I entered the cold hospital room with wet boots, carrying a heavy book bag on my back and holding my science notebook with my only gloved hand. My breath was still heavy from breathing the brisk winter air that January brought along with its never-ending snowfall. It was a 30-minute walk from my M.S. 118 to the hospital that held my father captive in its cold unloving bed. My father laid in his bed with his hair a mess, tubes attached to his body, connecting to various machines. Despite how he looked, I was happy to see him. My trek through one of the worst snowfalls of the 90s was well worth coming to see my father. All day long, in school, it was all I could think about. The once interesting and challenging curriculum offered at Pace Academy, which I had only been a part of for the past six months, no longer held my attention. Despite being twelve years old, I was overwhelmed with worry on what was wrong with my father. Why did the ambulance take him that evening when he had such terrible back pain that he could not manage draw in deeps breaths of air? Seeing him smile at me as I approached the hospital bed made my heart warm with happiness. I reached into my book bag and pulled out a little teddy bear that I made in Arts & Crafts using a glue gun, giant cotton balls, and little moving eyes. My father smiled as he grabbed the gift. I was happy it made him happy. Later I learned that the culprit was cancer. It turned my father into a very sick man and hindering my family in so many ways.
My father was diagnosed with Multiply Myeloma when I had barely turned 13 years old. It affected me greatly in school. I wish that the teachers in middle school had taken a special interest in me to help me through hard times and give me a boost of confidence academically and personally. Thinking back, I do not recall telling any of my teachers what exactly happened with my father. I felt that it was private and that I wasn’t supposed to spill family busy in school. However, I am pretty sure that if someone had asked I would have exploded with feelings that I was holding inside of me at the time. It would have made a big difference. My grades suffered so badly that year that I was not accepted into any high school. Eventually, a guidance counselor made a few phone calls and got me into Dewitt Clinton High School. During this time my father’s health improved. He went from being bedridden for six months to being in a wheel chair to using a cane to eventually walking! Despite his many improvements, he never improved enough to be able to work again. My family dynamic changed greatly. My mother was now the breadwinner and my father stayed home. He took my little sister to school and ran as many errands as possible. In the meantime, I was growing up and was about to embark on the next big chapter in my life: High School.
My first day of high school I roamed the long hallways four times before finally finding the bus pass office. It was quite overwhelming going from a 300 person school to an almost 4,000 persons high school. At home, my father and mother were so overwhelmed attending to the needs of my father’s illness, raising a five year old, and making ends meet that I was the least of their problems. Going to high school made me feel even more insignificant. Thinking back I strongly feel that if I had attended a different high school, then I would have done better academically. I did not do well my first semester and quickly found myself not attending class and hanging with a questionable crowd. My father had a sit down with me and I felt so terrible about disappointing my parents that I quickly tried to get my act together, just in time to pass my requirements for freshman year. In my sophomore year, I attended class and did well. I still did not like my school. I had decided that I was completely fed up with my high school. Most kids were rude, nasty, and ready to fight at any given moment. I remember my History teacher was so frustrated that he outright said to the class, “Do what you want, I don’t care, I get paid regardless and I am retiring in 2 more years.” Now in his defense, that day a boy in my class was so nasty with the teacher that the result was the blunt comment stated earlier. In my defense, I had nothing to do with it, but there I was getting shortchanged because a teacher was afraid of a student. Like I said, I was fed up. I remember thinking why should kids (or teachers in the case of my history teacher) be afraid to go to school? The place where you learn should feel safe. I grew up in the Bronx, but I have never been okay with the feeling of being in jail while at school. Is it necessary to have metal detectors when you walk in and have your program checked? So the first chance I had at getting out of the school, I took it and ran with it.
During my sophomore year, we had a counselor come by and tell us about the co-op program for students. The program consisted of doubling up on classes for one week and working full-time in the city the following week. I signed up and was accepted into the program upon entering my Junior year in high school. I completed my high school degree while being a co-op student and was able to work in a small executive recruitment firm in midtown Manhattan. The week that I went to work felt like a breath of fresh air. I did not have to worry about school fights or arguments based on trivial things. It was a great opportunity and really exposed me to the business world prior to even entering college.
Since we were a low-income family, my father being sick and my mother working as a housekeeper, my main motivation for working was getting a profession career. I needed a paycheck quickly to help my family. When I became a co-op student, I basically signed up to become my own adult. My mother expected that I purchase my own clothes and buy any necessities with the money I earned. Of course, I was in complete agreement. I knew is was hard for her to cover the bills, pay rent, put food on the table and clothing on our backs. When it was time to choose a college, I began searching for scholarships. Berkeley College, an accredited business school, offered a scholarship test. After testing, I was called and awarded one full paid year to school. The program offered paid internships prior to graduation. That was exactly what I needed. Berkeley College is where I decided to attend.
When I began college, I absolutely loved it. The learning environment was so different from high school. Since it was a private college, everyone who attended really put their best foot forward. I was a full-time student, but also began work as a part-time coordinator in an IT search firm. I pursued an Associates Degree in Applied Science of Office Information System at Berkeley College. During my last semester in school, I had already made arrangements with my current employer to Intern as a Junior Recruiter. However, my Internship Professor was not in agreement with this. She thought that I should have exposure to work in a larger corporation. In fact, she threatened to fail me if I did not interview at Pfizer Pharmaceuticals; an interview that she specifically lined up for me. Once again, I spoke with my boss and told him of my pending interview. He was very positive about it and took no offense at all. To my surprise, I was offered the position. So, my last three months of school, I worked full-time and attended college from 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm. I graduated in June of 2000 from Berkeley College. In the meantime, my internship position was extended until October when I was finally offered a full time position. Before leaving Pfizer, I worked as the Executive Assistant for the President of the Emerging Markets Business Unit. My business career allowed me the opportunity to build relationships, interpret, network and liaison with various countries, travel and work as an onsite meeting planner. It was truly a great experience, but I was now ready for my next.
In 2011, I gave birth to my daughter and decided it was a good time to leave the company and reassess the type of career that I wanted now that I had become a mother. Five months earlier my father had finally passed after battling cancer for 18 years. His death and the birth of my daughter influenced me to take charge of my life. I was my dad’s caretaker during home-hospice and I knew that I always wanted to work in an area where I can provide aid, comfort and encouragement to another person. I realized that I could give myself the opportunity to choose the career path I wanted versus falling into whatever is available out of pure need. I began the process of getting myself re-introduced to school and all that comes with it. I remember how I felt when my mother left being a stay-at-home Mom and became the sole-bread winner for the family. These experiences are what caused me to reconsider my career. I realized that I valued my mother being available to me. In turn, my children will need me to be there for them. My goal is to have a healthy work and home life balance. Now that I am older and confident in the things that I can accomplish, I want to be satisfied with the areas that I have chosen to pour my energies into and make it count. Whether it is, home, family, and/ or work, I want it all to be meaningful to me. I have free-lanced as a Spanish Medical Interpreter and love helping people communicate. Therefore, seeing education through to become a Speech Pathologist is a win-win in my book.
As a future Speech Pathologist aiming to work in an education setting, I hope to impart some of the personal values that I have learned from my Latino culture, from my religious beliefs, and from my home to others. Mainly, to show respect and kindness to those around you without assuming that person’s situation and to help a child believe in himself or herself. I believe that educators have a special opportunity to be a caring person in a child’s life. We can encourage and give confidence to a child. For all we know, that child could be the next future president and our good word is what will encourage the child to reach that far. If we take advantage of these opportunities, we may very well be the positive teacher that the child remembers later on in life.
