Dr. Verenice Gutierrez is a 23 year practitioner and leader in the educational field. Dr. Verenice Gutierrez specializes in Special Education, Bilingual Education, Curriculum & Instruction, Educational Management, Educational Leadership, Racial Equity, Language Acquisition, Coaching and Mentoring.

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Why McFarland USA P*****d Me Off

I recently watched Disney's McFarland USA for the first time. Even though I had wanted to see it when it was released in theaters for...

Monday, May 25, 2015

Why Fundamentalism, Patriarchy and the Duggars matter to school educators.


I grew up in a highly conservative, religious manner.  My paternal grandparents are practicing 7th Day Adventist and my grandfather has been a minister my entire life.  We were taught to fear God and to be obedient without question.  I dutifully participated in the church for my first 16 years.  Then I discovered that the church and the people in it were going to try to control my interest in boys.  That's what got me to really get out.  Thankfully, during the time I did participate in the church my mother was always the voice of feminism, free will, resistance and any other thing that per the church was guaranteeing my eternal damnation.  I went back briefly in my early thirties but found that I had more questions than belief.  Of course no one wanted the questions.  I was even accused of being too educated because those college courses were encouraging me to question the all knowing, almighty, vengeful, jealous God.  Yup, I had too many degrees.

When I relocated to Oregon, we begun attending a Baptist church that was lead by a doctor.  He too held a doctoral degree but his was in divinity.  I thought I had finally found someone who could and would respond to my many, many questions about God, religion, faith, etc.  I set up an appointment to meet with him but not too far into our meeting I saw the same look on his face I had gotten from the fundamentalist who previously discouraged my questioning.  He too wanted me to give into unquestioning belief, patriarchy, submission and blind belief.  We stopped going to that church soon after.

A few years later we found another Baptist church lead by an older man with a doctorate.  He seemed more willing to engage and his sermons were much more real.  Unfortunately he passed away not long after we began attending.  The person they brought in, from Ohio, was sketchy from the onset.  He was not shy about his patriarchy often talking about his family.  All of the children were homeschooled.  Even though his wife is younger than I, she looked older and there wasn't much of an essence to her.  She was, simply, a woman of God but that didn't radiate from her.  She was submissive, dutiful and a believer.  I was willing to continue attending until the pastor talked my partner into being baptized, something that I did not agree with.  Baptism is not to be taken lightly and I knew that he was not walking in or living a fully Christian life.  The baptism happened anyways.  I cried the whole time.  I was hugged by other women in the church who thought I was crying tears of joy but they were tears of anger for something I felt had been rushed.  But, that was just my opinion.  We continued attending until this pastor pulled me aside to tell me that I needed to be in dresses and I needed to practice being a more submissive woman to my man.  We stopped attending.  The pastor called me to check on me and I promptly put him in his place.  I may have used some foul language that he didn't appreciate.

What does all of this have to do with the Duggars and school educators?  Quite a bit actually.  As educators we are mandatory reporters who have to be trained every year to recognize and report abuse (physical, mental, emotional, and sexual) as well as neglect.  Every video that I have ever watched then been quizzed on focuses on clear outer evidence of abuse that I have 24 hours to report.  Not one single training in my 20 years in education have I been trained to look for the effects of fundamentalism and patriarchy on young females.

My first year of teaching I taught third graders.  In my class I had a young lady whose family were practicing Jehova's Witness.  The mother attacked me for being a devil worshipper when I hung up cute Halloween themed decorations in my classroom.  She didn't appreciate that I was exposing her child to such evil ways.  I never asked her daughter to stand for the pledge or to participate in any activity that made her feel uncomfortable but I had 17 other students that held different beliefs so I could center my classroom around the one.  I remember we had cupcakes for someone's birthday one day.  This little girl was not supposed to participate in any type of celebration.  She knew it and I knew it.  Yet, she wanted a cupcake like all the other children.  At 8 years old, she didn't have the cognitive or emotional maturity necessary to understand why her belief systems required her to abstain.  She felt punished for the imposition of adult beliefs onto her.  She was angry and she acted out.  I saw myself reflected in that child.  I re-experience the shame for not being perfectly pious and the fear of the wrath of a vengeful God should I eat the said cupcake.  Teaching a child to live in a constant state of shame and fear is not loving, it is abusive.  I am now an adult working through that programming but it creeps in often.  I have to fight it as a highly educated accomplished, intelligent woman and I struggle.  Think of what a child of 6 or 7 or 8 must feel.

