UPbeat Fall 2013

Speaking up for those back home

A University Press magazine November 2013

See page 12.

Inside: • Survivor • Trade Days • Modest Proposal • Kangaroos • People

UPbeat A University Press Magazine November 2013

PEOPLE — page 4

CANCER SURVIVOR

AFRICA’S DEAF

WINNIE MARKET

BREEDING JOEYS

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— page 12

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ESTEEMED ESTABLISHMENT EDITOR Chelsea Henderson

STAFF Chris Moore William Jones Xenia Herrmann Mallory Matt Kristen Stuck Nhu Pham Adriana Sanchez Brandi Dumas Jessica Lane Melvin Nelson Tara Wigley

ADVERTISING Melissa Conley

This issue of UPbeat is a production of the University Press staff.

UNIVERSITY PRESS A THIRTEEN-TIME ASSOCIATED PRESS MANAGING EDITORS AWARD WINNER

©University Press 2013

Cover by William Jones www.lamaruniversitypress.com

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PEOPLE

Boy Toys JAYSON CRAIG Jayson Craig has toys — a lot of toys. The 30-year-old Groves native has a closet full of figurines and stuffed toys that reflect his love of television and movies. From Pee-wee Herman to Steve Urkel, from ALF to Marilyn Monroe, Jayson’s collection encompasses a variety of shows. His collection grew from his love of horror films. “My first ones were Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers,” he says. Jayson works at the Barnes & Noble Bookstore on campus and has been collecting for a few years. “I started because it was fun and a hobby,” he says. Most of the toys date from the 1960s, ’70s, ’80s and ’90s. “The ones that I have from the ’70s are all stuffed,” he says. He gets most of his collection from eBay, and he spends a couple hours every other week looking for toys. He has a Michael Jackson figure that he bought for $20, which he estimates is worth $500 to $600 now. While he buys the toys for himself, he says he hopes they will be worth something that he can give to his future children. The oldest toy he has is a Redd Foxx from the “Sanford and Son” TV show and a J.J. (Jimmy Walker) from “Good Times.” A “Terminator,” his favorite, is still in the package, which makes it more valuable. “I just like the show,” he says. Jayson’s collection proves one is never too old to play with toys.

Text and photo by Nhu Pham

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Fabulous Style TERRANCE JACKSON Creativity is Terrance Jackson’s middle name, and style is his attitude — and it always has been. “My first work of art was on my mother’s white car — I grabbed a sharpie and went to work,” he says. By age 4, the fashion merchandising junior quickly realized he had a passion for making his ideas come to life. When Terrance entered middle school, he began to sketch and design clothing. “I dressed very well and knew the styles of clothing I liked, so I began to combine both,” he says. Terrance is president of Lamar’s Fashion Merchandising Association and has also shown at fashion shows such as La Soiree in Beaumont.

Terrance also uses his personal experience as a victim of bullying for motivation. “I describe myself as being androgynous — what doesn’t kill you, makes you fabulous,” he says. Terrance plans to launch his own clothing company, and continues to sketch daily while being an activist for gay rights. Terrance recently launched his website, tajiillustrations.tumblr.com, where his designs can be viewed in 3D. “I want to share my passion with everyone,” he says. “Everyone needs to see my work, and I have something to offer this world.”

Text and photo by Adriana Sanchez

Concert Junkie Surrounded by thousands of No Doubt Fans in a sold-out pavilion — where the voice of Gwen Stefani and the then not-so-famous Katy Perry were drowned out by the over-eager audience to sing along — Sandra Mancilla, who was attending her very first concert, discovered a passion. It was the summer of 2009, and Sandra says the excitement and the energy of the crowd was unlike anything she had experienced before. The Devers senior says she has spent more than $1,000 on tickets and travel to concerts since that fateful day.

She keeps the ticket stubs in a box in her room.

The broadcast major’s obsession with music crosses all genres — except Mexican corridos. Among all the concerts she has attended, just like a kiss, she says her first is the most memorable. The one artist she is looking forward to seeing is John Mayer. He recently had surgery on his throat, but Sandra says as soon as he is back on the road, she will be there. “He’s the one person I’m dying to see,” she says. Sandra plans to pursue a career in broadcasting, but expects to continue her concertgoing. “I want to fulfill my dreams,” she says, “and when I look back on my life, I want to be able to say, ‘I didn’t just sit around and watch TV.’”

Text and photo by Brandi Dumas

SANDRA MANCILLA

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Balancing Act MERCEDES JOHNSON When Mercedes Johnson dances, the struggle she faces to establish balance between her two chosen careers is invisible. The psychology major and dance minor has been dancing for nine years, and has known that she wanted to go into psychology since she was 14. The bubbly 21-year-old says that creating symmetry between her love for psychology and her passion for dance is a bit of a balancing act. “I’m in the process of figuring out how to make them fit together,” she says.

