How come we didn’t live with my parents? Well, let me inform you. My mother was a druggie and my father was an alcoholic. What more do I have to say? My grandmother was our legal guardian, but she was EVIL! I grew up fearing her presence, even her name! She would beat us horribly, with spoons, cords, basically whatever object she spotted first. We had bruises every day.

 When I was 10, I told my attorney and immediately my siblings and I were taken away from my grandmother and placed in separate foster homes. My first two foster homes were nice, but they didn’t feel like home and I didn’t like being away from my siblings. When I moved in with my new foster parents, I was happy because I was going to live with my brothers again, and my three younger siblings were living a block away.

My life began changing in a positive way as soon as I moved in. My foster dad told me that my only responsibility was my education. I had been getting Ds in almost every subject. I liked school, but when I didn’t understand something, I would easily give up. No one in my other foster homes helped me with my homework. My foster dad would sit with me every night to help me. After a few months, I became interested in school and became one of the top students in my class.

My social worker decided to put me in therapy because I had been having nightmares about my grandmother killing me. There were nights when I couldn’t sleep because I feared going back to live with her. In therapy I opened up. I needed to let go of my fear of my grandmother. I needed to talk to someone about how lonely it felt without all my siblings living with me. I needed to talk about feeling like an outcast because I didn’t have a “normal life.” I was worried about getting picked on or being the girl that students gossip about if they found out I was a “foster kid.” My therapist was a great help. I learned how to express my feelings, and she made me feel safe because she would tell me that my grandmother was not going to harm me anymore. I had no contact with my grandmother and soon enough I stopped fearing her.

My foster parents’ daughter, Diana, became a big part of my life. She lived nearby and taught at my elementary school, where I was in sixth grade. On weekends I would go to dinner and the movies with her and her friends and spend the night at her house. She would introduce me as her little sister. She got me interested in college. She would talk about her experience living in a residence hall, and how she met so many new people. She always told me that college was the best four years of her life. Diana became my idol and I loved her as my sister.

Things finally felt normal

My life felt stable for the first time since I entered foster care. I saw my siblings daily. My foster family was caring. I was doing well in therapy and in school.

But after a year, things changed. When I first entered the foster care system I was too young to understand that it was possible for my siblings and I to be separated forever. At that moment I was happy that we were away from my grandmother. But in seventh grade, my siblings Miguel, Morena and Isabel—who had been living a block away—moved an hour away to a foster home in Victorville because it turned out that their foster mom had been physically abusing them. I was surprised and hurt by the news. I had grown to love my siblings’ foster mother as much as they did. She would hug them frequently and call them names like “sweetie,” “honey” and sometimes “my little babies.”

Then one day a few months later my brother David stabbed his teacher with a pencil, so he was placed in a hospital. David had Attention Deficit Disorder, but I never understood his sickness until my foster father explained it to me. He told me that David was not always able to control his behavior. He said David was not a bad person, that he just had a problem and that he needed help. I was thankful that David was getting help, but at night I would cry myself to sleep because I knew that David felt lonely sleeping at the hospital. I felt bad that he had to be in the hospital with kids he didn’t even know and who were probably worse than him. I wished that it were me in the hospital instead of him so he wouldn’t have to go through such an awful experience. After six months, David came out of the hospital and was placed in a different foster home.

When we had lived with my grandmother, I used to cook for, clean and bathe my siblings. When I was in school I would worry if they were OK. When I was at home I would worry about them getting fed or just being happy. I had been the mother figure, so it was hard when my siblings moved away. My older brother Ray and I saw David and my younger siblings twice a month for two hours at our foster care agency. When I missed them a lot I would call or write them letters. I would tell them how Ray and me were doing and how I was doing in school. I always said I missed them and loved them.

Since Ray was the only one living with me, we became closer. We would hang out at school and after school we would play baseball with friends. Ray was my distraction. He was good at making me laugh. He would mock people on the television. He would also play Barbies with me so I wouldn’t have to play by myself. Sometimes I would forget that I lived in a foster home. My foster parents treated me as more than just a foster kid. They introduced me as their daughter, they never said something like “this is the girl we take care of.” They felt like my real parents and Ray felt like my only sibling.