About two years ago I became overly interested in the psychology and pathology of the FLDS.  It all started from my interest in another TLC show, Sister Wives.  I read several of the books written by the women who managed to escape.  Once again, I recognized the fear, shame and control that is exercised by fundamentalist religions that value a patriarchal system.  I was glad that my home state of Texas relied on some of these women to help with the children that were picked up from the compound in El Dorado.   Unfortunately, the children and women had so internalized the fundamental beliefs that the efforts of the Texas Department of Human Services met a lot of barriers.  Children were so fearful of anything and anyone outside of their "church" that they lied, manipulated or became violent towards those who were trying to assist them.  Even if these children had been placed in Texas schools they would have had a difficult time adapting.  They would have been prime targets for bullying because they were different, naive, not familiar with mainstream culture and in need of significant supports.  I don't know that Texas schools were truly prepared to meet the needs of the FLDS kids.

I don't know what the next step is for the Duggar children.  They are homeschooled so I don't know the level of their academic skills. Until recently, they were mostly home schooled by Jessa (currently 20 years old).  I don't know how academically sound Jessa may be.  She is said to be a great organizer who is great at math because she packs for all of the family's trips.  This requires a lot of calculations to know how much to pack.  Either way, she was the primary teacher rather than Michelle, the mother.  Michelle has actually lamented a few times on camera that she doesn't know who will take Jessa's place since she was so good at what she did.  Um, how about you?  You had all the kids!  I would refer you to this great article that talks about the burdens that older children after bear in such a situation: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/lovejoyfeminism/2012/02/carefully-scripted-lives-my-concerns-about-the-duggars.html

Should any of the Duggar children be placed in foster care due to an investigation (highly unlikely), would Arkansas schools be prepared to serve them?  Would they be prepared to transition the children to a traditional public school setting given that they have only been home schooled?  Who would work with the children on their social/emotional skills?  I've only ever seen them socialize with one another.  Every now and then they socialize with children from families that have the exact same belief system as their own.  Not once have I seen them socialize with a person of color.  While the children appear to be quite outgoing, would that be the case if they attended a public school were the ways of the world are everywhere all the time?  It would be up to educators to assist them in making such a transition.

What about the girls specifically?  They are used to complying and deferring.  Schools like that because we equate that with good behavior.  They younger girls have not been subjected to molestation that we are aware of at this time.  The girls that experience the molestation are beyond school age.  Will they speak out about their experience?  That's doubtful.  The fact that Jessa's father-in-law has come out in support of the family guarantees that Jessa will comply to patriarchy.  If she was molested by Josh and wanted to speak her truth, she now cannot because her husband's father has professed support which means she must now demure to him, her husband, her father and her brother.  None of the other girls will speak out either because to do so may condemn their salvation.

The Duggar case has weighed heavily since I first saw the headline I so desperately wanted to be false.  It reminded me about the neglect that is experienced in fundamental, patriarchal religions.  I remembered being scolded and punished for being a child (running, playing, laughing) while my grandfather was in the other room speaking to God about what he should preach.  I recalled how I was shamed and told I would go to hell for interrupting such a sacred process.  I remember how my needs were sacrificed to do the work of the church.  Long, long hours of God's work that didn't account for my being tired or hungry or in need of attention.  My request to have any need met often resulting in shaming and a stern reminder of how I would go to hell.  That's emotional and mental abuse.  I wonder about the kids on Sister Wives but am encouraged by the fact that there are four moms, the older children don't seem to bear parental responsibilities, they are open to other lifestyles and the women don't really submit to Kody.

