exchange of ideas – fashion statements included– piercings <strong>and</strong> punk rock hair likeChris’s are typically less free.The signs of acceptance had begunpopping up well before commencement.Deft at h<strong>and</strong>ling social science statistics<strong>and</strong> at getting along with people, Chrishad aided several students <strong>and</strong> saw it asa gesture that just made sense. His classmatesfelt the same way <strong>about</strong> nominatinghim to carry the honors-students flagfor the commencement ceremony.A few years earlier, that choice wouldn’thave come so easily to the principal at theChristian school in Apple Valley whereChris, who had been home-schooled byhis mother until the 11th grade, had begunattending.“I enjoyed it. But I kind of ran into …,”Chris pauses, huntingfor the right word, “Idon’t know if you‘d say‘trouble.’” Mohawks <strong>and</strong>body jewelry not beingin the school’s good graces, the principalasked Chris to cut his hair, a request irritatingenough that Chris dug for <strong>and</strong> foundU.S. Supreme Court rulings that said “hairwas not a distraction.” Chris discussed thiswith the principal. He <strong>and</strong> the school compromised.He wore a hat.Still, the “politics” that permeated theissue was disillusioning, <strong>and</strong> so Chris leftschool before finishing. He soon enrolledat another school, graduated a few monthslate <strong>and</strong> then took a job at Hot Topic – alternative-wearheaven <strong>and</strong> the <strong>one</strong> placeat the Victor Valley Mall where there wouldbe no critiques of piercings <strong>and</strong> the black<strong>and</strong> red Mohawk that stood nine incheshigh straight <strong>and</strong> stiff. No critiques, with<strong>one</strong> exception: Shawna Wittig.Shawna, a high schooler who shoppedHot Topic, had been raised on military bases<strong>and</strong> on the looks of “clean-cut” boys. ButChris was attractive, <strong>and</strong> Shawna liked hishair. “When I saw Chris it was like, ‘Ah, he’san individual,’” she recalls. He was also intelligent,sweet luck for a young woman,who, at 16, was already taking college classes<strong>and</strong> now grateful to find some<strong>one</strong> withwhom she could talk more deeply. One oftheir topics was college. “Okay, she <strong>think</strong>sit’s important,” Chris admitted grudgingly.“I’ll give it a try.” Figuring he’d climb theHot Topic corporate ladder, he enrolled atVictor Valley College as a business major,but soon changed his major after takingtwo courses in psychology. His psychologyinstructor, a man of suits <strong>and</strong> ties, practicedhis subject matter well, never oncemaking Chris feel different because of hisjewelry, clothes or hair.And in another pairing of what seemedstrange bedfellows, Chris also enlisted inROTC – the nonconformist in a strongholdof conformity – a program he’d carried afondness for ever since childhood. Thisfeeling gave his teenage conversations atpunk rock concerts a certain texture. He’dgo to punk rock concerts <strong>and</strong> hang withfriends, who, on the whole, had a fondnessfor anarchy.“I was always at odds with them becauseI was [for] capitalism [<strong>and</strong> a] conservative,Republican, Christian,” he says. “So I lookedlike them, but I didn’t <strong>think</strong> like them.”When Chris transferred to Cal State San‘I was always at odds with them because I was [for] capitalism, [<strong>and</strong> a] conservative,Republican, Christian. So I looked like them, but I didn’t <strong>think</strong> like them.’Bernardino, he began research with psychologyprofessors as a McNair Scholar, gotinvolved in academic clubs <strong>and</strong>, over time,began accumulating awards. In 2007, he<strong>and</strong> Shawna, the outst<strong>and</strong>ing student for<strong>CSUSB</strong>’s social sciences department, graduatedtogether <strong>and</strong> married two monthslater. (“Degrees before rings,” they hadtold each other.) Now, it was time to workon his Ph.D. in clinical psychology.The fact that an undergraduate such asChris cruised into a Penn State Ph.D. programfrom a CSU impressed people in thefall of 2007. Only <strong>one</strong> other student in hiscohort came straight from an undergraduateprogram, all of them hailed from miniIvy, public Ivy or classic Ivy League schools,<strong>and</strong> three waited <strong>one</strong> or two years to enterPenn State, choosing first to pick up moreresearch experience. Chris felt fortunate.By the time he arrived at Penn State, hehad d<strong>one</strong> two studies at <strong>CSUSB</strong> <strong>and</strong> hadearned an outst<strong>and</strong>ing undergraduate researchaward.All of it added up. The awards, research<strong>and</strong> club activities <strong>and</strong> the work with professors<strong>and</strong> classmates. “That really feltgood,” he says, recalling his classmates’applause at seeing him honored at commencement.“That just reconfirmed everythingthat I felt – that I belonged, I finallybelonged somewhere, not just got along.”18 | summer 2008