“It’ll be interesting to see how it all works out in the future. Dance lets me express myself in ways that words don’t allow, but psychology is close to my heart as well.” She says her grandmother has paranoid schizophrenia. “That was kind of the doorway to me wanting to become a psychologist.” Mercedes says her goal is to become a dance director, preferably working with middle-school girls. She wants to help them grow, not only in developing their craft, but also as people. “I want to teach them about what it means to be a young lady, not just a young woman — there’s a difference,” she says. “I think it’s important for young girls to know why things like modesty are important.” She also wants to become a psychologist, working with either children or veterans. Whether through dance or diagnosis, Mercedes says she just wants to help people.

Text and photo by Jessica Lane

More Than a Pretty Face

LATRICE GALLOW

Latrice Gallow is a contradiction. She is an electrical engineer, but also an artist. More than that, she is a “pretty” girl who also values her high GPA. “Many people don’t think you can have beauty and brains — but I am living proof that they are wrong,” the LU senior says. Latrice already has an electrical engineering degree, a business degree and a leadership certificate, and she is in her final semester for a chemical engineering degree. While most people who survive the grueling course work of one degree are quick to leave school, Latrice decided that she was not done with her college career, so she stayed. “As a child, I wanted to be a juggernaut, educationally equipped for success and ready for global expansion and corporate America,” she says.

As well as studying, Latrice is putting herself through school with a full-time job as the lead financial analyst at the Port Arthur Public Library. “Hard work and dedication to believing in myself have made my dreams a reality,” she says. “Perseverance is the key to anything if you want it badly enough.”

Oh, one more thing. In the little spare time she has, Latrice makes art and writes poetry, although this is one area where her natural confidence is quieter. “I never share my art work or my poetry,” she says. “I am very sensitive about my craft — maybe one day I will share.” When that day comes, don’t be surprised to find Latrice’s works of art in fine galleries.

Text and photo by Melvin Nelson

Quadriceps of Steel LYDIA CRUMP On the surface, Lydia Crump is a typically conservative lady from Vidor, but she has a dark side — she loves to rough up other women. The Lamar Institute of Technology student competes for the Spindletop Roller Girls. Lydia’s parents met at the roller rink and incorporated skating into their kids’ lives at a young age. “I was recruited from a parking lot,” she says.

“One night, I was roller skating in a parking lot with a friend of mine, when a car pulls up and asks how old I am. Then she told me about the local roller derby team.” Lydia, also known as “Broad Cast-her,” which reflects her communication emphasis, has been playing since January and has skated one season so far. The 21-year-old won MVP for blocker and was rookie of the year. “I’d say the hardest thing about derby is the physical workout,” she says. “It’s great for your body. We all have quadriceps of steel.” Lydia encourages anyone thinking about trying roller derby to give it a try. “I love everything about roller derby,” she says. “I’ve always been competitive at everything I do. If you can roller skate, are very competitive and can take a lot of pain, roller derby is the perfect sport for you.”

Text and photo by Kristen Stuck

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Scary Diagnosis

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XENIA HERRMANN

KENNEY REMAINS OPTIMISTIC, CARING IN FACE OF BREAST CANCER Nina Kenney is a cheerful woman, with a kindly face and warm, brown eyes. She smiles a lot. For an onlooker, it is hard to imagine that her face is hiding a long history of illness and suffering.

Kenney discovered a lump on her breast in 2006 — it was April Fool’s Day. “I was sure that nobody was going to believe me,” she says. “I was afraid everybody would think I was fooling around.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a joke.

Kenney was in her bathroom when she felt the abnormality in her breast.

“I knew immediately what it was,” she says.

At that time, the tumor was already more than an inch in size.

A mother of two sons, Kenney says she still remembers her first thought.

“I was afraid that my boys would be raised without their mother,” she says. “This was the most horrible thing about the cancer altogether. I didn’t want them to lose their mother.”

After Kenney found the lump, everything happened quickly. Her physician, Dr. Dar Kavouspour, did a biopsy.

“When I woke up from the surgery, I could tell by the looks on my sons’ and husband’s faces what he was about to tell me — it was cancer,” she says.

Overnight, her life changed.

Kenney had to quit her job as a middle school teacher because she felt too ill.

She was no longer Nina Kenney — mother, wife, teacher.

She was now “The woman who has cancer.”

“I didn’t like the idea that people were thinking I was going to die,” she says. “You are kind of labeled, and you are not as whole and as strong as you used to be.”

Kenney says she didn’t try to

hide her illness.

“However, it can be a challenge for a person with cancer to understand that people do things which they think will help you — because they want to help you,” she says. “Sometimes, what they say and do doesn’t make you feel any better. If you understand that they do these things to make you

feel better, then it makes sense.”

