In 2021 3.1 million children were born in the United States, of those 31,000 were born with hydrocephalus. Before I get to deep into statistics I should explain what hydrocephalus is. Most people have never heard of it and only a small handful of Dr’s have some, if any training in it. In essentially water on the brain. There are four different types of hydrocephalus. Congenital, meaning there was a defect in utero, next is acquired coming from some trauma, stroke, or accident after birth. Then there is normal pressure hydrocephalus, which can show up in anyone but mainly the older generation. Up to 15% of the older population are misdiagnosed as having dementia, robbing them of years, when a fixable condition is available. Finally, there is communicative. This is the type I was born with. Communicative means the structure of my brain is accurate, however my body produces too much CSF or there is some communication error in my brain preventing the directions to use the accessible pathway. All types of Hydrocephalus have one main thing in common, they prevent CSF, (cerebral spinal fluid), from draining from the brain. The damage is caused from the back up of fluid wreaking havoc in the ventricles, spinal pressure, causing brain bleeds, memory issues, spinal bífida, retardation, and death. If watched over diligently by parents and doctors 50% of the children born with non-communicative hydrocephalus live but with severe mental deficiencies. Compare that to only 22% in the children with communicative hydrocephalus. Those born with cerabel palesy had a slightly higher chance of haveing a lower IQ. The children born with non-communicative hydrocephalus present with a 42% drastically diminished capacity, 1/3 of them presented with cerebral palsy and or epilepsy. The remaining presented with average intelligence but had a higher percentage of learning disabilities like ADHD, ADD, Dislexia, and others along those lines. In 1955 John Holter had a son named Casey. Casey was born with hydrocephalus and at that time there was no cure. Holter was a mechanic and after learning all he could about hydrocephalus, set forth on creating a device to save his son. Over the years many adaptions to the shunt were tried but failed. I personally can sit here as I write this essay and tell you I currently have a VP Shunt that Holter is responsible for. Unfortunately, they are not infallible, but they are the best we still have 70 years later. I received my first shunt at two months. I was born with it but due to my demographics my pediatrician said I was only his 2nd hydrocephalus patient in his 37 years. I went in for a well baby check up and was cleared to go home. Had my mother not insisted something wasn't quite right I could be another sad statistic. Regardless, my journey was not easy. My first shunt I contracted meningitis during the surgery and spent months in the hospital draining the infection, blood, and damaged brain matter into an external shunt. From my birth to today, I’ve had a total of 10 brain surgeries. They're people who can go a lifetime with one shunt, but they are rare. During my research I was unable to find one article that was similar to my type of outcome. I have been highly successful in my studies my entire life. My standardize test scores have always been high, and my online IQ came back at 142. If not for the support of my family, my vigilant mother knowing before I knew, when my shunt was malfunctioning. I would not be here today.

For some people perseverance is something that is achieved over time, for others perseverance is something that is thrust upon you without any will of their own. Two of my sibling persevered over learning disabilities, I had to persevere over a conventional born defect. One in a thousand babies are born with hydrocephalus and of those, only 40% have average mental capacity and 15% presenting with above average. I thank God and my family everyday, ending up in the 15% category . Perhaps if my parents just accepted the defect, I could have ended up in the normal category. Yet, everyday they put all they had into me, making sure I met my milestones. I kept meeting and surpassing all milestones for my age. Except crawling, my mom was of the mind set, if s baby is crying it wants milk, book readings, or sign language. I seemed to bore easily so she kept coming up with new ways of entertainment. Having no idea I would remember almost all I things I was expose to. My memory is pretty amazing, leaning towards a slight Asperger's plus. My father seems to get that Asperger plus too. I was was followed closely by Valley Childrens Neurosurgery department. By now I’m seventeen years old and have had four different surgeons and approximately 10 exploratory and/or complete revisions. It’s a very stress provoking purple weeks. I can go in me and come out someone else. Someone less The Who I use to be. After a couple weeks of intense observation of my every move, twitch, headache, grades, slowly peace encompassed our family and we thank God. Life slowly regains normalcy and the knowledge I’m meant to change this world with these odds.

I think the best thing that you can give anybody is knowledge. It is something that everyone can use, and they can use it however they want. To help spread awareness of agricultural at my school, FFA students, including myself, volunteer our own time and go to the elementary to teach the students about the importance of agriculture. They did many activities and were allowed to learn hands on about all the different farm animals, and even got to keep a couple goodies. Animals not included. What’s important is that they were learned about something that impacts everyone's life so significantly, and they probably didn’t even realize it. Huge cities like New York and Chicago are huge consumers of agriculture, yet a large portion of that population doesn’t even consider where their food is grown. Without agriculture, our world wouldn’t be sustainable. By giving these students the knowledge now, they will be able to go into the world and make a difference. Although we may have not given them anything physical, what we did give them is worth far more than a toy or a small trinket. The people today need to realize how important agricultural is. We are a group of people who put all our eggs into one basket in hopes of a good crop. There are many years when we don’t. Yet we give you all we have. Farmers are selfless and serve others without even an acknowledged. The best thing that you could give anybody, is knowledge that will help their Children’s children. I want to leave a legacy of hard work and ever evolving standards and flavors. Spark curiosity in their minds, that later blossoms into something amazing. We need to teach other, because more often than not, they never truly will learn what matters.