But as I began high school, Ray began hanging out with the wrong crowd. He was not happy living with our foster parents. He thought they were too strict. He wanted to hang out with friends; he didn’t like that he couldn’t go out after seven o’clock. He began ditching school and smoking marijuana. My foster parents told him that if he didn’t start behaving, he was going to move into a group home, but Ray did not listen. He thought they were just saying that to scare him. When we least expected it, Ray got arrested for ditching and possession of marijuana. My foster parents decided they couldn’t handle him and put him in a group home.

To make my freshman year worse, I found out that my sisters Morena and Isabel were getting adopted by a military family and moving to Germany. When I got off the phone, my foster mother knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to talk about it, but she repeated “tell me, tell me.” So I told her. She made me feel better by saying that it would still be possible to keep in touch with them even though they were far away. For the next few weeks, I cried constantly, but my foster parents were there for me. They said getting adopted was better for my sisters because they would be in a stable home. Sometimes I would be in my room crying and my foster dad would sit with me and talk. He would help me forget by changing the subject and talking about college. He would tell me that even though my sisters got adopted, they are still my sisters. In the end they moved to Texas instead of Germany. I was relieved.

My younger brother Miguel also got adopted by a different family and moved to Utah. It was hard for me to accept that my siblings got adopted. I knew that we were all going to have separate lives. I lost the hope that one day we would all become a whole family again.

Our losses brought us closer together

Later that year, my foster sister Diana went through a divorce and became depressed. I spent every weekend with her and we became really close. We would talk and I would tell her I knew how she felt. Losing her husband was like losing my brothers and sisters. As we talked, it became easier for her to accept it. I saw how she was able to move on. She learned that she could live on her own, that she was a strong person and that she could be happy without a husband. That was her toughest experience, but because of her strength and independence, she survived. That experience taught me a lot. I learned that if you believe in yourself, you can get on your feet again even if you have fallen hard. I realized that I shouldn’t focus on the problems that my family had or being in foster care, but on how I could improve my life by staying out of trouble and going to college and having a career.

My foster family believes in me. They have always told me that I am a smart young lady. They tell me that I am strong and they admire me for all my accomplishments. In June, I graduated from high school with honors and am now attending Whittier College. I am majoring in Spanish and education to become a Spanish teacher. I want to become better than my grandmother and prove to her that I’m not a “worthless girl,” like she once said I was.

When I have time, I will spend weekends with my foster family. They say I can come home anytime. I still talk to my siblings. David just started high school and loves it. My sisters are starting junior high, and Ray has his own apartment and is attending junior college. My brother Miguel is the one I have least contact with. I get emotional when I speak with him because I forget that he is not a baby anymore. He reminds me that they are all growing up and I was not there every day to see that.

We have all found stability and families that love us. I guess I would say that we are all lucky. We have our biological family and the families we live with now.

I used to think that family was only your brothers and sisters, mom and dad. But now I know that your family is the people who are there for you in good times and bad times. I never thought that when I moved into my third foster home, I was going to gain a family and find hope for the future.

The State of the Police in L.A.

skhan — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 19:06:48 -0500

In Los Angeles on August 5, LAPD Chief, William J. Bratton, announced his resignation from duty. Since shortly before the beginning of Chief Bratton's tenure in 2002, the LAPD has been overseen by the federal government under the authority of a consent decree, which was put in place to stop police practices such as racial profiling. Mr Bratton is credited by many as having lowered crime rates and improved the image of the LAPD through the reforms he instituted under this decree. However, the federal oversight recently was lifted, causing some to wonder whether the reforms in the department are sustainable, especially in light of a recent ACLU report suggesting that racial profiling still exists in the LAPD. Youth Radio's Ana Beatriz interviews community members in Watts, in South L.A., to get a pulse of how people perceive the police in their neighborhood, which historically has been a site of racial tension and police violence.