The official terminology for her cancer is invasive ductal carcinoma. Behind this complicated term is a kind of breast cancer that starts in the milk ducts and remains “in situ” until it spreads outside the duct and becomes invasive.

“The cancer is fed by three

different types of hormones — estrogen, progesterone, and HER2 receptor,” Kenney says.

“My treatment plan was designed based on these factors.

It deprives the malignant cells from what keeps them alive.”

Although she has no medical training, when Kenney talks about cancer, her speech quickens as she rattles off medical terminology. As she has learned about her condition, she has become fluent in the language of the disease that is now so much a part of her everyday life.

Kenney had to learn what was going on in her body and how the growing cells were working against her.

The treatment plan included a segmental mastectomy, a surgery in which the parts of the breast which have cancer, as well as some surrounding unaffected parts, are removed.

Her treatment also included chemotherapy, which destroys all fast-growing cells in the human body. In this way, the chemo eliminates the cancer. However, it not only fights the cancer — it also fights the healthy cells in the body.

Everybody reacts differently to the chemotherapy — Kenney thought deeply before describing the treatment.

“When you get chemotherapy, you don’t sit there and feel immediately ill,” she says. “You don’t feel anything while the infusion is going in.

“After a few days, it feels like getting a cold. On the first day, you feel a little tingle in the back of your throat. A day later, you feel a sting in your throat and after that, your nose will start running. A day after that, you will feel really sick.

“When you get chemo, each day (might feel like) a week. The feeling of being sick builds up after every infusion — and in the

Now bald, Nina Kenney, left, who has breast cancer, holds a picture of herself with hair, taken this summer. Kenney has to take numerous medications, above, to deal with the side effects of chemotherapy.

end, you are really sick.”

After the treatment was over, Kenney says it was more than a year before she was pain free.

“The pain I was suffering from was not a pain a regular painkiller can cure — it was nerve pain,” she says.

“Chemo is not as horrible as it sounds — but it just sucks. You never know how your body is going to react. Sometimes I would feel good the day after the infusion, and just one day later, I had the feeling that my teeth were coming out of my head. It felt as if they would literally become loose.

“The worst thing about it is that you have no control about your body. Your nose might be bleeding all of a sudden, and your hair is falling out. This is what getting old must be like.”

It took the now 47-year-old several years to rebuild her strength. She says she wasn’t aware of how long it took until she looked back every once in a while and realized how much better she felt compared to the year before.

Kenney says she had trustworthy doctors at the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. They helped her get through her treatment plan. She concentrated on everything her doctors told her to do — step by step.

“I literally had their faces in my mind when I had to drink nasty stuff to do a test, and when I got pricked with needles, and went to surgery,” she says.

She could have said, “No, I don’t want any of this,” but she

trusted her doctors to know what was important.

“My doctors never said I ‘had’ to do this treatment, but they knew it was what had to be done to get rid of cancer,” she says.

“They gave me statistics and told me, ‘This is the best way to do it.’”

Her oncologist in Beaumont, Marjorie Green, told her, “You won’t die from this.”

“She told me that the cancer was not going to kill me,” Kenney says. “This cancer wouldn’t be the end of me.”

Dr. Green proved to be right.

Not all women that suffer from breast cancer are as lucky as Kenney. The National Cancer Institute estimates there will be 234,580 new cases of breast cancer in the United States for 2013.

This year, more than 40,000

Americans are going to die from the disease.

Chemotherapy is expensive.

Kenney estimates that her infusions cost around $20,000 — each. Fortunately, she has good health insurance. However, it made her think about people who have no insurance.

“A while ago, I was standing in an elevator together with another woman and her daughter,” Kenney says. “The daughter had to give the news to the family that the mother was only going to get two of the three medicines she needed. It was the last time they were going to give her chemo because she didn’t have health insurance.

“I felt guilty, because I was See KENNEY, page 22

Another Modest Proposal UPbeat

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For preventing the dismantlement of the NCAA and strengthening their authority over unruly student-athletes

By Mr. Christopher R. Moore, esq.

With regards to Jonathan Swift

The NCAA has taken a lot of hits in the media lately. The “All Players United” campaign by college athletes who are trying to stand up to the governing body has gained a little steam. Then, there is the question of why the NCAA has not been involved with the situation at Grambling State. Now, the conversation around paying college athletes has grown louder and louder.

Someone needs to stand up for the NCAA. As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the topics under discussion, I modestly propose a few ideas to keep the status quo.

Firstly, college athletes are paid enough. They are guaranteed an education. Tuition rates are higher than ever. The schools can raise the tuition rates if the student athletes want a pay raise. No one else on campus gets to receive a free education and get paid.

After all, from where would the money come?