I am no artist in the sense of having extraordinarily abilities like my older brother who could play any instrument without every reading music. I am not a artist on the basketball court like my sister who could fly through the air winning Vally Championship player of the game. I am however an artist of communication. I have a very unique ability to seek out the outcasts, deaf students, LGBQY, or just the plan sad kids who don’t fit into any group. That’s kind of me too. When I see someone sitting alone at lunchtime I will go over to ease their sense of sadness. The empathy shoots through me like a lighting bolt, and their relief to see me melts their awkwardness away. I have a seat next to them so they don’t feel quite so uncomfortable. I’ve been in that situation many, many times myself. I am considered a nerd. I work very hard for my grades I am almost fluent in ASL, and plan to major in Deaf Studies and Translation. Perhaps, I’ll go for my PHD and become a professor. Or transition into a more healing profession like Cranial Sacral Therapy, Reiki, or Sound Therapy. All of these I use to keep my energy clean. I hate saying these words to people when they ask, “What are you going to be when you grow up?” Grow up? Sometimes I feel more grown up then the question seeker. When I tell them my true passions they normally get a fake smile and say, “Oh that’s interesting.” I do possess an odd skill, from the time I was a very young child. I organically understand the meaning of rocks and crystals. I would always hide behind my mother until I could feel her energy ease and then slowly poke my head out from behind her. I’m not fantastic with sick people, though, they most likely would disagree. At the time we didn’t know what I was doing, but I could move my hands over a person and feel vibrational heat. I’d say a quiet prayer in my mind grab some random rock I knew nothing of and wrap that area with the rock inside. The next day they felt great but I became a very sickly child. I developed a cyst that is 99% larger then all the rest, on one of my kidneys. It’s still there to this day. I got childhood Rheumatoid arthritis. Eventually, my mother made me stop. I have Hydrocephalus, server allergies to food, hay fever, and certain medicines. It took a few months but my family found a man willing to teach a shy quiet six year old the tricks of the trade. He taught me how to not take the sickness into me but just release it into the atmosphere. I love education. I love learning how the earth can heal. However, I have an unwavering understanding that I am to be certified, graduate with a masters where my ability to communicate with the deaf will be of much importance, and so that is my plan. For me it sounds like an amazing career doing things I love. It’s not really a job if it’s organically in you and the outcome is healing and helping others. My life is just beginning and I look forward to learning all the meanings of rocks, herbs, and energies. I’m lucky my parents are supportive and both do seem to have very good gauges of characters, I know both of them can do a few special tricks too.

Math just is. There is no room for emotions or misunderstanding when done correctly. Math is the key to astrology and perhaps, the guide book for how we should be living. Math solves all disputes and is undeniable when confronted with correctly executed equations. When people say, “Do the math.” It’s like saying you can’t go any further. Apply this to our Government, wheres all the money? Really dig in there and see. We should not be topping the debt ceiling. It proves corruption, theft, and an arrogant opinion that our society is incapable of following the money, we just blindly follow what and who we are told to. I understand a lot of people don’t have the capacity, when left on their own to solve a difficult equation. However, when paired up with a math nerd and given some time, practically all within normal mental capacity can eventually see the answers. Math is the core of everything. You want to build a house, plant a garden, find out if someone is embezzling from Ukraine? Math can tell you with no uncertain terms the truth. Algabra is the building block for basic math, science, engineering, medicine, and many other non variables. It wasn’t until I took algebra that math really became interesting to me. Finally, equations I got to think about versus always knowing the answers by just a glance. The United States has fallen so embarrassing low on the list of countries who preform well in Math. Singapore ranks number one, the US ranks 16 below Vietnam. Out of 76 countries the United States placed an embarrassingly low spot at number 28th. Are we not the superpower that leads the free world in democracy? I ask you again where is the money? Why are our teacher getting paid some of the lowest wages in a industry that requires the highest intelligence and long hours? Being a teacher is equivalent to becoming a police office now. Why would anyone want to be one. We pay them almost poverty level and expect them at times to provide supplies. If we put more importance and money into our curriculum of math teachers, we might just discover more hidden gems like the character Will Hunting, in the movie flick, “Good Will Hunting”.

I’m always the quiet smart kid in the corner. I’m not an athlete although I could be. I’m not popular, because I feel like a thirty year old in a seventeen year olds body. I’m not gay yet I’ve never had a kiss. My grades have always been top of my class. Peers will approach me to copy my homework, yet I’m fully aware they are trying to use me. So my stock answer is, “No.” I love all of the things above. I love them because I don’t want to be a typical high schooler. I like that I can get along well with everyone but my personality attracts others like me. I have two best friends who truly know me. To all of my classmates I’m a nerd, faggot, dork and invisible. What they don’t know is all the teacher and adults see me brightly. I stand out head and shoulders above my classmates. They can call me bad names but what they don’t understand is that I know why they are. It has absolutely nothing to do with me. Trying to impress one of their, “friends” at school by demeaning me makes me actually feel sorry for them. We are not on the same maturity level. I can’t explain to you how I turned out this way, my parents just tell me God spent a little extra time on me. Ive turned down scholarships to Universities because they don’t offer my passion. I truly want to be a deaf translator, which I could get with a certificate. My parents are clear, and I understand, a certificate would be a waste of the gifts God gave me. Ultimately, I will be going to a state college to get my masters in deaf studies and translations.

Wisdom as a child means how many math facts you know by memory. As you grow and whiteness interactions that seem incorrect to you, until the explanation allows your mind to grow. My father asked me one day while handing out lunches to the homeless, what my opinion of the situation was. I puffed out my chest and said, ”If I can get a job at McDonald’s so can they!” He hung his head so slightly, and look disappointed in himself. He explained to me, most homeless people are mentally ill, have been abused, are drug addicts, and need our help and care. So, he asked me again, “Do you understand what I am saying to you?” I nodded in shame. It had never been explained to me in such a way. I had taken for granted my loving parents, middle class life, loving siblings, warm bed, and cupboards packed with food. I knew not everyone had it as good, but I never accounted for abuse, drugs, bad parents, or sex trafficking. Those we just tiny blips on my radar and certainly weren’t happening in my neighborhood. I wish there was a better setup in place. Interview these individuals and really get to the root problem. The other month we were at tent city and the kindest man, actually they’re always kind, told me he had his masters degree. He suffered from Bipolar and his wife left him. Sending him into a manic frenzy. He lost everything and hadn’t seen his children in eight months. We as a family sat and ate our PBJ’s with him and his new partner trying to figure out a come back for him. We went back a few weeks later and Fresno County had demolished his tent, his home. I’m angry, sad, and hopeless.