A homein collegecontributionsBy Carmen Murillo-MoyedaAlex Brittain’s path to graduationfrom Cal State San Bernardino this pastJune was not without its challenges.As a youth, the 24-year-old history majormoved from <strong>one</strong> foster home to another.Surviving malnourishment <strong>and</strong>other illnesses caused by his biologicalmother’s Munchausen by proxy syndrome,Brittain had always aspired to acollege education.Kapreese Feese knew she wanted togo to college ever since she made honorroll in the third grade. But, as a fosterchild with very few resources, shewondered <strong>how</strong> she could ever accomplishher dream. Feese’s birth mother,who suffered from substance abuse,surrendered her to social services whenKapreese was 2.But for Tina Mitchell, going to collegewas the furthest thing from her mind asshe struggled each day for survival, livingwith her schizophrenic mother <strong>and</strong>extended family members in a physicallyabusive home. From the time shewas 8, she repeatedly witnessed heraunt, violent in nature, brutally beat herown children, often getting caught inthe crossfire. But when her baby brotherwas injured, social services removedthe children from the home, placinghim for adoption <strong>and</strong> Mitchell in fostercare at age 15.Not your typical c<strong>and</strong>idates for a futurein college. But today, foster youthsuch as Brittain, Feese <strong>and</strong> Mitchell arerealizing their goals of a degree, thanksto an endowment of $207,000 fromthe Children’s Fund of San BernardinoCounty to <strong>CSUSB</strong>. In partnership withCal State San Bernardino’s EducationalOpportunity Program’s Foster YouthProgram, the endowment will providefour $2,500 scholarships annually toformer foster youth.Both wanted to go to college. But the emotional roller coaster that typically attends the lifeof a foster child did not make the dream come easy for Alex Brittain <strong>and</strong> Kapreese Feese.(Photo by Robert Whitehead)Brittain, an Eisen<strong>how</strong>er High Schoolgraduate from Rialto, lived with severalfoster families before being “aged out”of the system at 18, when he became alegal adult <strong>and</strong> was no longer supportedby the state.“It’s easy to give generously to infants<strong>and</strong> grade school children (in fostercare),” said Bill Nietschmann, boardmember, <strong>and</strong> former chairman of theChildren’s Fund <strong>and</strong> leader of the projectsince 2003, “because those conditionstug at our hearts. But once fosterteens are emancipated, this age groupdoesn’t have the support system thatcollege students normally have withintheir birth families.”Brittain credits <strong>one</strong> of his foster families,Jerry <strong>and</strong> Gloria Young, with theinspiration to attend college. Next, heplans to attend the University of California,Riverside to pursue a doctoratein classical history.Mitchell remembers ditching school,using illegal drugs, becoming pregnant<strong>and</strong> facing abortion, barely able tomaintain passing grades in high school.“I never received any praise or recognition,either from my biological motheror my foster families,” she said, describingthat period of time as <strong>one</strong> filled withself-pity, trying to escape the harsh realitiesof her unstable life, eventuallyhitting rock bottom. Ultimately, the lastfoster home in which she lived was thatof Lola Wright – or Ms. Wright as all thefoster children referred to her out of respect– whom Mitchell credits for bringingstructure <strong>and</strong> discipline to her otherwisechaotic life.“It was the praise <strong>and</strong> recognitionthat made me push for more. All I wantedwas some<strong>one</strong> to be proud of me,<strong>and</strong> she always made me feel like shewas proud of the good things that I did,”Mitchell added.Mitchell, who attended Etiw<strong>and</strong>aHigh School, had never considered attendingcollege until her senior year(Continued on next page)csusb magazine | 19