Mark Emmert, president of the NCAA, makes a mere $1.7 million per annum, according to USA Today. That can’t be divided up between thousands of athletes. Coaches and athletic directors make hundreds of thousands of dollars, even at small schools — millions at “big” programs. Instead, the group should use that well-deserved money to buy brightly-colored fur coats, gold chains and diamond-encrusted canes, just to show the student athletes who the real bosses are.

Secondly, they are student athletes. The “student” comes first for a reason. Universities already change grades to help them out. Some even go as far as to put them in easier online classes. How much more do they want? This is done for the students’ benefit — how else could one expect them to succeed? The coaches and athletic directors don’t benefit from changing players’ grades to make them eligible to play.

Former NFL player Dexter Manley admitted to not being able to read. For many, that raises

the question of how he stayed eligible to play for four years at Oklahoma State University.

The school and the NCAA did their job of making sure he could play. What he did, or didn’t do, in the classroom is on him. The NCAA took a guy who might have had no business being in college and gave him a college education.

That’s generosity.

The student athletes are there to get an education and play for the love of the game. Coaches and athletic directors would do their jobs for free education and the love of it, but they have to pay bills.

There is, likewise, another great advantage in my scheme, being that it will prevent the student athletes from thinking they should be taken seriously. Quite frankly, the student athletes should wear tighter uniforms. Their bodies are being put on the line every time they step on to their respective fields of play. We might as well be able to see what they are working with.

Other universities should follow the example of schools like Ferris State and host more weight lifting fundraisers, where fans can come in and watch the athletes display their incredible feats of strength. The athletes, therefore, go out and make the money which they can bring back to the people in the fur coats, gold chains and diamond-encrusted canes.

Thirdly, the NCAA isn’t heartless. When Louisville basketball player Kevin Ware broke his leg, with the bone exposed through the skin, on national television last year in the NCAA tournament, the NCAA allowed shirts to be sold for $25 apiece to support him. The shirt read “ri5e up,” with Ware’s jersey number replacing the “S.” The NCAA couldn’t use Ware’s name, because their rules argue it would be unethical to make money off of his name. Fortunately, exploiting his jersey number and injury is a perfectly reasonable proposition.

The schools provide health benefits, clothing and a place to stay. I have heard some argue that they are treated like women of ill repute, supported by others with fur coats, gold chains and diamond-encrusted canes. And they are the world’s oldest profession, which proves the stability of the business model.

When people suggest that student athletes be paid, they do not consider that some schools cannot afford to pay all athletes. As every good businessperson knows, when you can’t afford to pay someone, you just suppress wages.

Lastly, the student athletes should be flattered to be invited to play at the college level. Last year, according to Forbes, seven of our nation’s fine institutes of higher learning each spent more than $1 million recruiting young men for the honor of playing sports — how sad that they should have to try to convince ungrateful athletes to do what any one of us diligent citizens would gladly do, simply for the honor of the game.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of the NCAA and the fine universities, by not only continuing a great tradition, but also by enhancing it.

Recently, at Grambling State, the football players boycotted their game because they felt like their working conditions were unacceptable.

These cry babies bemoaned the fact that padding on workout benches was torn or missing, or that there were torn mats in the weightlifting room, and there was mold on the ceiling and shoulder pads, among many other supposedly “unsanitary and unsafe” work environments. The players stood together and refused to play a game until the situation improved.

Poppycock, I say. This cannot be allowed.

Those players should be punished and the program dismantled. It sets a bad example for the rest of the universities. Imagine if a top-25 team boycotted the NCAA by refusing to play a nationally-televised game. Think of the money that would be lost. Millions would be flushed down the drain. If every college did it, the NCAA might cease to exist.

And we can’t have that.

Mr. Moore is the humble editor of the sporting department of the University Press.

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Graphic by Mr. William T. Jones, esq.

i t’s a safari

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MUSYOKA JOURNEYS FROM KENYA TO BEAUMONT TO SPEAK UP FOR DEAF

LU assistant professor Millicent Musyoka models a traditional Kenyan Leso robe.

n the plains of Africa, the safari is home to many obstacles and wildlife, cursed beneath an unforgiving heat. To Millicent Musyoka, it’s a sun-baked kingdom pining for a change. Like the rain that breaks the heat on the plains, Musyoka’s bravery and determination is changing the stereotypical view of Africa’s deaf.

Born and raised in Kenya, Musyoka pursued her passion for people with disabilities against fierce odds, changing the way her culture beheld the “cursed.” Her safari — her journey — dared her to speak out for those who could not. Now, she teaches others to do the same as an assistant professor in Lamar’s deaf studies and deaf education department.

“Speaking” is actually one of Musyoka’s specialties.

“I speak 11 languages,” she says. “So, to me, language is not an issue.”

In her country, there are 74 different tribes, all speaking their own, unique language.