Empathy is a double edge sword. The most extreme empaths; are those who grew up in homes where their heightened senses were required for survival. Being able to read a situation and or people is usually from living in a traumatic household. As a child my mother grew up in a home of physical abuse, drug abuse, neglect, and worse. Due to all of the above it groomed her to be highly observant of all situations. She has the ability to communicate with the homeless and predict what they need. Then turn around and put on a fancy dress and attend a high class auction dinner. No one is the wiser that she came from a horrific childhood. She has the ability to mesh with all groups of society. She is amazing at making connections between people where both benefit only for the fact she recognized a need and knows someone to fill it. She does it a lot within our immediate family. Her nick name is Mom Boss a play on Mob Boss. She knows I need a ride into town which is 45 minutes away. My sister truck needs a wash bad. She ask my sister to give me a ride into town and while there she can use her car wash pass. We both win. These are things she does for everyone all the time almost unknowingly. She once told me, “For a long time she was angry at the unjust childhood she had to live through. Why her? Why would God put her through such a childhood?” It wasn’t until she was married and mature that she realized, had she not gone through what she did, she wouldn’t be able to pick up on cues of the needy and hurt. She truly has a gift.

Forty two thousand dollars. This is the amount my family friend owes in loans to attend Fresno State when she graduated. Twenty seven thousand dollars was her starting salary. She is a teacher and uses approximately one thousand dollars a year of her own money for supplies. I would like to be a Deaf study major and translator. The average starting pay is approximately fourth eight thousand dollars a year. I’ve turned down scholarships at universities because a state college is offering the classes I need to take. I’m grateful to my parents for allowing me to follow my heart.

I know teachers are under paid and undervalued, yet I will become one. Not just an ordinary teacher, but one who teaches deaf studies and translations. It is frightening to new families or purely interesting in a more complex understanding way to communicate with loved ones or even perfect strangers. I have a very driven desire to follow my calling. I was born blind with communicative hydrocephalus. I had sunset eyes and was unable to adequately form correct language skills without the ability to see the way words were formed. My mother had a very basic sign language skills she studied once I was born and worked with me diligently, to which I was able to pick up on very quickly. The average child born with hydrocephalus suffers from many debilitating mental and physical abilities. Though I have had numerous revisions, my mental and physical capacity is far above most of my classmates even at the youngest of ages. Luckily for me, my father has a form of Asperger‘s, that I do believe has been passed down to me in a less obvious version. Yet it but has giving me a almost have a photographic memory. I come from a very supportive family with lots of siblings and very supportive parents. To the chagrin of my father I have passed up on numerous scholarships to Universities, due to them not offering my desired field of work. Im driven to teach families newly born or purely interested in a more complex understanding way of communicating with their loved ones. I have been accepted to many universities on scholarship. Regardless of my fathers chagrin, I have decided to pass upon them. I will be attending a state college that offers the exact courses im pulled towards due to my young childhood . Unfortunately, most Universities do not find my desire field of work to be in a high demand position, thus not offering classes needed. I have rejected scholarships to many universities to comply with my inner nagging voice to be of service. I was not deaf but blind. My mother read to me many many stories signing into my hands. I have taken translation as my second language all my years at Immanuel High School in Reedley. Due to the coronavirus we were forced to close our packing house. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and my little sister has a extremely inflicting case of NF1. It has caused her to have numerous brain tumors and a sphinx in her spine along with a large cyst at the base of her skull. It consumes most of my parents extra cash flow to pay for my sisters, my mothers, and my copayments. Any form of financial help would be puts to great use and relieve some burden off my family. Thank you for considering my application. Evan James Kaufman

I do not have NF1 but I do have Hydrocephalus from birth. I can tell you everything about NF1 and how It has consumed and run our household for the last nine years. My adopted sister was born with it. At about 3 years of age the horrible side effects reared their ugly head. It has a 50/50 chance of being passed down to a baby if one parent has it. However, it does possess the ability to come out of nowhere in a family where an NF1 is not prevalent. I was born with communicative hydrocephalus. I was sent home from the hospital no one the wiser. One morning my mother woke up, changed my diaper and noticed I had a hernia. The complaint of my eyes seeming off did not warrant an immediate appointment, but a hernia did. We end up at the pediatrician not an hour later. He looks me over and schedule the hernia surgery. My mother said thank you but I’m still very concerned regarding his eyes; it’s like he cannot look up. The doctor step back and pause looked at me and told her I know what he has, and I’ve only seen it twice in my medical career. He explained what hydrocephalus was and wisked us out to Valley Children’s Hospital for immediate surgery. I had extremely enlarged ventricles taking up space where my brain should be. I was sent in for immediate exploratory surgery. Three hours later the doctor came out and told my parents that there is an actual pathway for the fluid to drain but for some reason it just won’t. He said there was a slight film in the pathway but he cleared that out and I should be just fine. It was only one days later, that my eyes began to go sunset again. My mother noticed my eyes and that CSF began to leak out of my stitches. Back to the hospital we went and a shunt was placed and we were sent home. About a week later I began to excessively cry and had reached a fever of 104. We immediately sped to Valley Children’s which was approximately 45 minutes away at 3AM. I was whisked away from my parents and a flurry of doctors surrounded me as my worried family looked on. I went into immediate surgery and they removed my infected shunt. An external drain was placed. Unfortunately, one tiny little staff germ managed to get in during my surgery. I had contracted meningitis. I spent months at Valley Children’s Hospital draining the infection from my brain, into a clear container. Everyday a worker dressed in a hazmat outfit would come in and swap out the clear collection container for a fresh one. My mother could see chunks of white matter, blood, and puss. It was clear I’d never be normal she felt. I met all my milestones except crawling. It was determined I was too fat to crawl. Really, what can you do with a baby in a crib with an external shunt but feed, sing, and read. I’d say God did me a solid. I’m extremely introverted but that’s it. I’ve had 10 brain surgeries so far. God knew what was coming down the pipeline for my parents and her name is Faith Kaufman. She is autistic, PSD, OCD, and has 15 “bright spots” - tumors. A large cyst at the base of her brain, a sphinx in her spine, and is increasingly becoming more violent and cruel; most likely a few tumors are in an area that regulates emotion and love.

Im blessed with abilities I did nothing to obtain; some say it is a talent others say it is hereditary. Regardless, my brain has the ability to remember almost photographic. Causing quite the unfair card to be played by my three siblings. I study the night before tests and yes I’m that kid who does well. More importantly to me is my ability to help, without being asked. I instinctive know what needs to be done, directions are not needed. I will be enrolling in Deaf Studies and Translation to bridge gabs to struggling families. No. Not one person has any hearing disability except for myself in my first year of life. I was born with Hydrocephalus and ultimately it turned into meningitis. My mother new the basics and would sign into my hand to make time fly by as she read books to me. Only to be startled at about 6 months I began to reply. Signing she says, “Was a much easier way to communicate with me as I was painfully shy.” I hated to speak to people and was near nine years old when I was forced to order my own meal verbally to a strange waitress I did not know. My mother turned to me and said, “This is enough! If you would like to eat, you order. Instead of whispering my order into her ear to repeat!” I’ve come a long way since then and though I cannot tell you why my passion for this profession is so strong, it burns within me. My father is very unhappy with my choice. I’ve receiving scholarships from prestigious universities, but don’t offer my major. He has relented; it is my life and I am meant to do this. I feel it in my core.

