Progenitor Volume 60
Arapahoe Community College's Art and Literary Journal
Front Cover
Back Cover
What is Progenitor?
/proh-jen-i-tor/
noun
“A person or thing from which a person, animal, or plant is descended or originates; an ancestor or parent.”“A person who originates an artistic, political, or intellectual movement.”
About
Progenitor, Arapahoe Community College's (ACC) award-winning art and literary journal, has been in continuous production since 1967. Published every spring, it has consistently ranked among the top college literary magazines in the country, earning numerous awards for its design and content.Progenitor Art & Literary Journal accepts original and unpublished prose, art, and photography from students, writers, and artists around the world. It is an award-winning journal produced by ACC students in English 2031: Literary Magazine as well as students in Multimedia Graphic Design 2080: Internship.A special thank you to everyone who contributed to the creation of this book!Did you know that 2025 marks the 60th anniversary of Progenitor and ACC? That’s right—the 60th edition of Progenitor commemorates ACC's 60th anniversary, making this the Diamond Edition!
.Find out more about the Progenitor!.
Staff!
Check out the letter from our editor-in-chief, Iris Alma Everett!Learn more about the 2025 Progenitor staff.
.
.
.
Our Process
Progenitor is printed through Hampden Press. Here are some photos of the Staff’s tour and seeing our book being printed in action!.
Change
I’m a month and a half shy of my 18th birthday when my son is born. My hair is long and shaggy, eyes tired and vacant, and brain over stimulated from months spent worrying. Worrying about the classes I’ve failed all throughout high school, the make-up packets sitting in my backpack unfinished, and the role model I’m quickly not becoming for my unborn son. Then he is born, and everything changes.My hair is still long and shaggy as I cling to the dream of becoming a rock star someday. My eyes are still tired, but now from a lack of sleep as I wake with my son in the night hoping to be an adequate father. My brain is still over stimulated with new worries like, how the hell am I supposed to support a family when I still feel like a child? Still, everything changes. My son is here, and I have a reason to never give up again.Graduation day comes, and I’m not among my peers who walk across the stage-too many packets still unfinished in my backpack. But I have a new plan. I stop worrying about graduating high school like all the other traditional students, and I get my GED. I stop worrying about how to afford a family, and I get a job unloading trucks at the Albertsons warehouse down the road.Wearing a red hoodie, over a blue hoodie, over a gray sweater, along with my steel toed boots, I spend my time throwing frozen boxes from one pallet to the next. I work fast, building up a sweat, and I’m always relieved that I work in the freezer section rather than the warm dry dock. I inhale the crisp air and smile as my nose hairs freeze. The job isn’t luxurious or high paying, but I’m finally headed in the right direction. Maybe I can still be a good role model for my young son.Then everything changes. I lose my job in the freezer. No more waking up at 3:00 in the morning. Now I have an additional reason to not give up. A daughter and a son, who both need a role model. I get another job, and now I get to sleep until 4:30 in the morning. I’m still in a warehouse, but this one is different. Sewing machines whir, garments fly, and spools of thread unwind in mere minutes as my team throws pieces of white fabric back and forth, adding a collar and a sleeve to a shirt, finishing a hem, and filling basket after basket of finished product. We push hard to be the fastest team, and the big blue “156% efficiency” on the screen above our station proves that we are. Things seem to be looking up.Then everything changes. One more reason to never give up. Another daughter! Three beautiful children who call me Dad. And everything keeps changing. I lose my job, again. This time is different. I can no longer settle for such low pay. The job offers aren’t coming in, and the bills are piling up. Am I good enough to be a role model to these three souls?I walk into an Army recruiter’s office and scratch my signature on a piece of paper that says “medic somewhere in the sea of fine print. Time to sell the house. Time to move across the country. Time to leave family and friends behind. Time to prove I’ll never give up. My office is now an old rusty Army Humvee with a big box strapped to the back for treating patients wounded in war. It’s dark and drafty, and the gas fumes burn my nostrils as I huddle in the truck for warmth. Usually, I prefer my nose frozen, but the cold here on the east coast is different. It’s wet, and it seeps down into my bones and makes me feel like I’ll never be warm again. I was issued a green fleece jacket that I’m required to pack in my rucksack, but First Sergeant isn’t wearing his, so I don’t get to wear mine.Eight years of unyielding cold, unbearable heat, and poison oak infections. I’ve got swollen hands from filling sandbags, and I’m perpetually wet from laying in the mud, walking through rivers, and sitting in the rain. Eight years in the Army proving I won’t give up. I’m spending more time away from my bright-eyed kids than I spend with them. Will they really look up to me if all they know is a father who is gone?Then everything changes. Ironically, the paper I’m required to sign to leave the Army is in an Army recruiter’s office. Across the desk full of challenge coins, pictures of awards, and a big mat that reads “Army Strong,” sits the recruiter tasked with changing my mind. She proceeds to describe the hardships I will face if I leave the security of the United States Army. “Money will be tight, you’ll lose friends, housing won’t be so stable, and how will you ever find a job?”I politely ask for a pen and scratch my signature on a piece of paper that says “honorable discharge” somewhere in the sea of fine print. I puff up my chest and walk out of the recruiter’s office knowing I’ve taken charge of my own destiny rather than waiting for someone with more rank to decide it for me. The moment fades quickly. My head starts to droop as I realize, despite my determination to never give up, I just signed a paper that essentially says, “I quit.” How will my children ever look up to me now?As always, everything changes; I’m not sure how much more change I can take. I get yet another job, but it isn’t something I’m passionate about. Answering phones in a dark room surrounded by blinding computer screens hasn’t ever been on my list of most desirable occupations. Once again, my eyes are tired, and my brain is full of worry—rent, utility bills, my now- teenage son having a girlfriend, taking my daughter to the doctor when she coughs like the breath can’t leave her small body fast enough. I can practically see the thoughts bouncing off my skull inside my head, and I know I’m letting things slip. Will I ever be someone my kids can look up to?As I sit at the dining table worrying, my son sits down to tell me about his latest soccer practice. He’s taller than me now by a good three inches, and his voice no longer cracks when he gets excited. His nose is red from being out in the sun all afternoon, and he expresses how hard it is to be on a team that doesn’t work as hard as he does. My brain spins frantically as I try to conjure up some wisdom. All I can muster is “just keep working hard, and hope they see your example.” Did I just become a hypocrite by telling him to keep working hard when I feel like I keep giving up? I add the thought to my growing list of worries. My son offers a simple reply, and I’m humbled by his response, “I know, Dad. I won’t give up. I see how hard you work, and you never give up; that’s the kind of man I want to be.”Once more, everything changes, and that’s okay.
.
Written by Braxton Fullmer.
I am a nursing student at ACC. Writing has never been my strong suite, but I've found enjoyment in putting authentic experiences into words.
.