“Every tribe in Kenya has a geographical position,” Musyoka says. “I was not born in the geographical position of my community — my tribe. I speak my community’s language and the tribe’s language I was born in. I also had to speak the national language, Swahili, because it’s what everybody speaks in the country, and my mother was a teacher. She believed English was very important for us kids, so we spoke English at home, too. By the time I went to preschool, I was speaking four languages.”

Musyoka says that in high school, she was a girl scout.

“To earn my community service, I went to schools with students with disabilities — that was my interest — to go and see what they do, mainly, because I come from a background where there are a lot of cultural myths and stereotypes about why a person becomes disabled,” she says.

It’s common in the Kenyan culture to believe disabilities have nothing to do with genetics or accidents, Musyoka says. It is considered an abomination. Many believe the disability is a result of something the parents did to make the gods bless them with that kind of child.

“Another reason was that, maybe, when they got married, the husband did not pay the dowry,” she says.

Most African children with disabilities are not welcome and they feel it, Musyoka says.

“There are parents who hide their children with disabilities,” she says. “Nobody ever sees or knows they exist, because their parents don’t want anyone to think (badly) of their family. There was also the unspoken rule not to stare or make comments when they pass by. It’s a bad omen — that if I stare at them, then I would be cursed to have a child with the exact same disabilities.”

Musyoka attended Kenyatta University in Nairobi

Millicent Musyoka uses sign language as she teaches in the Speech and Hearing Building.

and joined the Disabled Students Association after being placed at the cafeteria tables set aside for them. She was not disabled, but she knew why her university placed her there.

“I wasn’t disabled, but I was really tiny — very underweight,” she says. “At 5 feet 3 inches, I weighed about 95 pounds. I used to feel so funny in my country, because most Africans are big. Being big is a good, positive thing. I remember going through a lot of genetic testing when I was little, for my family to find out why I couldn’t be big. Because of my size, my university decided I could not be with the rest of the students. So, they put me at the table of students with disabilities to be served my food.”

Musyoka says no one told her she was sitting there because she was underweight. Those were things her culture did not speak of. They weren’t saying she was small. They were saying the students, with their frenzied pushing and shoving in the waiting lines, would crush her.

“As a result, (the disabled) became my people,” she says. “It really gave me the opportunity to explore my interest and to make friendships that allowed me to learn their challenges.”

Classes in Kenyan universities often have 500 to 1,000 students — and no PowerPoint. It was in such a class that Musyoka was introduced to the deaf world.

“The classes are more lecture based,” she says. “In my first year in my undergraduate, there was this student who sat next to me who loved to copy my work. Having everyone tell me I was too tiny, I was very sensitive to any way someone behaved to me, so I thought he was bullying me.

“He was the first deaf person I met. He shared his experiences and challenges of being deaf in a hearing university without the support of interpreters or note takers.”

Musyoka says her classmate told her there were more students like him, but they used a very special type of language to communicate — a language he had no intention of learning for fear people would learn he was disabled.

She was instantly fascinated, so her classmate introduced her to Michael Ndurumo, a deaf man who worked with the education department.

Ndurumo had a program for hearing students to have the opportunity to learn sign language.

“That is where I began my safari into the deaf world,” she says. “I got my undergraduate (degree) in education, and I was trained in Kenyan Sign Language as an interpreter. I didn’t want to teach at a general school. I wanted to teach at a deaf education school. I began a new struggle of trying to convince my government that I needed to go to a special school.”

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Musyoka says that in her country, the student does not choose their school or major. The government allows the student to list their first three desired universities and majors, and the final decision is based on the “need assessment” of the country.

“Education was not my first choice — it was my third,” she says. “My first major was law. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer, and maybe one day I’ll pursue it, but, in my country, teaching is very highly respected. It’s a very well-paid job and held to the same esteem as a lawyer or a doctor, because the teacher makes everybody.”

Musyoka says that when she graduated with her education major, the government already had a place for her in a regular school, but she turned down the offer.

“I made an appeal to my country’s ministry of education and requested, kindly, if they would reconsider,” she says. “I really wanted to be in a deaf school, but, you see, most teachers at special schools did not have bachelor’s degrees. A bachelor’s was so highly regarded that you needed to go to a public school. It was a struggle for a while, but they noticed I was very stubborn — so they gave in. I’ve always been a fighter.”

Musyoka says she taught at a high school for the deaf for about four years. Then she heard the government was looking for somebody who understood deaf education, knews the language and at least had a bachelor’s degree, to be curriculum specialist for deaf education for preschool to associate degrees.

“After I applied, I remember I went to the interview, and the interviewer said to me that they were looking for a government officer, and if I knew what that meant,” she says. “I said, ‘I know, I saw your age bracket. My age is not there.’ At that time I was either 23 or 24, and the minimum age was 35. To be a government officer in my country is a very high position. You need to have had a lot of training, skills and experience, and here I was — fresh from my undergraduate.”