I believe everyone in this world has some sort of mental health issue at one time or another in their life. Some are little and some are multifaceted. There’re many ways to help but there is not just one. If I have to pick just one that would make the biggest difference it’s changing our laws. When first contact is made to when the person effectively released there needs to be a system in place where all areas have been covered. Our laws need to be extremely clear. If someone has been diagnosed with a particular mental illness’s and it has become dangerous to themselves or others, we have a set of steps in place to follow. Throwing everyone into one 5150 tank then releasing after a few days with no follow up care has done nothing but absorbed resources. Instead of prosecution, we need more evaluations and centers with counselors and safe places for these sick people to stay. Family involvement or non involvement needs to be established. The root cause of most drug abuse is to self treat issues someone is consciously or unconsciously trying to correct. If our hands or tied to only three days of observation without the ability to institutionalize, medicate, or follow up we’ve only changed 3 days not possible a life. We need to look at each person as a big fire instead of quickly stomping them out as little ones. The money is there. We need less lobbyists for big pharm and more for teachers, social workers, and even the police departments. The negative stigma of mental health needs to be educated out of us at an early age. Children whiteness and repeat. Making it safe for them to openly raise their hand during a mandated class on mental health changes lots.

My name is Evan Kaufman and I’m a 17 year old senior going to a private school my parents can’t afford. I was born with hydrocephalus and have had 10 brain surgeries. Most people with my condition suffer lower mental capacities, somehow I became an over achiever. In the second grade, when finances were stable for my family, I was pulled from public school and placed in a private school known to produce scholars and athletes, I am no athlete. As a child I was blind and confined to a crib at Valley Childrens Hospital for months at a time. My mother, not really knowing what I could hear or see, would sing and sign into my hands the song, “You are my sunshine”. As I grew and regained my sight, signing became a way we would talk and joke about little things. However, I loved it! My family are farmers and pressure was most definitely put on me to learn Spanish. Making it easier for me to integrate into the family business. I’m a good kid, shy-nerdy type, having lots of acquaintances but only two true friends. I obey my parents and have always been in the upper 10% of my schools. Choosing sign language in high school as my second language was going to be hard for them to accept. However, I’m only as good as their parenting. After many closed door conversations between my parents, I enrolled in Sign Language 1, which honest was just a formality, I already knew all that. Each year I reenrolled. Now as a senior I TA for Sign Language 1. It was difficult knowing clearly I was in a way letting my Dad down. Being his only biological child and the last Kaufman male. I give him so much credit because he was never given that opportunity to choose. He obeyed at all costs. My Grandfather being a robust scary man, never changing a diaper or even holding me as a baby for that matter. Now here we are and I’m getting offers from Santa Clara, Woosley, Pepperdine and others. The distance from my home is too great with all the medical conditions my family is currently going through. Due to COVID, the weather, and the delta smelt we lost our packing house. My mother is going through breast cancer and my adopted sister has NF1 and has numerous brain tumors. I want to be close to my family. I need to. Primarily to help when needed, and there are those days. I can see my mom pausing- struggling just to get up the stairs. She pretends she’s fine and tells me “go to the best school that fits you we’ll figure out a way to pay if you don’t get a full scholarship.” I’d like to go to Reedley Community College and get my basic education out of the way and finish my bachelors at Fresno state. Then somehow someway obtain my masters there as well. My parents have scrimped and saved from my birth accumulating a small nest egg, nothing close to what would be needed to get me through a masters in Deaf Studies. I have been blessed they are supporting my decision to pursue my dream of becoming of translator. From there perhaps a professor or entrepreneur. Opening a center that helps families like ours. Teaching not only sign language but other methods to reach children who at times seem unreachable.

Equality now only applies to the sexes if you really think about it. We’re all immigrants in some way. We are mutts. What box do I check when you ask my ethnicity? I’m 1/4 this, 1/2 that, some I have no idea. Remove that box! Why do you even ask? Why does everyone ask? It’s a racist question from the get go. Is it just me? People really still she color and gender? I see a human who I choose to like or not. We’re all souls and an accumulation of life experiences. If I were a business owner, I would hire employees who had a zest for the position. Experience, yet not necessarily required, I’d use my intuition which is often over looked. I’d hire based on one’s ability to learn and fulfill the position. The world is changing and people who use the color of my skin or the accent my voice holds, will be squeezed out by death or retirement. To look at me you would see a perfectly intact white male, but that’s not who I am. I’m an Asexual 1/4 Japanese, 1/2 Irish and 1/4 German. My Grandmother was born in a concentration camp during the the Pearl Harbor round up. Im a 6’2 disabled teenager, can you see it? No. I have hydrocephalus, have had 10 brain surgeries, and an internal shunt. If we only use our visual sense for equality, I’m immediately overlooked for the way my genetics played out. Take girl sports; fair? We are allowing transgender men to sweep women's sports. We don’t live in a square or round world. It’s forever evolving and we must evolve with it. That means creating new sex categories. Work hard and show your inner-self, our outside is just a shell to experience life with.

I want to be a deaf translator for the president of the United States one day. As a senior in high school I studied and mastered ASL as my second Language. I love that I was easily able to master the language. Possessing a talent that not many have; my drive for perfection and an almost photographic memory, I could actually have a job that doesn’t feel like one. Combine all of the above, my earned high grades, I want to take this as far as possible. Going into College I will be studying Deaf studies and other classes in that area. I will get the basic education out of the way as fast as possible, so more of my time in college can be utilized for my love of translation. Regardless I don’t need a bachelors or masters to be a translator, I will indeed get both. Learning, for me is inspiring especially when I know I’m marking a difference in the world. Anyone can be whatever they want, it’s the amount of dedication and drive to achieve your dreams. My love of sign language began as a very early age. I was born with hydrocephalus and at numerous times throughout my 10 brain surgeries, my mother with very basic signing ability was able to quickly teach me the most important words by signing into my hands. When my vision would come back we were able to have secret conversations and that feeling was a interesting high for me. I feel my personality and God gifted smarts make me a perfect candidate to make a difference in the lives of the deaf.