I live in Watts, and you don't see the police as much as you used to, since most gangs have moved away. But a lack of police presence is not necessarily a good thing. To me, it's crazy that when we need the cops, they always turn up late or not at all. When I was smaller we had a party at my house. At around 11pm people started to fight, but it broke up after one of the men left. Afterwards, everyone went inside, but the man came back. His wife had called to warn us, so we closed the gate. However, he drove down the gate with his car and started trying to get in by banging on the windows, cursing the whole time. Out of the ten of us in the house, only three were adults. The rest were kids, and for us it was a scary experience -- I remember I was crying. We kept calling the cops, but no one came. My cousin next door even called. Still nobody came. The experience made me feel differently about the police. I felt like I couldn't count on them showing up when I really needed them, even though showing up is their job. They are supposed to keep the city safe. Ignoring our calls is not keeping the city safe. Something could have happened to one of us that day.

I asked people in South L.A. what they thought about cops in their area and most didn't like them. In particular, residents were unhappy at abuses of power such as passing through red lights and pulling people over for no reason.

(download mp3)

This reminded me of something that had happened to my sister recently. She was driving home from work and noticed that a police car was following her. Then he stopped her. She got scared thinking that she had done something wrong. The policeman asked her for her name and for ID. But then he asked her for her phone number. Stuff like this happens a lot, and it is hard to feel safe. The cops do as they please because they have power. Other examples of abuses of power are even more serious.

(download mp3)

I only found one person in my neighborhood who was cool with police abusing their power--he saw it as a privilege which comes with the job.

(download mp3)

It may be the end of federal monitoring of the LAPD, but it remains to be seen how that change, and Mr Bratton's resignation, will alter police practices in Los Angeles. Here's what some residents of South L.A. had to say to the police.

Previously:

(download mp3)

Previously:

Dropping Out is Out in L.A. Unified

skhan — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 17:33:35 -0500

I think it's great that the L.A. Unified School District (LAUSD) has reported not only a decrease in its dropout rate, but an increase in its graduation rate for 2007-08. But, I also think we have to take such numbers with a grain of salt. For instance, LAUSD may have a better dropout rate than before, but it still scores pretty low when compared to other districts in the state. And tracking the numbers is more complicated than it seems: for instance, in May of this year, LAUSD reported a much higher rate than it did this week because they had been counting students twice. And even though that statistical problem has been resolved in the new report, it still doesn't account for the fact that the budget cuts might not allow the district to sustain its gains. For instance, the district's dropout prevention program, The Diploma Project, lost half of its counselors due to budget cuts.

My school, Roosevelt High, in Boyle Heights, is reported as having improved by 28%, which is one of the best rates in the district. If the report is based on facts then I have no reason to doubt it. Besides, I have seen people slightly more motivated in school. Perhaps we're not totally psyched because we are upset with the system; we feel we have no say in it. In fact, I think the recent student protests against LAUSD's teacher layoffs and reductions in electives, extracurriculars and school lunch assistance are proof of how serious the students are. If students could actually influence school policies, then the dropout rate might be even lower than it is now.

LAUSD is attributing the improved dropout rates to the institution of Small Learning Communities (SLCs) in its schools, but I can't say for sure if I believe Roosevelt improved because of the SLCs. The reason I'm a bit skeptical is because at Roosevelt, the SLCs don't really translate into any true sense of community among students. It's just a convenience for the administrators to manage the student body. The SLCs are supposed to give more attention to students, but I only saw a counselor about twice a year. Finally, the SLCs are beginning to focus on various career tracks--for instance they're starting one on criminal justice--but, sadly, only students in that SLC would be able to take classes related to that field. Maybe the changes to the SLCs will improve the sense of community and help students keep their motivation up. But, in general, I think the fact that the SLC system limits student access to a wide variety of courses is not a good thing. For instance, I lucked out and had a good experience because I got to take video production. But ask another student, and she might have a different perspective of her experience at school.