Musyoka says the interviewer asked her why she came if she knew she did not qualify.

“I said, ‘When I looked at the position, I noticed I met all of the requirements apart from one — age,’” she says. “And to me, that’s a number. What matters is, ‘Can you do the job?’ I said, ‘If you get somebody else who beats me, I don’t have a problem. You can choose that person. But I strongly feel that I qualify for the job.’”

After she completed the interview, Musyoka says she left her interviewer with one thought. “‘I feel I did well in this interview’,” she says, “‘but there are some things I cannot change. I can’t change my tribe — that is a destiny; I was born into that tribe. I can’t change that I’m a woman — too bad. And, I cannot change that I was not born earlier. If you bypass those three factors, I think I’m qualified for this job, but thank you for the opportunity.’ And I left.”

A few months later, she received a call saying See MUSYOKA, page 23

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WINNIEWONDERLAND

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PICKIN’

AND DIGGIN’ AND LOOKIN’ FOR A BARGAIN

Every month, on the weekend following the first Monday, an eclectic traveling band of vendors gather in Winnie for Larry’s Old Time Trade Days. The event features people from all walks of life who come to Southeast Texas’ largest flea market. Vendors range from retired craftsmen to budding entrepreneurs to people out of work looking to make rent. The grounds, which hold up to 500 vendors, is a cornucopia of recycled clothing, movies, cards, rusty tools, antiques and collectibles. One can find hand-crafted items such as jewelry, mugs, yard art, candles and even commemorative wooden footballs. The brightly-colored stalls attract a large crowd looking for decorations for the home or items to complete a collection.

Despite multiple TV shows focusing on “picking,” there are still a few bargains to be found if one is willing to dig.

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LU’S PARRISH KICKS BACK WITH UNCONVENTIONAL PETS

It is scientifically proven that petting animals helps relieve anxiety and reduce stress. While most students come home in the afternoons to kick back and pet their cat or dog, Matthew Parrish, Lumberton sophomore, comes home to slightly less conventional companions — his kangaroos.

“Whenever I’m not in class or at work, I really love to come and hang out with them, and be around them,” he says. “It’s definitely a good thing to just get away from class and work. It’s relaxing.”

Parrish first became acquainted with his new pets when his mother married his stepfather, Perry Viator.

“My stepdad loves them,” he says. “He is really interested in kangaroos, and we breed and sell them everywhere in the United States. We’ve had kangaroos in Tennessee, Ohio, New York, Florida — we even had a kangaroo appear on the Jay Leno show a couple of years ago.”

Parrish says he was shocked when he first found out that his stepfather owned kangaroos.

“At first, I kind of didn’t believe my mom that he had kangaroos,” Parrish says. “I was like, ‘Yeah…OK.’ But then I came and saw them, and I was like, ‘Wow.’” While they are pets first, breeding them is important because it is his stepfather’s business, Parrish says.

“We sell females for about $3,000 and males for about $2,500,” he says. “We usually have between 25 and 35 babies a year.”

Parrish says that currently they have around 30 kangaroos, including the babies, which are called “joeys.”

“They breed all year long, so we get little joeys all throughout the year,” he says. “When we have the joeys, we will actually pull the baby kangaroos from their mother at about eight months and we’ll bring them inside. We keep them in these little pouches — basically like a denim tote bag with a baby blanket sewed inside it. That’s like their artificial pouch and they can hop in and out.”

It is important to separate the babies from their mothers so that they become tame, Parrish says.

“By bringing them in, letting them get used to us and feeding them kangaroo infant formula, they become used to people,” he says. “Then we ship them on an STORY

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TARA WIGLEY

airplane, just like you would ship a dog or a cat, to the people who buy them.”

Parrish says he tends to get attached to the little joeys while they are living in the house.

“Feeding them is really cool, because it’s not something I thought I would ever do — feed a kangaroo,” he says. “It’s fun.”

Parrish gets to meet different breeders from around the country.

“I would have never thought that people did this,” he says. “That has been one of the coolest things, just meeting different people and seeing what they do. There is a guy in Ohio who bought a baby kangaroo, one time, to use as a mascot for his ice cream company.

He has a dairy farm, and their mascot is a kangaroo with a baby cow in the kangaroo’s pouch. So they have one of our baby kangaroos as their mascot. That’s really cool to me.”

Parrish says it is important to keep up the relationships he and his stepfather have with each kangaroo.

“In the evenings, we normally walk the pens with bread and milk,” he says. “It’s so cool petting them — it never gets old. They feel like big teddy bears. They’re really soft.

Matthew Parrish, Lumberton sophomore, bottle feeds a young kangaroo at his home.

His family breeds the animals for sale across the United States.

Most people think their hair would be stubby and dry.”