“Don’t bother. If you haven’t been poor enough to have a car that breaks down, they can never empathized. One day we were on our way to a fancy movie, running late. You know the kind of theater we’re you get layback seats and they bring the hotdogs out to you? We were trying to merge onto the freeway but our land didn’t budge. We waited a bit then my mom gets out of the car to see the problem. She comes back turns off our car and told me and my sister to get out and come help. My sister rolling her teenager eyes, I must of ben 7 or 8. The traffic was terrible and it was incredibly loud from all the cars honking and screaming at a man who’s car had broken down. By the time we got there, one other young skinny man was attempting to push. My mom tells me to steer the car off to the side, I hesitated. She screened your the lightest. The owner my sister, mother, and that one skinny man manage to push the car of to the shoulder. The owner of the car was so grateful, he looked like he was about to cry. Why? I didn’t know at that time. Cars still wizzing and honking. I noticed the tall skinny guy driving away in a beat up truck and my moms car was nice. Yet it hadn’t always been that way. She told us how their cars growing up was always a “beater” she called it. Children on a single mother. On our way back to our car, now the only one blocking traffic. People were still screaming and honking. My sister got mad and starting yelling back. How futile the attempt was to make the masses understand.

My Mother could of been a doctor! When I say this I know firsthand in her ability to take charge. Access the situation and with items close by stop bleeding, know when something small is actually big, look at blood and gruesome things most of us would turn our heads to. When she witnessed a dog get hit she jumped into action. The dog had a huge gash and as she was pulling it shut with an extra t-shirt on hand I drove to the nearest emergency vet. She instinctively knows how to make medical traumas better. I asked her once why she never became a doctor and her response sadden me. She told me coming from a drug ridden family, especially her 15 and 17 year old parents, going to college let alone being a dr was not available to her. In addition she explained to me being a female was a negative as well. She attended a jr college but became pregnant with my brother. Her husband at the time was very traditional and insisted she quit and be a full time mother. He became a correctional officer and they moved to Crescent City. Getting pressure for another baby from her husband my sister was born. It was at that point she knew college was just a dream not a reality.

At my age, having hydrocephalus, and being a 17 year old male who’s growing at lighting speed; it’s at times difficult for me to determine if my shunt is malfunctioning or my body crying out for sleep. Late night study sessions and attempting to reach my 6’4 predicted height exhausts me. My number one way of self care, is by far, getting enough sleep. I’m a quiet sort of person and appreciate my time at home more then out. However, I know this is not good for my mental health, being cooped up in my room all day. I make sure on the weekends to go out with my close friends and family. There are times a family member will poke there head in my room to check on me. They are blunt and will directly ask if I’m sad or depressed. In addition to the hydrocephalus I probably have a little Aspergers. Our home is filled with lots of sibling, friends, loud noise, invasive family, 3 dogs, 3 bunnies, 2 tortious’, and a couple bearded dragons. My shy secludedness comes off as possible depression to my family because they are my opposite and a little crazy. I’m a good kid. I take the trash out, pick up dog poop, love on my mom when she’s not feeling well after a chemo session. I’m capable of filling all the shoes that cross our threshold. I attend all my doctor appointments, part of which screening for depression is given. My mom has cancer and my sister NF1. I’m thankful for life, the private school my grandmother paid for, my ability to retain what I read, earning good grades and golf. My life could be worse but it’s a pretty fun fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type. You never know what the next day will bring.

Buy used or with cash. My mom’s famous words. Don’t get me wrong she has two credit cards. She puts everything on them earning points, allowing us a once a year free vacation with the point; paying them off every month. My dad grew up on the upper side, my mom the lower. The first months of marriage were rough, both agree. My dad paid the bills, until my mom saw all the late charges and snatched that chore. We needed a new car. She practically duct taped our old jalopy together. Waiting till cash was available. Needless to say we got dropped off around the corner for a few months. Our first home my dad mortgaged; combining interest rate into the monthly payments. We lived there approximately 6 month then sold. Just the idea of paying taxes on taxes for 30 years was too much for her to accept. Our new home purchased with cash. We shop secondhand stores. Finding new clothes with tags still on. I got my license this year. Christmas morning, I receive a fully decked out 4 wheel drive, parking assist, 2013 Ford Edge with 13,000 miles on it. Practically a new car for $12,000. With four children and my dad, she is a planner/couponer. Shes an oxymoron at times, giving freely. You need ten bottles of BBQ sauce? It’s yours. Your out of razors-we have 25 in the back. Once she saw a man with his 8-13 aged children begging. She told me to give him a $100, baffled I did. I rolled down the window to hand it to him. Then in a disciplinary voice from behind, I hear her the words, “Take your children home! They’re mortified.” He looked around and saw his daughter crying, hiding her face. His response, “Yes ma’am.

In today’s society, where technology is easier to talk verses in person, it can be confusing as to who is a true friend and who is not. In all honesty, I have two friends and a lot of acquaintances. A true friend defends you when your not around. A true friend checks in on your mental and physical well being. They are close with your family and are welcomed at your dinner table without asking. They know your positive and negative family issues and try to improve situations if possible. To be a true friendship it has to go both ways. Both people have to put effort into the relationship. You both foster the same ideals for the most part. Even if you don’t, they care enough about your friendship to be mature and respect your position. They hold your secrets close and make you an important part of their lives. Recently, one of my two friends, came out to his family. It didn’t go well and both our families needed to work together in order for our friendship to continue. Counseling was needed for both of our sides. A misconception of my sexual orientation quickly escalated a conflict between our parents. By us supporting his choice it meant our values were not the same as theirs. His parents were of the mindset, it’s a mortal sin to be homosexual. My parents think God doesn’t make mistakes. It was a difficult time. After much effort his family was able to see that things aren’t always black or white. They now live in a grey zone with teeth clenched. Wanting and helping my friends achieve their goals in life are important. Making connections for them when I see the opportunity is the least I can do.