If anything, maybe some individual teachers made a difference by keeping us focused and interested. I know my government and economics teacher greatly impacted me by teaching me about all sorts of topics related to social justice. Those are the inspirational teachers we need more of in school. That’s why I put so much effort, along with fellow students, into the recent protests. I believe that we can make wise choices about who we would like to teach us--not just entertain us. Ideally, people who teach us things we can use in our lives.

I'm graduating this December, and I think what kept me in school was the confidence that my parents and teachers instilled in me by showing me that I can have a voice in my education.

Previously:

The Oceans Are Dying

skhan — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 17:17:00 -0500

I grew up in Venice Beach, California. I love the beach; it is one of my favorite places to be. The boardwalk always was packed with people leisurely strolling along, looking at the cheesy souvenir shops, the tattoo and piercing parlors, and the snack shops filled with all sorts of deep-fried delights. When I was younger, when we'd go to the beach, my cousins and I would run straight into the ocean and stay in there playing for a long time. And it's no surprise that we hung out there for as long as we did, because I remember that the water felt really clean and looked really blue.

When my cousins and I eventually emerged from the deep, there would be a huge umbrella propped in the sand, waiting to shield us from the bright rays of the sun. Because she knew we would be ravenously hungry and thirsty after our hours long jaunt in the ocean, my mom usually had packed a picnic basket brimming with food and stuffed a cooler with water bottles, juice, and soda. After we had finished eating, we would all go to the jungle gym and monkey around on dry land. But before we would leave, my mom would insist that we clean up after ourselves and would give us bags for us to throw our trash in. She hated dirty places and didn't want us to mar the pristine beauty of the sand and water.

When I moved from Venice, I expected everything to stay the same. But, when I went to visit the other day, here is what I saw.

I'm surprised that the guys in the video were OK with swimming in the polluted waters. I stopped getting in the water in high school because it looked so dirty; it felt thicker and a lot sandier than it was before. When I was younger, you would never see trash in ocean, but nowadays, you see trash bags and even food wrappers.

The guys that I interviewed didn't think the pollution would affect them. I don't agree with them, but to their credit, they did admit it was a bad thing for the wildlife that lived in the ocean. L.A. beaches rank high in terms of ocean pollution. But it's not just in L.A.: beaches the world over are trashed. A recent study by CSU Long Beach researchers shows that California sea lions have high levels of DDT and PCB's both of which were banned decades ago, but linger in waters and sediments. And another recent study shows that mixtures of commonly used pesticides at concentrations found in local waters can be lethal to salmon and steel head — and presumably many other types of fish. When we throw the toxic chemicals into the ocean it is very hard to get them out since they seep into the sediment, enter the food chain, or simply flow with the currents. And the food chain affects not only the animals, but also humans. Some Asian communities in Southern California have gone to great lengths to address the the toxicity of seafood by weeding it out of markets. Some people think that limiting fishing will help reduce pollution. I don't think we should stop fishing permanently, but I think there should be a limit. Reducing this type of pollution is important not only for the occasional swimmer or a squeaky clean fish stick supply, but for the ability of the ocean to spring back from irregularities in the ecosystem.

We need to save our oceans because they are in danger of dying. The ocean is such a beautiful place; it is useful for so many things we do, like fishing, swimming, and boat trips. The creatures living beneath the ocean need it to stay in good condition in order for them to be able to survive and live. Besides, California is known for its beaches, so it would really upset visitors if they came down and find it trashy and dirty. I've grown to cleaning up after myself because of what my mother taught me, and I wish others would do the same. As a native of the Golden State, it saddens me to hear people say they don't like getting in the water because it's dirty and green.

In my mind, I'll always remember the water being a little bit bluer than it is now.

Previously:

Tale of Two Summers

rebecca — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 17:36:18 -0500

Danielle Sender and I have been best friends since our freshman year of high school. Most summers since then have consisted of long days by the pool and lazy nights on the front porch. No more anxiety about tests and no more alarm clocks at 7:30 am. Fun has been our shared philosophy every summer…except this one.

This summer -- the last before college graduation -- our paths have diverged dramatically. I’m all about relaxation, having worked three jobs during the school year to save money. Danielle on the other hand is hoping to lay the groundwork for entering the working world.