Parrish says that many people in their native Australia view kangaroos as a nuisance.

“People eat them, people make shoes out

of them, and backpacks and everything,” he says. “But when you really get to spend time with these animals, care for them and get to know them, they all have their own personalities, and they are just great creatures. They’re really friendly, and they make great pets.”

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KENNEY

Nina Kenney holds one of the cats she rescued and fostered.

The cat is now living at her house.

Continued from page 9 given everything I needed. This woman had a family which was depending on her, that needed her — just like I do. So why was she not given the same things?

That is wrong.”

Although Kenney supports programs that offer free breast cancer screenings, she thinks critically about events such as Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

“In many cancer campaigns, there is less money given to actually help people than we think,” she says. “If you give money to a cancer campaign, you really need to investigate where your money is going.”

Kenney pauses to search for words. She says she wants to use the right words. She doesn’t want to raise a political question.

“I worry that there are people that cannot be saved,” she says.

“I cannot understand that people are so willing to give money to wear pink colors and say they are supporting this cause. Why is that any different from making sure that everybody that has something wrong with them gets the care that they need?”

In July, Kenney went to MD Anderson in Houston to receive her “passport,” certifying that she was finally cancer free.

“I had felt that there was a mass where fat had been injected to reconstruct the area removed by the segmental mastectomy back in 2006, but I assumed it was scar tissue and didn’t think much about it,” she says.

Her cancer specialist ordered testing in that area. One test turned into another and, finally, her doctor had bad news — another tumor, meaning more chemotherapy.

“I was angry, I was scared, and I didn’t want to go through it again,” she slowly says. “However, after the first chemo, I’m feeling OK — in fact, better than I expected — except for a few bad days.

“As the bad feeling builds up slowly, I will maybe feel bad in the end — but I still hope I won’t.

New medicines have been devel-

oped within the last few years, and some new ones against nerve pain.”

Now, due to the chemo, Kenney’s long, dark-blond hair is gone again.

“It is a relief to finally shave the hair off,” she says. “Before the hair gets ready to fall out, the roots of the hair hurt. You think having short hair is drastic, but going without hair at all is more drastic than you expect.

“However, it is more shocking for other people because you don’t have to look at yourself.

“I would get up in the middle of the night, and if my scarf had fallen off, I would pass by the mirror and get scared because I thought there was a man in there.”

Kenney doesn’t want to lose her hair, but she sees the good things in becoming hairless again.

“I’m going to lose all my hair, everywhere,” she says. “Even the eyebrows and eyelashes are going to fall off. I won’t have to worry about the hairdryer, the curling iron, the make-up or any of that.

It’s like being a man. I can even take a shower twice a day, and I will be dry within a minute.”

Kenney says there is a comfort when the hair begins to fall out.

“You know then that the chemo is working, and the medicine is destroying the fast-growing cells in your body,” she says.

Kenny says that, when she

found out she needed chemo again, she was planning to change her hairstyle. She wanted to shave it short and color it black.

“It is an opportunity to risk a dramatic new hairstyle,” she says.

But before she got to make that choice, her hair was gone.

When she found out she had to have chemo again, she took in a small wild kitten. This was not the first time she had rescued an animal.

Kenney works with the Humane Society, fostering animals that need help. She has taken care of kittens that needed feeding around the clock and a dog that was rescued from a dogfighting ring.

She also raised two horses that she gave away to a friend.

“When I was a little girl and I would say my prayers, I would always say, ‘God bless my parents. God bless all the animals in the world. God bless all the people in the world.’

“I always felt like people could speak for themselves and animals couldn’t, so they needed somebody to take care of them — more than I did. I don’t say that animals are more important, but they are more defenseless.

“If there is an animal on the road that needs help, I will stop and chase the animal until I catch it.”

Kenney says she is selfish.

She helps people and cares for animals for a selfish reason — because she feels good helping others.

Kenney, who returned to teaching after her first treatment, says she is open with her middle-school students about her condition.

“I had to tell my students what was going on,” she says. “I wanted them to know that cancer is a horrible illness so that they will be prepared if they ever have to face it. I also wanted them to know there is a good chance to survive.”

Kenney is an optimist and is quick to list the positive changes related to her cancer.

“The physical part of going through cancer has freed me from a lot of things,” she says. “I don’t have everything that society deems as being important to be female. I know now that people want to be with me because of what is in my mind and not because of the way I look.”

The cancer has also brought her family closer.

“My sons saw my mortality for the first time in their lives, and it made them try to appreciate our lives together,” she says.

“We all became more patient with each other and enjoy the time we have together.”

Kenney will have a lot of time to enjoy her family once she has beaten cancer again — this time, hopefully, forever.

