I was the youngest child of four raised by “greatest-generation” Depression-era parents. My father worked 6 days a week, on his feet 14 hours a day managing someone else’s liquor store. My mother was a stay-at-home mom who loved her soaps and spent her free hours sewing us clothes. My siblings moved out of the house as soon as they could, never attending college. I was the lone one who was bookish, smart, a good student, but lacked confidence and had no mentors.

Life seemed overwhelming and scary most of the time and it was rare that any adult took an interest in my future. Even my parents–as caring and loving as they were–had nothing to offer me in the way of navigating this new world I was about to enter.

The only college I was aware of was the Cal State near our home. The famiIiarity of seeing the campus sign on the corner of Nordhoff and Zelzah while on outings with my mom throughout childhood and its proximity to home made the school the obvious choice when my time fnally came. I was also constantly reminded of my parents’ limited financial resources. Going away to an expensive school and living on my own in a new city, sadly, wasn’t even considered.

While I loved going to college, I still refer to the school I attended as Cal State Nowhere. I would’ve loved to have chosen a better school, one that would’ve actually forced me to change, grow, mature and perhaps prepare me for an actual career. During my last semeter of college my parents prepared to sell our house and retire to a little town in Central California some four hours away from Los Angeles. I finshed my last two classes at night and began working as a secretary to support myself–the only thing I knew how to do was type. 25 years later, I am still typing!