“When I was younger summer was a time to relax and recuperate, but now that I’m finishing my college career, summer is a great time to expand my professional horizon and find internship opportunities that serve as another form of education and help me further my career,” she says.

Danielle has three internships this summer. She’s working at The White House Project, a non-profit advancing women’s leadership in political office, the Georgia Democratic Caucus, and a medical company. On top of all this, she is picking up shifts at a restaurant to make some money.

While to me her summer looks like complete stress, to her it’s an exciting taste of her future.

“I found this organization and this is pretty much exactly what I want to do with the rest of my life," Danielle says. So working with them is an incredible opportunity for me to network and learn about the political realm in a way that I’m not familiar with. To get your foot in the door now I think is invaluable.”

Sure, the foot in the door is important, but my brain needs a break in the summer. I need the freedom of time with no commitments.

So I’m spending my summer traveling to around America, Central America and Europe.

But I’m feeling more and more pressure – especially in a bad economy – to be working on my career path in the summer…upholding American ideals of capitalistic excellence. Ironically, that often means not getting paid and a lot of juggling to make ends meet. Danielle’s third internship at a medical company is in the mix because it’s paid:

“I need that income to fund the other internships," she says. "It’s a struggle to not get paid, but I find that I need it to advance my career. I need to network and you can’t really put a price on that.”

The price she’s paying is no time for herself. Danielle can’t go to the pool with me or grab a mojito by the beach when she wants to. She spends her free time teaching herself things -- like engine optimization -- or going to conferences.

“Honestly, there hasn’t been too much downtime yet. Sometimes in the evening I have a little downtime and I just like to relax. But a lot of this downtime is still me doing research," Danielle says. I’m laying on the couch but I’m on my computer and I’m researching various things…but I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. I feel like this is where I’m supposed to be. This is what I’m doing. I’m advancing myself personally and professionally. I’m continuing to brand myself. I am meeting different people. I am further identifying what I want to do in the future.”

Meanwhile I’m doing the exact opposite. And enjoying it. Danielle and I did spend five days together in New York City recently. Briefly, our summer paths converged, only to diverge a few days later when I went to Spain and she headed to a conference in DC. In August, we will meet again and begin the fall quarter at the University of Georgia - Danielle will be a step closer to her career and I will be rested and rejuvenated for another stressful and bustling school year.

What Doc Mom and Dad MD Taught Me About Healthcare

wilmer — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 16:38:50 -0500

By Erin Bilir

Growing up with two doctors as parents always made me a little different from other kids. My parents are gastroenterologists, so while my friends had “tummy aches” I had “lower intestinal discomfort.” When I turned ten I became utterly convinced that I wanted to be an orthodontist when I grew up. My teacher jokingly asked me why I wanted to put my hands in other people’s mouths all day. To which I unblinkingly replied, “You should see where my parents put their hands all day.” Now a sixteen-year-old high school student, living with two physicians also means living with the current healthcare debate.

As debate sets all of Washington ablaze, impassioned discussion also takes place at my dinner table. “The key” my dad tells me “lies in prevention.” Gesturing passionately with his fork, my father says that government should provide healthcare services that protect people from future ailments such as mammograms for women over forty and colonoscopies for individuals over fifty. “You don’t want people to go to the emergency room just because they have a simple headache,” he tells me, “but getting colon cancer because you couldn’t meet your insurance deductible in time to get a colonoscopy is costlier for the individual and their insurance company than it would be to just have regular screenings-not to mention the emotional and psychological toll.”

It seems that free, government sponsored preventative healthcare is one of the few things my parents, now divorced, actually agree on. The way my mom sees it, obesity is one of the primary health concerns in the United States. So, my mom believes that payment for preventative services should come partially from taxes on goods containing high fructose corn syrup and other artificial preservatives. She also thinks that there should be federal warning labels on unhealthy foods detailing the risks of consumption such as coronary artery disease.