Family isn’t always biological. For a long time I didn’t have a lot of family, just my brother and sisters; one who is adopted. I didn’t understand as a child why we were a self contained unit until one day I ask my mom. Having grown up in Rio Linda, as a dirty, neglected, and hungry child, she wanted more for herself or maybe less. By less I mean breaking free from her entire drug addicted family. She was setting off on a path that has so far produced high quality children and happiness. Both of my siblings have graduated college and are living and working on their own. I can’t say though we were family-less through the years. My parents picked up people who were of value along the way and invested in their friendships. My “Aunt Marie” is of no blood relation but I’ve known her my entire life. Greg, who just recently passed, was a lonely kind fellow who again, I cannot recall him ever not being around. He was our Grandfather, taking us to Grandparents day and always donating or buying whatever fundraiser my school was selling. I see my friends and their families and I feel non the less. I respect my mothers instinct to distance herself from even her own mother; after many attempts of trying to get her clean. Seems when drugs take hold they don’t let go. We are a family, but only four of us share the same blood. Quality over quantity sounds good to me. My mother definitely has some scars.

I know this is going to sound bad. I have an adopted sister who has NF1. It has altered her personality drastically. She’s a really sick girl, 15-20 tumors on her brain and a cyst at the base of her skull causing spinal fluid pressure issue. My simple pleasure is when my mom tells me my sister is going to stay the weekend with her biological grandmother or a nanny that sometimes helps us. Just hearing these words in my head as I write them give me a selfish feeling. My sister is 9 years old 42 pounds, autistic, ocd, adhd, oppositional defiance disorder, manic, loud and violent towards anyone or animal if she’s in a mood or just told, “No”. So when we get a weekend without her the vibe is beautiful calm. We are unable to go to dinner parties after 5:30pm because that’s when her meds wear off. We have cameras all throughout the house and yards to keep track of her mainly. However, they have become very valuable in solving mysterious injury to our animals, and sadly, children who are smaller then her. I know if we didn’t take her into our family she most likely would not be here. She was born to a mom just like herself. Her biological mother has married a very strange partner who I’ve witnessed slapping his own children in the face. My sister’s behavior brings me to the brink of rage. I believe in my heart, for certain, she would not get the high level of medical care my family provides. Corporal punishment is never used. When one of us get to our breaking point we simply pass her along to another family member. A world of revolving doors for my sister is what we’ve come up with.

When I give, I almost get a guilt feeling. It’s a time when I feel a swell of gratitude that almost makes me uncomfortable. Most people are so grateful for what we are doing they profusely thank us. I want to hug them and tell them there is no need to thank us; we are doing what God has directed us to do. We save every year. Then on Easter and Christmas we make bags for the homeless. We really try to go to the areas that are isolated and far away from homeless shelters. One of my first memory was being dressed in my Easter best clothing. My new shoes getting muddy, holding my moms hand and a brown paper bag I had decorate the night before in the other. In the bag was a died Easter egg, candy, PB&J, an almond butter packet, bottle of water and a pair of new socks. I was scared and gripped my mothers hand tightly. I could hear big dogs barking; a few people were up. My mom whispered in my ear, “We are safe, God has asked us to do this.” It seemed to ease my fears some. My family all split up, I stayed with my mom, and we quietly placed bags as if we were the Easter Bunny outside tents. The people who were up, were so thankful and constantly committing on what a good boy I was for helping. In all honesty the feeling that arose in my chest was sadness and guilt. Why don’t they have a home and why were thanking me copiously? I just colored the bags and eggs. It’s 15 years later and we still do this. I understand now why I feel guilt, I’m an instrument. I was taking gratitude meant for God.

The “Out of Sink Child”, I would say has helped me and my family in dealing with personal issues the most. I have an adopted sister with NF1 and all the side effects that go with it. Every morning or every time we were in the car my mom would play this book for me and my dad. It helped me to understand her brain chemistry and why she behaves in certain ways. There were many times I would lose my cool with her and scream back, only to realize that made the situation even worse. Nf1 causes sensory processing disorders, autism, ocd, adhd, and tumors that grown on any nerve ending they choose. She currently has 15 brain tumors and a cyst at the base of her skull causing a cascade of neurological issues. Currently my family is surviving by splitting our time with her. My mom will be in her room for an hour and I can hear her getting upset. So I go get my sister and bring her to my room for an hour; when I can’t take her any long my father will step in and play with her. It makes it hard for our family to be together, having quality time together. The book, “The Out of Sink Child” gives me tricks and distraction techniques to use to break a tantrum or stop her from self harming. They don’t always work but sometimes they do. My mom feels bad that I have to be subject to books as such, but honestly I believe it will be extremely helpful to my major of deaf studies and interpreter entrepreneurship. I’m certain in my major field I will cross paths with many children like my sister.

My education started very young regardless of a medical condition called hydrocephalus. I spent months over the last 17 years of my life going back and forth to Valley Childrens. On my very first operating I had contracted spinal meningitis. I learned sign language basics very quickly from my mother due to my blindness. Eventually with less pressure the blindness went away but became an amazement to all around us at my ability. Although most signs were our own made up language. My confinement to a bio hazard room and limited visitor made time seem stagnant to my parents. Their was always one parent with me incase I was to die. It was important to my mother that I did not die alone. I was confided to a tented crib with a catheter draining blood, puss, chunks of brain matter that was to be change out daily by a man in a biohazard suit. I barreled through the light up machines playing Bach and Vivaldi attached to my crib, showing roaring beach scenes. Eventually it was not enough. That’s when it all became about books. We started with the basics, Shel Silverstein, The Einstein collection, all of the classics like Romeo and Juliet. An occasional football magazine if my dad could get the day off. My mother said I was the fattest baby she had ever seen. All she was allowed to do was feed and read. My healing process through the years started to speed up each time becoming miraculously fast. One neurosurgeon stating “a child requesting school 12 hours after brain surgery was a first for him. “ The continuing studies went on after CVRC declared me perfect, just rather fat. I never did crawl; just rolling from one area to another. I walked at 11 months and the baby fat dropped off. I was surrounded by my older siblings piano lessons and a bustling home of friends, family, music, animals and church. In first grade my mother was class mom and it became painfully obvious I was far past my counterparts. I was enrolled in Carden Elementary, took French and publish a French book about my monster adopted sister. In the 5th grade we moved to Reedley for our failing farm business; with that came Immanuel 12-K. My grandmother and parents managed to scape together enough money to keep me in it until, now, my impending graduation. I have achieved an 3.86 in every semesters with the exception of two. It was a dual enrollment and my first experience with a taste of a teacher who had conflicting teaching styles I had never been subject to. I passed the classes and indeed passed the college class with a B. It was a needed experience. Yelling and not always being the best or most liked was a life experience needed.