I would never want to stop anyone from actively living by their belief system.  However, I would advocate for more extensive training for educators to recognize the impact of fundamentalist religions on children.  I would also advocate for training about how patriarchy impacts young women.  More importantly, school systems would need to know how to approach each case in a sensitive, respectful manner while still putting the mental and emotional well being of children first.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Changing the narrative about Black and Brown boys in K-12 education


My most recent experience has been serving as a K-8 principal in a large, urban, public school district in the Pacific NW.  My school was (is) what is known as "diverse".  This translates into: high poverty (90%), lots of kids of color (88%), lot of second language learners (49%) and lots of White flight.  I, however, loved my little school.  It was an honor to serve as the leader of a school full of children who looked like me, spoke like me and shared my cultural upbringing, belief, values, etc.  There was nothing wrong with the school that so many of the White neighbors chose to run away from, they didn't know what they were missing.
I've spent my career focusing on the benefits of bilingual education.  Since my degrees are in that field, I understand the detriment of language loss and the benefits of bilingual education on both identity and educational achievement. The 60% Latino, 50% second language learners student body was perfect for a Spanish immersion program.  I lobbied for and was granted the ability to start such a program.  One of the first steps to implementation was to sell the program to the English speaking, White families.  If you know anything about critical race theory, you know that sometimes we have to work the interest convergence as a way to gain access (permission) to the systemic structures that will help yield the desired outcomes.  So I sold the Spanish immersion program to the English speaking, White families that traditionally thumbed their nose at our school in favor of "better" schools.  We gained amazing interest.  Actually so much interest that we had three full sections of Kindergarten en espanol in our first year.  That meant every second language learner (Spanish, Somali and Vietnamese) had plenty of access to a slot in the program that is considered the Cadillac model for second language learners.  It also meant that we had more White families that held judgement about "those" kids and our school which they would not have attended had we not had a program they could benefit from long term.  When these parents arrived, so did the narrative about our Black and Brown boys.
It wasn't long before our highly involved, highly educated, White parents began to express concern.  Recess was "dangerous" they said.  It was like Lord of the Flies.  A free for all that was fit for survival of the fittest.  As the principal, I was alarmed.  I'd not heard that recess was that bad and of course I would look into it.  I asked my recess staff about this and they said it was a bit much to supervise over 100 Kindergartners but no one was being physically hurt and they felt they had it under control.  I trust my staff so I felt like we were good.  I let the parents know everything that was being done for recess to be safer so that they felt they were heard.
Then came one of the first e-mails.  A White grandmother was besides herself.  A Native American boy (darker skinned, long black hair in a braid) had threatened to KILL her little White grand-daughter.  Of course we jumped right on that one.  It is not okay for one Kindergartner to threaten to kill another Kindergartner.  Problem was he never did threaten to kill her.  The little girl reported some play that she was an active and willing participant to but then ran with her grandmother's over reaction and, as we say in Spanish, le hecho mas salsa a los tacos...she made it up.  With some very stereotypical details including how this young man was going to bring a rope and a knife to kill her.  She left out the part where she sometimes instigated and teased the boy to the point that he chased her as she gleefully ran away.  She left out the part about teachers having already spoken to both of them about not playing in such a manner and asking her not to taunt the boy.  She became the victim of a dark skinned, dangerous boy out to get her.  Have we heard this narrative before from White females?  Have men of color had to suffer consequences before because White females cry foul while omitting their contribution to the situation?  I don't blame the victim but this situation really pissed me off because the grandmother came in wanting us to persecute the little boy based off a lie.  When told her granddaughter had lied (which the little girl admitted) she never once took responsibility for her own actions and what they could have meant for this young boy.  She was more than willing to push him along the path that start the school to prison pipeline.
And there were more....Always the Black/Brown boys are dangerous, violent, out of control, angry.  Always there is an alarm accompanied by a demand that I do something, that I "fix it".  I was called to meetings with a mob of parents that were followed with "memorandum of understanding" and e-mails that read "we expect that....".  I often felt like the parents were trying to supervise me (at best) or trying to run the school (at the most extreme) by expecting that we implement their demands overnight.  Never with a consideration for the long term, averse affects to the young men of color they found so objectionable.
I then started to notice the behavior of the White boys.  I wanted to understand if our Black/Brown boys were really that different from their White peers.  They were not.  When I pointed out to parents that their White boys also engaged in play sword fighting then the narrative became that their White sons were being "imaginative/creative" because they were reenacting Star Wars.  If two White boys hit one another, they were having a "disagreement amongst life long friends" (because they've know each other since child care) rather than getting into a fight.  If a White boy blew out of the classroom he was "frustrated" and "expressing himself" rather than disturbing instruction and negatively impacting his peers.  In scuffles White boys hit or bite but Black/Brown boys "assault" due to the negative home environments they come from...what with all the domestic violence, drug abuse and gang activity.  If a White boy bothers another child he is being "annoying" or "lacks social skills" while a Black/Brown boy is "harassing" or "bullying" or "targeting" their peer.  Oh the hypocrisy of it all.
Of course I called these parents on their narratives.  They cried, they said they weren't racist, we met and tried to have conversations to address their concerns.  They still went right up to my supervisor to complain about my poor leadership and the dangers their children were subjected to that I wouldn't address.  My Black male supervisor and I had many talks about everything that was being done and how we needed to treat these White parents in a way that made them feel validated.  I had no patience for it or them.  Instead I built an empowerment program for our boys of color that tells them everyday: you are perfect just as you are and just as you are not.  You matter.  You get to show up in a space that won't tear you down further, that won't start you down the path of school to prison, that will make you bilingual and help you achieve academically.  Does this mean that White kids don't matter?  Of course not!  They matter just as much but not more and not less.
Just remember that words matter.  And the words that we use to describe Black/Brown males in America right now matter more than ever before.