Talking to my parents made me wonder, where do I fit in the debate? After all, I’m young and I’m healthy. So where is it that young people like me, find personal stake in the issues being discussed around healthcare? The way the healthcare system is set up now, I’m considered a member of “the young invincibles.” Basically, that means the youth of America are the largest risk takers with their health, overworking themselves, going without insurance, all because they believe that they are young and their bodies are indestructible. It’s this notion, simple as it is which gives me pause.

It seems that up until this moment, everyone has believed that the youth of America are invincible. And now that it has become harder for young citizens to find jobs which will provide them with decent health benefits, it is all the more important that this blind faith in the durability of our youth come to an end. Judging from the latest bills addressing healthcare reform, I’m happy to see legislators have begun to recognize the need for basic coverage for all and not just the old or the ailing.
It’s about time. The future men and women of America will not be healthy tomorrow unless we begin protecting them today. Take it from the daughter of two doctors; we won’t be young and invincible forever.

Previously:

Stock Market Obsessed

rebecca — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 16:54:03 -0600

by Lauren Silverman

I've been ducking and dodging the unfamiliar economic terms since the first financial bailout was announced, hoping phrases like "credit default swaps" and "short selling" might disappear. Well, they haven't; in fact, those pesky financial terms are showing up everywhere from Vanity Fair to Star Magazine (although Star chose to talk not about lost assets, but lost "cashola").

I can't escape the terms, so I decided to stand up and make an interception. I started my financial self-education this way: typing questions into Google. Surprisingly, this proved fairly successful--I learned that a hedge fund is basically an exclusive mutual fund, and that short-selling is essentially borrowing stocks and selling them in the hopes that you will be able to rebuy them when their price goes down. And to commit these terms to memory, I made flash cards on things like price to earnings ratios.

Then I took the next step in my game plan and registered for a free online trading account at www.up-down.com. The site gives players a million dollars to virtually invest and practice trading techniques.

Despite the fact that it’s not real money, I find myself being extremely cautious buying just 20 shares at a time. So far, I’ve only invested 15 thousand dollars - mostly in things like alternative energy hoping to cash in on the promises of President Barack Obama. But the last time I checked my daily digest, I saw a lot of red and I know that’s a bad sign. The only stock that was up was a solar company. I keep trying to think of innovative investment ideas – things other people may overlook – like manufacturers of insulation and double paned windows. But many of those companies are either private, or behemoths that cut across sectors. So I’m sticking with predictable companies, and getting trounced like everyone else.

I also signed up for a free 30-day practice account with Advanced Currency Markets, a foreign exchange dealer, and got a call from one of their representatives ten hours later to "follow up with my interest." I'm guessing they don't have too many people signing up for their services right now. Which scared me enough to tell them to take me off their list.

Months ago, I hardly knew what NASDAQ was; today, I'm a bit stock-market obsessed.

The financial crisis has been disastrous for the majority of Americans, and there's no doubt that it has slimmed down my wallet. My regular babysitting gigs have dried up now that parents are choosing Netflix over the theater.

On the plus side, the meltdown has fattened up my stock-market knowledge. Hopefully, the time I have invested in educating myself and playing online stock trading games will pay off--even if only with virtual money. You don't actually think I'm crazy enough to put one penny into the REAL stock market??

Previously:

Leaving High School Behind

rebecca — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:19:14 -0500

Marlon Stennett, Youth Mic

My high school prom just passed last week and I was just measured for my cap and gown. High school is certainly coming to an end. Next year I’ll be going off to college, a basic junior college in Manhattan to study theatre technology and acting. But as we prepare to leave high school for new things, we’re not just cleaning out lockers. We’re leaving so much behind, and we’re preparing to face new challenges.

You know everybody has a fear about going off to college so I decided to interview some of my closest friends, who are high school graduates of 2009, about what they fear in college. Here’s Skyler Richards: “I’m going to miss my friends and my teachers.” Skyler and I go to school together at Bedford Academy in Brooklyn, New York. Skyler’s going to miss her old teachers, but Lorenzo Vargas, he worries about his new teachers: “In college they might not be as caring—they might not care as much about me. It’s going to be more stressful.”