If I could only give one sentence of advice to anyone it would be, “Stay in your own lane.” Life will put in front of you all the lessons your soul needs to learn. Getting envolved in other people business without being asked to help is not a quality that benefits anyone. I’m not saying, don’t help your friends and family when needed. When approached for help or advise, I will do what I am capable of. Butting into a situation that may ultimately work itself out, if I choose a side, now it’s has left a bad taste for me in someone’s mouth. I have two friends who are dating, they get into a disagreement, I cannot give my opinion because most likely they will work it out. Choosing a side has now weakened my relationship with the friend I did not agree with. There are times I would get involved and actively help if the situation was a physically or verbally abusive situation. I’m a very calm, quiet, and loyal friend. I’m fairly certain if this happens it will occurred later in my life. My circle of quality friends is 3. I find more then that prevents me from being a good friend and maintain my grades. I’m lucky to get along with everyone. I have no enemies and keep busy with my studies, FFA and Golf. I’m a home body mainly. However, i and my three quality friends do find time to foster our friendships. I’m proud of my posse. I enjoy our intellectual conversations, discussions on books we like. I’m not sure I’d have time for that if I was trying talk badly about so-and-so because he said something bad about someone I else.

I have always been a quiet, get good grades, do everything to the best of my ability type of kid. My parents have high expectations of me, and despite having hydrocephalus, I always deliver. I am well mannered and very much calm. This particular incident I’m about to tell you about has little to do with my school, but showed me and my family I can and will automatically react to an obvious injustice. I am the third of four children yet I stand 6’2 and weigh in at 160 lbs. We were on vacation in Ireland over two years ago and a confederation broke out between my eldest brother and my mother. There was about 8 of us standing around listening to my brother scream at the top of his lungs. He does suffer from some type of oppositional disorder and my mother was trying to calm him down. He is very scary when he is angry. I was waiting for my Dad or anyone to step in but they didn’t. I have never been the one to get envolved in drama, but this is my mother and he was hovering over her in a very scary and disgusting manner. I felt this burn start in the pit of my stomach, I could feel it rising up. Never, have I allowed my emotions to get to a point of speaking out, let alone burst out of me with such anger and veracity. The next thing I knew I had puffed up my full 160 lbs, he outweighs me by 45 lbs, and was now standing in front of my mother as a form of protection. I can’t, or probably shouldn’t, repeat what was said, but it stopped him dead in his tracks. I’ve always accepted my place in the pecking order and had managed to divert any negative confrontations with him or anyone for that matter. The feeling I had was one of pure instinct and disgust, for him and everyone else, who just stood there doing nothing. I was the youngest, the calmest but at some point I realized everyone else was so scared of my brother’s wrath the left my 5’6 and 150 lb mother to take it all. That was the only time I’ve ever envolved myself in something that could of turned physical, depending on his return reaction. Just my intervention jolted him out of his manic episode. He now had to decide to deal with me or calm down. He glared up at me with his black eyes, and as I stood my ground I slowly watched his black eyes turn brown. His stance became relaxed and backed up a bit. My heart was pounding and for the first time I had moved up on our family totem pole. When we talk about that incident years later, everyone now free to state how they were feeling, all said they were in a state of shock. All wanting to say something, yet not wanting to become his next moving target. My mother was grateful and proud of me. My other siblings and family members in shock that “the good” kid could be so protective. Since then, there have been a couple other instances at school when I’ve been witness to something similar. I have a new confidence in my ability to bring them to an abrupt end. I have a confidence and a feeling of obligation to help when I see verbal or physical abuse. I’m still the quiet one who gets good grades, doesn’t back talk and always looks for the good in all.

Living in todays fast pace, one-day Amazon deliveries, and immediate results are expected and delivered, patience is hard for my generation. Patience is a word that can only be mastered by practice. In my opinion it also is part of your genetic makeup. My father is a rock. When covid hit we lost our packing house from numerous reasons. Climate change, lack of workers, covid, mainly other companies facing the same issue we were. It left him unable to collect what was owed. The smaller farmers and companies he took in stride. It was the larger companies, the insurance companies he dutifully paid monthly to ensure coverage for the above reasons. They took the stance with my father and many other farmers, kill them with time and attorney fees. My father is a graduate from Santa Clara University and one of the smartest people I know. He has run a very successful ambulance company, a packing house for many years, and still would be had contracts not broken. He has his realtor license and even took the Bar. When he was financially unable to pay attorneys to fight his battles, he did all of the grunt work himself. After years of holding the larger debtors feet to the fire, he ultimately won. Sadly far to late to save our packing house and a big portion of our farm. Instead of him taking his dues he used the funds to pay his obligations. He paid farmers and employees he could of got away with not. His word and networking abilities are something he was taught by his father. Currently, today he drives a truck with 175,000 miles on it. While his 5 workers received new trucks to work our remaining fields. He even rolls his change, he’s a patient man.

I could tell you that my rabbits, good grades, or getting a car on Christmas makes me Happy. These are all things that I do feel lucky to have, but true happiness is when I can feel my parents have peace, if just for a day. My parents have been burdened with the threat of my death since my birth. Hydrocephalus is a dark cloud that will follow me every second of my life. For my parents it’s a looming petrifying possibility that one day I could pass before them. My mother and I are especially close. My condition is currently stable and I have an adopted sister. Faith was diagnosed with NF1, it is a inherited condition she got from her biological mother. NF1 is something most people have never heard of; ask my mother about NF1 and she can extensively explain it to you. What makes me happy? When I am healthy, when my sister is on a balanced medication program and is being kind. Faith has 15 fat deposits throughout her brain. As they grow it causes her to become horribly mean, specifically to my mother, her primary caregiver. Every day is different. I’m happy when my mother is happy. She endures my condition keeping an eagle eye on any possible signs of shunt malfunction. She endures my sister hitting and screaming at her, continuously taking her to hundreds of appointments. That number is not a exaggeration. My true happiness is when we feel like a normal family. When my mother is belly laughing, playing practical jokes on us. When we get to sit at the table and eat with all my siblings, because I know, that is her happiest time.