Monday, August 4, 2014



In Memory Of...
On Friday, August 1, 2014 at about 5:35 p.m. my youngest former foster son lost his life by drowning in the Willamette River just under the Sellwood Bridge in Portland, OR. According to reports, friends tried to help him but could not. He went underwater never to come back up again. He was not a strong swimmer and he wasn't wearing a life jacket.

That Friday was another hot day, above 90 degrees, in what has been a long series of hot days. I can picture my son and his friends deciding to take a dip in the water to cool off. They may have planned to do so or it may have been completely spontaneous. What is obvious is that they were not fully prepared to be in the river. No life jackets, no life preserver or some flotation device to throw out in case of an emergency. Just young male bravado and a sense of being invincible. After all, when you are young you really do believe you will live forever and that nothing will happen to you.

When I first read a post about this on Facebook I got a sinking, terrified feeling of dread. I message the young man whose post I saw hoping, as he did, that nothing had gone awry in the world. His reply stopped time for a few seconds but, simultaneously, a lifetime. I Googled my son's name with the words "drowning portland, or" after it. There it was confirmed in a list of several links all telling me exactly what I did not want to confirm. I woke my partner from the nap he was taking to tell him the news I had woken up to from my nap. His Google search was the same as mine. So much for hoping that somehow, someway, my devices were lying to me.

Next came the phone calls to my former secretary (who'd been my back up foster placement) and to my older former foster son to check on him. That call broke my heart and was the first to set off the tears. There were other calls, texts and Facebook messages that would break me down on Saturday but I spent most of the day in a numbed haze.

I wondered if we hadn't changed the foster placement if the outcome would have been different. I remembered Ms. Felicia's advice that all youngsters should learn to swim because there are so many opportunities to be in water in Portland. I admonished myself for not pressing the boys to take lessons. I tried not to give into the guilt of my self perceived failure to honor the promise I made their biological mother to take care of them because I did as much as I could and asmuch as they would let me.