Worries build up to fear, and quite frankly, Lorenzo has another fear. Everything is going to be new. “I fear leaving school,” says Lorenzo, “leaving my mother, leaving the area where I feel comfortable.”

They say once we are in college, we are officially on our own. That means we also can become lazy and no one is there to correct us. That’s the deepest fear of Clayton Holly: “Not doing the work. Um, not being on top of my game. Just slacking off, basically.”

I know I’m going to face all those things. But if people were to ask me: what is my deepest fear about going off to college, it’s that I just don’t know what to expect. Maybe I am going to miss my old teachers. Maybe I am going to miss my family. And maybe I might just slack off. But I still don’t know what I’m going to find in college. All I know is that I’m leaving a place I like to call my second home. I’m only moving to Manhattan but it feels like I’m moving to another country. But then again, college is a step to big dreams and big dreams always come with big changes.

For Youth Radio, I’m Marlon Stennett.

Standing in My Father's Shoes

rebecca — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 16:36:14 -0500

My dad and mom separated when I was 3 years old. I can still remember the day my mom left him standing in the driveway of The French Quarter, a Creole restaurant he and my mother built and ran in Alameda, California. He was wearing a light colored shirt and stood watching as I waved back at him through the car window. It was as if it was a normal goodbye.

But after that day, my mother and grandmother didn’t make it easy for my dad to see me. I remember asking myself all these questions: Where is he? Why doesn't he come pick me up? Doesn't he know where we are?

My grandmother made her opinions clear. She didn't like my father. "Your daddy ain't never done nothing for you," she would say whenever I mentioned his name. Well, he didn't give me anything for my birthday, I thought. Maybe she was right.

What I didn't know then, is that I would come to understand my father when I became a dad. My long time girlfriend and I had a baby when we were young. I was 21 years old. A few years later, we separated. I went from kissing my daughter goodnight and being woken by her jumping on me, to dropping her off at her mom's house and giving her goodnight kisses over the phone

My daughter's mother seems to resent me the same way my grandmother resented my father. When I started noticing my daughter developing a bad attitude towards me, I heard my grandmother's voice in my ear, "your daddy ain't never done nothing for you."

Standing in my father’s shoes, I was able to see things more clearly. My grandmother's opinion about my dad was just that – her opinion. And it was shaped by her own dysfunctional relationship with her father.

I'm determined to redefine fatherhood in my family. My daughter adores me, and her love isn’t based on what she thinks a father should be, it's based on what her father has been, there for her.

When we spend a weekend together, she often says "I love you" but it's the look she gives me that eternally confesses her feelings. I look at my father the same way, now that I know he was thinking about me all those years we were apart. I no longer see a man who did nothing for me my whole life, but a man who has always loved me.

After all, he’s my father, just as I am hers.

Short and Beautiful

rebecca — Thu, 28 May 2009 14:17:58 -0500

by Deranda Butler, Grady High School
(aired on WABE FM on May 30, 2009)
I stood on the sparkling stage, with a sign that read 102 around my neck, waiting for my results in a modeling competition when I began reminiscing. I remembered those days when I used to do crazy things to look like the girl next to me: I would only eat one meal a day and take weight loss pills. I struggled with bulimia. But on the day of the competition, I proudly posed on stage – short, and not exactly thin as a rail. And next to me were the tall girls, with long hair and slim frames.

We all know the distorted images of Barbie dolls and the slender model photos in magazines influence little girls. I too questioned what “beautiful” was when I didn’t look like the women on television.

Ultimately, I decided not to let the media or society intimidate me. After all, beauty comes in many forms. And I knew the judges agreed when I heard the announcer say: “The winner is contestant 102!” I had won.

I’m glad to see America’s beauty ideals evolving. I look up to women like plus-sized entertainer Queen Latifah who helps motivate girls to be proud of what they look like – because beauty is also on the inside. I wish boys could understand this too.

Before I won the competition and a modeling contract, I thought of ending my dream to become a model. Now, I plan to help bust the myth that you have to be tall and skinny with long hair to be beautiful.