The government is our biggest divide. For some we are capable of navigating friendships and family who possess opposite opinions. I estimate that to be a 30-40 percentage. I believe it is exactly what the government wants and implemented. We are not as racist and inhumane as TV networks, who are getting paid, want us to believe. I’m in my last year or high school and have as of yet seen or heard such racism the media projects. So they push COVID. Covid does indeed exists, but why? Is it a natural morph from eating bat soup or was it created by a scientist from the U.S. working in Wuhan as population control. Kill the weak and elderly so the healthy can have more? Why do we allow for such Monopolies? Why is the middle class evaporating? It is of great concern to me the hidden agendas behind all governments. How does someone like Nancy Polosi who gets paid $193,400 in salary amass a net worth of $196,000 MILLION? I honestly believe most politicians go into politics to make living situations better for all. Sadly, here come the Lobbyist from big pharm, secret sex trafficking rings of the likes of Epstein, Weinstein or Woody Allen for God sakes. Woody Allen! Why did no one do anything? Our government knew, and many actively participated in so many illegal and deplorable acts; so much so that any, “Honorable”, government official is easily bought off or blackmailed into silence. I see little hope in our government. We must find a way to live among the evil without breaking our spirits.

The best financial advice I’ve ever received came from my mother. She told me, “ Have patience and try always to buy used.” The first part confused me. She explained within weeks the brand new item I want, someone else will no longer. My mother went on to explain depreciation and even though it is not new it still holds value in the right hands, mine. In addition she snuck in some hidden environmental agenda about reusing and saving our natural resources. “When a towel can no longer be a towel, it can now be 8 dust rags.” I understood what she meant. In addition, when we have used our items to the fullest of our needs, we still do not throw away. We have a box we place them in and give them to those who could benefit from their use. My mother collects old used backpacks from friends and second hand stores. We fill them with toiletries, socks, water and food. Every Christmas and Easter mornings we get up very early and quietly place outside of the tents of the homeless. As children we loved dying eggs and coloring on the food bags; and though we aren’t children anymore she still expects the same. She came from a very broken home and this has greatly heightened her empathy for others. “Do not forget; one day this could be you.

I show Lionhead rabbits for FFA at my school. Being a senior this year I had experience enough to figure out how to combine certain combinations of rabbits and produce Best in Breed. All my buns sweep the breed. Nutmeg is a second place bun, but when bred with a pedigree male they produced outstanding kits of all colors. My Lionheads have their own room and we consider them family. We have little biological family, so we created an animal kingdom with numerous species, from dragons, dogs, cats, and buns. We can all be together and no one gets eaten.

From my very first breath it was a struggle for me to stay alive. Born with a medical condition that gave my parents little hope of life, or that of a normal one. Surpassing my peers, I was pulled from public schooling and put into private schools with challenging curriculums. I am the last of my male linage. Coming from a very brute-aggressive German grandfather and a Japanese grandmother. My grandmother was born in a concentration camp during Pearl Harbor. My Father is an only child, and the expectations placed on him were high. I am the only bio-child of my Father. His expectations are none less for me. My grandfather started American Ambulance and built it up to an empire. Upon his death, the company fell into new hands. The importance for my Father to pave his own way was important to my grandfather. My dad pivoted. Starting a farm, and it has been one struggle after another. Farming has many political and environmental blockades. A projected and thriving business is many years from now. His dream is for me to take over one day. This is not my dream. I’m not a brute German who barrels through walls with connections and a loud voice. I’m not an immigrant born in a concentration camp, nor am I an only child that pleases out of fear. I get along well with all, yet have very few close friends. I like to bake, raise Lionhead rabbits, and I plan to become an ASL translator. I hope to use my skills to open a center(s), teaching families with disabilities to overcome. This life path will be the boldest thing I've ever done. To follow my own dreams over my fathers is the scariest and boldest thing I will have done thus far.

From my very first breath it was a struggle for me to stay alive. Born with a medical condition that gave my parents little hope of life, or that of a normal one. Surpassing my peers, I was pulled from public schooling and put into private schools with challenging curriculums. I am the last of my male linage. I come from a very brute-aggressive German grandfather and a Japanese grandmother, born in a concentration camp during Pearl Harbor. My Father is an only child, and the expectations placed were extremely high. I am the only bio-child of my Father, and his expectations are none less for me. My grandfather started American Ambulance and built it up from three ambulances to an empire. Upon his death, the company fell into new hands. The importance for my Father to pave his way was was extremely important to my grandfather. My dad pivoted. He started a Farming Company with a partner and has been struggling to make it work. Farming has many political and environmental blockades, creating a projected thriving business many years from now. He hopes for me to take over one day; use my natural and earned intellect to impact the farm significantly. I am not a brute German who barrels through walls with connections and a loud voice. I am not an immigrant born in a concentration camp, nor an only child that pleases out of fear. I get along with all, yet have very few close friends. I like to bake, raise Lionhead rabbits for FFA, and I plan to become an ASL translator. I will use my skills to open a center(s), teaching families with disabilities to overcome. This life path will be the boldest thing I've ever done, follow my dreams and not my Fathers.

Staying true to myself in a society where I am required to be like everyone else is a feat of honesty. I categorize myself as Asexual. I am happy just being me. As sex is not a distraction for me, I am able to focus and accomplish more. This is difficult for many to understand, but I don’t waiver when asked. I am a creature of God or the universe. I didn’t choose my internal soul, it was gifted to me. I believe I am unique. There are others. I’m not sure if I’m lucky or unlucky in my organic makeup, but it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I seem to accomplish more, earn better grades, and navigate my world with less complications. I have been created to focus on my passions, without the burden of conflicting wants of a partner. My focus is mine. I will make a difference in this world, or maybe just loan my perspective to someone’s else’s. “The secret to change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old, but building a new.” Socrates