Then I got angry. Angry at him for his carelessness and self-centered selfishness. Angry because when he so stupidly got into the river knowing that he was not strong enough to swim those waters without a life jacket, he wasn't thinking of those now hurting. He wasn't thinking about the deep pain his brother feels after already having lost a father and being separated from his mother and younger brother by circumstance, which is also a loss. He wasn't thinking about the heavy loss other family members and friends feel from this loss. He was thinking he was young and invincible and going to live forever.

My Christopher always tells me not to dwell on the negative, to focus on the good instead. He especially emphasized this when he asked if I was okay and what I was thinking. He got an "ok" and that I was hoping that the Portland Fire & Rescue would not recover the body because it would be bloated and perhaps damaged by river creatures and I didn't want my other son to have to identify it. I don't think he was expecting THAT. Truth is, I was thinking about that a lot. I went back and forth between that and dreading having the Willamette River be my boy's final resting place and hoping that it was a quick, painless death rather than prolonged. Conflicting reports state the body has not been recovered while others state it has. My other son hasn't let me know which is true. My mind was a dark place Saturday (and now) so I had to stay numb or lose my mind.

I did take Chris's advice and decided to focus on the positive before going to bed. I know he had an amazing high school experience and a great senior year. He got to have the American dream his mother immigrated here for. At one point he wanted to be an FBI or CIA operative and I have no doubt he would have been an amazing one. He was set to start his next chapter as he was already enrolled in college and had a job lined up. He was in a very positive place.

I've been reading books by psychic medium Echo Bodine about the death process which have really helped with this particular event. Echo talks about why the soul is here on earth and what happens when its time is up. She calls death "graduation" because at the time of death the soul has completed the time it needed to learn the lessons it had to learn in this incarnation. She also advices that if we are open, the souls of our departed will visit us in our sleep. I had such a visitation last night.

It started with whatever dream I was actively in when my son made his visitation. I keep thinking he was dream bombing, just like photo bombing. I was conscious of being pulled away from the dream by the awareness of a presence. I can't even remember what I was dreaming but I remember the awareness and the pull of a presence. I also remember knowing that it was to my left and I wonder if the side of the body has any significance. I turned my head first to see him standing there wearing the same clothes and in the same stance as in the picture everyone is using for their memorials. I felt the same aloofness he shows in the picture. That sense of "whatever" and self absorption he always had. I remember smiling and calling him to ask him to come over. There was no response but I got a sense of knowing that he is ok and that he is fine with both his death and the manner in which he died. I turned my whole body with the intention of walking to him but that's when my toy Malti-poo, Zoe, jumped off the bed and I was jolted awake knowing that means she won't go potty outside if not accompanied. Between Zoe and my son they knew that what I got would be enough and that, perhaps, he just isn't ready to give me more. After letting Zoe potty and going back to bed, I did invite him to come back again. I let him know that is something I am both open to and I would welcome it.

I also wondered what lesson there is here for those of us touched by his death. Everyone will take a different lesson but I think mine goes right back to preparing children for the adversities of life. It's in the reality that this group of young adults went to the river ill prepared for the realities of swimming in such a body of water. They didn't think about the depth of the river, didn't consider the current and didn't bring the tools they needed to adequately play in the river. They forgot to honor that Mother Nature is much, much mightier and that we are but lowly mortals operating within a much mightier universe. They brought youth, carefree attitudes and a belief that they would live forever. Yet all of their lives are irreversibly altered because of this event.

So, while countless adolescents will continue to roll their eyes at me and some will tell me to "fuck off" or call me a "bitch", I am doing what I have been called to do. My soul's charge in this incarnation is to help young men and women acquire the tools they need to "swim" in the mighty river of life.


