I was born and raised in a working class neighborhood in Southeast Los Angeles, a daughter of immigrants who courageously came to an entirely new country seeking a better life. My route to higher education began at community college.
As a first-generation undergraduate student, when in high school, I didn’t even know it was possible to get a scholarship to college without playing football. I lived at home, went to college, and continuously worked at least 20 hours per week, first in a store, then in the public library system, and finally as an undergraduate researcher at the university.
I grew up in the east bay town of Antioch, CA where we moved to when I was six years old. At the time, it was considered an up and coming bedroom community with good public schools. My parents were working class first and second generation Americans whose highest level of education was finishing high school.
I am a first generation USAmerican—my parents immigrated to Los Angeles from Guatemala. My siblings and I were born here in the US. We grew up in L.A. (Huntington Park) and in the Bay Area. In 1981, my father (who remarried to my stepmother) relocated us back to Guatemala, where I completed 5th through 8th grades, returning to the US as a frosh in high school (midway through the US academic year).
My father was a mechanic in a soda ash plant, a trona mine, and a power plant. My mother was an old school ("one-ringy-dingy") telephone operator whose health eventually forced her into early retirement. My Dad was brilliant, but was unable to complete a degree with the financial demands faced by a working-class person.
I first became a teacher after graduating from UCSC. Now that I am back at UCSC as a staff member and work study supervisor, I get the privilege of lifting the lives of first-gen students directly.
College was like a walk through a dark maze with a blindfold on. I learned that asking questions, getting to know my professor and getting involved help me navigate college smoother.