This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
After having a pleasant freshman year, I was looking forward to new possibilities. The summer right before the school year had started was a difficult on for me. It involved many sleepless nights just questioning life and my problems at the time. My main concerns were the answers to the reciprocal questions of, “what do I want to do with my life?” and “what college would I like to attend in the near future?”. I am not going to lie, at the time, my main focus was on my ex-girlfriend. She was the first serious relationship I was ever committed to. Besides the fact, my best answer to these specific questions was always somewhere along the lines of money and attending the University of California Los Angeles. The money aspect arose from the fact that I just wanted a successful job that provides enough for my future family. UCLA simply deals with the knowledge that its one of the top schools for education and extremely competitive. Along with the constant pursuer of the right answers, lied a rebellious state of my life. It particularly involved my father. My dad and I never saw eye to eye with my hairstyle. He absolutely hated the fact that I always preferred it to be shaved short. I personally did not see any problem with it, but according to my Dad, it gave off the wrong impression. He argued that people, especially those who did not know me, would judge me incorrectly. I completely saw where my Dad was coming from, but it’s the way he tried to encourage me to grow it out that offended me. He constantly criticized my style with sayings like “why do you have to your flannel buttoned up all the way, you look like a cholo?”. From my point of view,
it was as if he was judging me incorrectly, even though I was his own son. Just to get my Dad even more mad, I decided to start to where bandanas. I figured, “he wants a cholo, ill give him one.” Plus, I also liked the way I looked. Knowing that my school had a strict gang prevention dress code, I decided to wear them to school. With this current situation forsaking my life, I began my tenth grade year, the year that I would meet Miss Villalvazo. Her classroom was like any Spanish class I have ever been in. The typical childish posters that remind you of elementary, just in Spanish, lined the entire walls. I walked in, with a clear mindset, and sat down. That was the first time I saw her, Miss Villalvazo. My first though wasn’t much. She was short, instantly reminding me of my mother. She had this blank look, almost as if she didn’t care. Her posture instantly symbolized her calm nature. As she waited for class to start, she was walking through the isles speaking to individual students in Spanish. That’s when she reached me. I was extremely nervous because I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself. She said something in Spanish, and of course, I was unable to comprehend. I had felt like she went fast on purpose. Her demeanor behind her voice wasn’t pleasant either. As I searched for the answer, my expression gave it away. The girl next to me translated. Miss had said, “What does your bandana represent?” With everything going on with my dad at the time, the question caused me to react. Without thinking, I rudely responded with, “I am not in a gang, if that’s what you think.” Her facial expression went from curious to absolute shock. The fact that I responded so bluntly, assuming her reason for asking, altered the atmosphere. She defended herself, “that’s not why I asked.” and walked away. For the remainder of the class we didn’t speak. For a while nothing was said between us. I just went to class,
took my notes or listened to the daily lecture, and left as soon as the bell rung. I honestly can’t say exactly when Miss V. and I became friends but we did. It’s like every other great friendship I have. There isn’t a specific event that solidifies it, it just happens over time. I was fortunate enough to have Miss V my entire sophomore year. It was obvious there was a bond between us. She would always be more than willing to help me after class. She went the extra mile and then some just to help me understand the material. What I loved most about her is her sense of humor. She can get serious, but at the same time, knows the perfect time to say a joke. Miss V. was always there for me, no matter what situation. I wouldn’t forget our experiences in tenth grade. I wouldn’t have Miss V. as my teacher until senior year. Since I needed at least five classes, and my credits were all up to date, I was available for student service. Because of this, we were reunited once again. Traditionally student services usually help around. I mean, don’t get me wrong I did, just whenever I could. She understood that I was taking hard classes like AP Calc and Physics so she always let me do homework. Because I was not technically a student, this is when I saw Miss V and who she truly was. It is as if she opened up to me. She was my life counselor, my go to person whenever I was contemplating with decisions, or facing personal challenges. Her advice was always wise, with the right intentions. She listened to all my girl problems, work situations, and family ordeals. None was more important than when I confronted her on what to do. Not just any decision, but where to attend college. It was around February. I had many choices to choose from. My options were: The University of Oregon, Cal State Monterey Bay, Arizona State University, Cal State Northridge, San Francisco State University, and University of Hawaii. Now when I applied to these schools it was based on reputations.
Oregon’s football team would have been a blast to watch, Arizona would have some awesome parties, and Hawaii is basically school in paradise. I needed to see what programs and what best fit my future. One day while I was working on my physic homework, Miss V. approached me. She had six booklets with her. All of which contained information of each college. This is where I really learned of college. These informative booklets opened my eyes to real possibilities. Most of the schools were either way to expensive or didn’t have the programs I was looking for. Every time a question about the schools would pop into my head, I would just do a little reading and find it. It’s crazy how much information I discovered within those pages. They were my answer to all the uncertainty contained within me. If it weren’t for my homework, I would have read them over and over. I even created a folder filled with all the college information, organized by the names. I eventually narrowed my choices. It was either Cal State Northridge or San Francisco. From there on I saw things differently. As I look back I come to terms that I was extremely fortunate to have met Miss Villalvazo. I see it as life changing. I was originally planning to attend the University of Oregon until I figured it would be $44,000 a year. Miss V. constantly pushed me to achieve more. Her knowledge taught me a lot. Always look into investments with open views. Never steeled for anything less than great. She motivated and ultimately convinced me to attend San Francisco. Without her constant reminder that everything would be okay and the idea that it was a perfect time for me to experience a whole other city. Everything about her influences me to try my hardest academically. Every time I wake up in my apartment in San Francisco, I remember the reason why I am here. Miss
V. and her determination to see me succeed got me to this point. That is one thing I will never forget.
This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
We've moved you to where you read on your other device.
Get the full title to continue reading from where you left off, or restart the preview.