Saturday, November 30, 2013

Latino Parents Just Don't Care


Warning: this is what happens when you have an extended break spent on way too much Facebook.  I have legitimate work that needs to be done by Monday morning, yup less than 48 hours from now.  But, in the words of Ms. Lily, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT!!  Picture the cutest little blonde girl with pigtails on the floor of a school entry way hollering at the top of her lungs as she lays on the ground pounding fists and legs into the ground.  Then screech I DON'T WANT TO DO IT!!  That's me about my work right now.  Where's Lily?  I want to join her.  But, I digress....

Because of the magic of Facebook and extended conversations, I have been thinking of my father this morning.  Dad had some serious expectations but he didn't show them in the way the school system valued.  He didn't belong to or attend PTA events.  He didn't do parent-teacher conferences, that was my mother's job.  Didn't volunteer in the classroom, didn't chaperone field trips and didn't read to me at night.  By every definition of parental engagement put forth by our system, my dad failed to be engaged.  But he had (and has) some serious expectations.  Probably why I ended up with a PhD even though I didn't have a quiet, well lit spot to do my homework.

My first recollection of his high expectations came with a fifth grade report card.  I'm pretty sure there was a "C" amongst all the other "A's" and "B's".  I know he pointed at the offending grade and clearly told me that if I ever did that again I shouldn't bother coming home.  He probably meant it figuratively but I took it literally.  In my 10 year old mind I understood that I would be homeless for being such a low achieving student.  My dad would put me out.  I didn't get a private tutor or get signed up at the nearest Sylvan Learning Center.  There was no money for that!  The message was clear: get off your ass and study harder, listen better, make it work!  My next bad grade would come as a junior in college.  An "F" in accounting.  Oh the humanity!  That one came attached with tuition money that my dad broke down to me so I understood just how hard he had worked so that I could have the luxury of failure.  Probably why my GPA was a 3.75 for the BA and 4.0 for both the MA and the PhD (which were a scholarship and student loans respectively but somehow I am still making up for that "F").

In high school came an awareness that boys can be pretty hot.  There's a little tinkling feeling that comes from flirting, holding hands and sneaking a kiss.  I liked boys a hell of a lot better than Algebra or Biology.  My dad sat me down and set his second, non-negotiable expectation: if I came home pregnant, he would kill me.  Again, there was no doubt in my mind that he would and he would get away with it.  I'm not saying I wasn't a sexually active teenager, I just didn't get pregnant and I made sure to get into the National Honor Society so that I was still on track to get to college which is what I was expected to do by parent, grandparents and every generation that came before me to sacrifice so that I may achieve.  Done, done and done!

In my senior year of high school I worked at a local burger legend: What-a-burger.  Did really well.  I never do things unless they are 100% so I knocked the frier, veggie prep, the drive thru and the grill out of the park.  I could whip out them What-a-burgers like nobody's business.  Got me promoted to being the crew leader.  I got to run my own shifts!  Mirala!!  I was so proud with my little bow tie (with a fan, not ribbons) and the privilege to not have to wear a hat anymore until my dad hit with this remark,"I'm so proud my daughter. You be a crew leader all your life."  Can you hear my dreams deflating?  My first leadership experience and my dad knocks it.  Awesome!  But he did it for two reasons: 1. I could handle it and 2. He wanted me to know that the position was by no means the end of the road.  I could be more and he expected me to be more.  I think I could have several of my own What-a-burgers right now but he killed that little jaunt into greatness.

The point of this recollection is that my parents were totally involved and engaged in their own way.  They were tough.  They pushed.  They expected!  My dad always is a bundle of mush at each of his girls' graduations.  His chest gets all puffy with pride with each new degree attained, 7 and counting by his 5 girls.  He always tells me his biggest dream for coming to the U.S. is to ensure that each of his girls becomes a college graduate and then he can call his life a huge success.  I think it is also a success that none of us got pregnant as teenagers.  Not one, out of 5.  That's a 100% success rate.  Well done mom and dad, well done!