MUSYOKA Continued from page 13 they could not find anyone else to fill the position. Musyoka says they reiterated the problem with her age and, with her head held high and a smile, she repeated, “I know I’m quite young, but I’m ready to prove to you that age is not a factor in anything that I do in my life.”

Musyoka was given the job.

“During my time as a deaf education specialist, I thought it was important to break the oral tradition and go into sign language fully,” she says. “For a very long time, teachers kept drilling these kids to speak. The rest of the hearing world was learning math, science, geography and history, while our deaf children weren’t.

“So, I developed the preschool

curriculum for the entire country to implement for deaf education. That was a great achievement for me to see that we have a preschool syllabus that is not just focusing on teaching speech and oral communication, but is teaching academics.”

Musyoka says she developed Kenyan Sign Language as an examinable subject, held to the same esteem as math, reading and science, for K through 12 — a curriculum even the United States does not have in the deaf schools.

“Before I left, I discussed the issue of deaf children learning English, Swahili and Kenyan Sign Language,” she says. “Swahili is our national language and English is our official language. I thought that was a lot of burden for deaf children having to learn three languages while hearing preschoolers only had to learn two.

“I led a group of people to present to the government a request to

Millicent Musyoka shows off her collection of African art.

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drop Swahili as a subject to deaf students. It was a big issue. It’s the most political issue to address because Swahili is a national, patriotic, citizenship language with great respect in my country.”

By saying she wanted it to be dropped for deaf students, Musyoka was accused of trying to say deaf students are not Kenyans.

“But, I wasn’t saying they’re not Kenyans. I was basically saying, ‘They have a language,’” she says. “If we recognize Kenyan Sign Language as a language for deaf people in this country, then we are definitely saying deaf people are Kenyan citizens. That was a struggle, but they bought it. I was very happy the day they said, ‘Yes.’ To me, that was another great achievement.”

Musyoka says that she has made a big difference in her country.

“My country loves me,” she says. “Whenever I go to my country, I have to do community service and travel to the schools I’ve worked with, and give some public lectures and talk to them. I’m still very active.”

Musyoka worked in that position for about three years. She was promoted to special education deputy program coordinator and later became the head of special education.

“So, after running the program for a year, I decided to go for more studies,” she says. “I wanted to perfect myself in my area of discipline, but also to get rid of that ‘Miss’ in front of my name. (In 2003), I pursued a master’s in educational psychology — it was the only thing available that pertained to my area. During my second year, I got an invitation for a program to sponsor me to further my studies. I was called to Gallaudet University, here in the United States. It is the only university for the deaf in the world.”

Musyoka says she had been training in Israel for a few months upon receiving the invitation. She arrived home in Kenya, and three weeks later, she left for America.

She earned her master’s and her doctorate at Gallaudet.

“I worked there as an assistant preschool teacher for students with multiple disabilities after my master’s degree,” she says. “Then, while getting my

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Ph.D., I worked as a research assistant for a National Science Foundation project called Visual Language and Visual Learning.

That was the greatest thing I ever did because, working in this center, you have collaborations all over the country and out of the country. You learn and work with ‘Who’s Who’ in the research of deaf education.

“Despite having worked in deaf education in Kenya for such a long time and coming to Gallaudet University, the greatest experience I had was to be in the midst of so many deaf people who were interested in education. I have come from a background of seeing deaf people struggling with education, but to be in a university where the president is deaf, the faculty is deaf, the students are deaf — that was the first time someone asked the question, ‘Are you deaf or hearing?’ And that was the first time I felt uncomfortable to say I was hearing.”

Musyoka worked with the VL 2 project and as an adjunct professor for Gallaudet from 2007 to 2012, before coming to Lamar University in August 2012.

“After I finished my doctoral degree, I wanted to teach at a program similar to Gallaudet,” she says. “I wanted a program that was appreciating and including the language and culture of deaf people. It was only Lamar University.”

Musyoka currently teaches in the master’s program and one undergraduate class. She is also involved in many deaf education researches.

“I’m doing a study in collaboration with Gallaudet University and University of California-San Diego on how teachers address the various issues of immigrant deaf students,” she says. “We’re looking at how to develop programs in teacher preparation to address their cultural and language needs.”

Musyoka says that she and Mary Anne Gentry, another faculty in DSDE department, recently submitted a grant to research the deaf with additional disabilities.

“Today, with what we are seeing, the picture is changing,” she says. “Every day, we are met with new challenges.

“It is a safari — and I am loving it.”

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Hours: Monday-Friday Full Breakfast 7-9:30 a.m.

Cont. Breakfast 9:30-10 a.m.

Lunch 11 a.m.-2 p.m.

Dinner 4:30-8 p.m.

Dinner (Friday) 4:30-7 p.m.

Saturday and Sunday Brunch 11 a.m.-1 p.m.

Dinner 4:30-6 p.m.

Lamar University

Dining Hall

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