My parents had no qualms about calling us out.  They didn't care about hurting our feelings and they made sure we were both educated and schooled (topics for another post).  So, in the current culture of everyone getting a ribbon I say we need to go back to my parents' philosophy: second place is the first loser!  And, if you think Latino parents don't care ask them, they'll tell you just how much they really, really care.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Influencing future generations


I attended a fundraising dinner last night for an organization dedicated to education, empowerment and advocacy for the Latino community.  The main focus of many of the organization's efforts are youth - from pre-K through college.  As I sat and listened to the Executive Director and the featured youth speaker, I heard the story that is so often repeated for Latinos.

I was the first....

My family came to the U.S. seeking better opportunities for me and my brothers and sisters....

If it wasn't for the people that believed in me, I would have headed down the wrong path....

Yet, Representative Steve King still believes that the majority of our youth are drug mules with no aspirations, goals or desire to make their parents' dreams of a better life and actual reality.  Mr. King, that makes about as much as sense as the teacher who told me she always looked up to the cholas in East LA.  She admired their wing tipped eyeliner and their khakis, desperately wanting to be like them.  She thought that would bond us.  You know, because ALL Latinas aspire to gang bang growing up.  Stupid is as stupid does.  SIGH!

Maybe those individuals who have so much to say about who we are as a cultural group, especially all of our "deficits", should take the time to speak to us and really get to know who we are, what we want and what we are ready to offer this country.  Maybe they'll find out that our parents really DO care but they don't attend PTA meetings because they are busy working multiple jobs instead of collecting welfare.  They might also find out that our parents fight hard to keep us out of gangs, away from drugs and alcohol, and they are often very strict disciplinarians.  Then again they might hear the stories that are often told to us of dreams that never became a reality because of a lack of educational opportunity or the need to work to help the family.  I guess judging, assuming and sticking to the talking points is easier than finding out the truth.

In my own dissertation I address the influence of the family and generational struggle that contributed greatly to the success I enjoy today.  Success defined in the very "American dream" sort of way.  Good job, great salary, degrees, materialistic measures, retirement fund, etc.  I have it all and it makes my parents proud that I "am someone".

Any examination of myself must begin before I was even conceived. What came before me has had a tremendous impact on, and has had a large role in, shaping who I am today. My approach to education, my work ethic, my belief system, and my values have been shaped and deeply ingrained by a family structure that existed long before I did. I cannot get away from it, nor do I believe that I would want to. All of these factors combined affect my way of thinking and the lens through which I perceive the world.

As a young father my grandfather faced many challenges. He migrated north from south central Mexico where traditions and beliefs are very much alive, even today. Upon reaching the thriving city of Juarez with his wife and young children, he set out to build a better life. Before long there were seven children and still not enough money. He knew that he must cross illegally into El Paso for the opportunities and the money lay north of the river. Many a time I have heard him state how he would stand on the bank of the river staring across at El Paso. He would view the cars and the homes and the lifestyle that were so different than his own. He vowed that somehow that life would be available for his children and, one day, for his grandchildren.

My grandfather, his family and my father endured much racism, humiliation, trials and tribulations that collectively determined how I would be raised. Family pride begins with the educational accomplishments of each consecutive generation. Because of those experiences my upbringing has been such that family, faith, achievement, education, and success are the ideals that shape who I am today.

Now I am creating my own knowledge. I am creating my own responsibility to others who may be in the situations that they are in because of the circumstances that surround them, even if they didn’t choose to be surrounded by them. None of my grandparents completed grade school. My mother has a fifth grade education. My father only completed high school because of pride. Of my grandfather's eight children, all of his children entered the school system. Seven of the eight received high school diplomas. Within my generation, my siblings, my cousins, and myself have far excelled the expectations that society and the family had of us. In three generations we went from laborers of low socio-economic status with little education to highly educated, successful professionals. From one little, stubborn Mexican migrant worker have grown three engineers, two PhD’s, teachers, and nurses.

And by the way, Representative King, not a single one of us were drug mules or leeches off the welfare roles.