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My Narrative

Colton M. Stanley

College of Integrative Sciences and Arts, Arizona State University

OGL 482: Organizational Leadership Pro Seminar II

Dr. Jules Klagge

3/23/2024
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The Beginning

Where else should a narrative start, but at the beginning? I was born in a small desert

town in the middle of nowhere. The town’s name was Ridgecrest, California population: 30,000.

Shortly after beginning my young life, my parents would fall out of love and have a messy

divorce. As a child of only three years old, I could hardly understand what was happening. But I

knew from how my mother, sister, and father were reacting, that our lives would never be the

same.

After the divorce, my mother would struggle to support my sister and I as a single parent. We

moved into a modest rental home and my mother found work as a radio host for the local radio

station, I-Rock. I saw my first examples of hard diligent work from my mother who no matter

how hard things got, she never once let my sister and I go hungry. I still have vivid memories of

sitting in the radio station’s offices. I would watch my mother run the station and many times she

would run it by herself.

Our time in that town wouldn’t last long. My mother’s meager earnings along with living in a

town where there were few opportunities and a rising crime-rate caused my mother to decide to

move elsewhere. My grandma and grandpa were more than happy to put us up at their house in

Fernandina Beach, Florida. And so, I experienced my first road trip. But we traveled in style, my

grandpa had brought his RV. It was an old rust bucket but it certainly made the approximately

forty hour drive more bearable and a lot more fun for a boy of five years old. Though my sister

and I could have done without my grandpa’s horrible singing the whole way over.
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After a couple of days on the road, we all arrived at my grandma and grandpa’s home in Florida.

It was a small house but I was just happy to be able to spend time with my grandparents who I

loved dearly. It was during this time that I was able to learn more about my Filipino heritage. My

grandma was born and raised in the Philippines. Though we never actually called my grandma

that. She always wanted to be called Nanay. Which I had just assumed meant grandma in

Tagalog but would later learn that it is what you would call your mother. It turns out that she

never wanted to be called by the more appropriate title: Lola. So to us and everyone else in the

family she was Nanay.

While living with Nanay, she always kept everyone fed and I fell in love with her Filipino

cooking. Her pancit, adobo, sisig, and lumpia were all ways in which I could truly connect with

my heritage. She would also teach my sister and I some Tagalog, but I was too young to truly

appreciate it and have forgotten nearly everything. I, of course, remembered what she said when

she cursed though.

She was also a very frugal woman. Saving every coupon she could find and driving out of her

way to buy groceries where they were cheapest. She lived a hard life in the Philippines taking

care of her seven younger siblings while her mother was out gambling every day. She learned by

necessity how to be frugal and strove to teach us to be as well. I learned many money saving

tricks from her that I still do to this day. Ways in which to store food so it keeps longer. How to

determine what products at the grocery store are truly cheaper. How to quickly calculate the

percentage discounts on the fly. As a child, I always thought such practices were a waste of time,

but I have come to learn how important saving money is as an adult and I can’t thank her enough

for teaching me this.

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Another learning opportunity for me would come when my aunt and her son would visit often. I

was the younger sibling. So when it was just my sister and I, I was never the leader. But once I

met my younger cousin, I suddenly had someone I could lead around. This was the first

opportunity that I had in my life of being a leader. I would come up with the games to play, teach

him how to play them, and listen to him if he had any questions or complaints. Any time we

were together, I would be off to play and he would be right behind me as we worked together to

find our own fun. Unfortunately this situation would be short lived as my aunt and cousin moved

farther away and were unable to visit nearly as often.

While times at home were fun and bright, I had a much harder time at school. My kindergarten

teacher was not a very understanding woman. Whenever I showed any lack of focus or if I had a

low score on an assignment she was quick to deliver harsh words. Her favorite name for me was

“nose” as she caught me picking my nose once or twice. And would use that name whenever she

wanted to get a rise out of me. And If I said anything back, I was sent straight to the principal for

disorderly conduct. And it was often only me that received such treatment. It really caused me to

hate going to school as I began acting up more and letting my grades drop. This went on until the

next year in first grade.

My first grade teacher was a man who was loved by all of the children in the school. He was a

very jolly man with rosy cheeks, a large round belly, a flowing white beard, and laughed heavily

with a “ho, ho, ho.” Did you think I was describing Santa Claus just now? Well that description

fit him perfectly. He truly fit the description of Santa Claus and he was just as kind. While I

hated going to school in kindergarten, I loved going in first grade. Everyday, he would pull out

an auto harp and he would play and sing silly songs with the class. He was always supportive

and more than willing to help us understand difficult topics. He showed me for the first time
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what a great teacher should truly be. Someone who supports another’s learning and build the

motivation for their students to want to learn.

With things looking up for me in school, another change would occur in my life. My mother had

begun seeing a new man. I wasn’t sure what to think about it at that age. But my sister was

clearly upset by it. I remember our first meeting with him. He seemed kind enough, he was very

happy to meet us and he seemed like a good guy to me. But my sister was still upset and cold

toward him. Soon, we all moved into his place, which was an apartment right on the beach.

Being able to see the ocean from the front balcony was an incredible sight and being able to walk

to the beach every day was a great feeling. Our lives seemed to be moving in a good direction.

But as I have experienced many times in life, things always change. And our happy situation

would not be immune to that fact.

My mother was struggling to find employment in this town. Despite how bright she was, she had

never attended college and a high school diploma can only get you so far in a competitive job

market. Her gender and ethnicity made such a job search much more difficult as well. My

mother’s boyfriend had a decent job working at an auto body shop. As he had also not attended

college. But that would soon fall through. And now, we were essentially homeless. My mother’s

boyfriend borrowed a small camper from a friend and all four of us lived in it for a whole year as

my mother and he searched doggedly for employment.

I remember watching the two of them running themselves ragged going to interview after

interview. Things began to turn for the better as my mother’s boyfriend was able to get a job

working at a local machine shop. My mother was able to land a job working as a housekeeper at

a nearby beach resort. Their hard work paid off and soon we were able to afford to rent a house
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closer to the beach. Happy times were here again and soon after, my mother and her boyfriend

would get married.

Now that things were much more stable in our lives, my mother had decided that it would be a

good time for my sister and I to visit our father in the Summers. He lived in Arizona now so we

had to fly to visit him every time. But that was something I enjoyed as ever since my first plane

flight, I loved to be in the air. Being able to watch the earth far below and see as far as the

horizon has always been a joy of mine. Being able to see my dad after so long was an added

bonus.

My dad took the divorce the hardest. He lost custody of my sister and me which devastated him.

After we moved to Florida, there was nothing really tying him down to Ridgecrest anymore so

he decided to focus on his career to keep his mind off of the situation. Like my mother and step-

father, my dad didn’t have a college degree. But he was able to get a job working for the local

nuclear power plant. He has always been good at selling himself and was able to land the job

with his charisma and ability to adapt to any situation. During his job search, he was able to find

an opportunity in working for construction companies in Arizona. So, without anything holding

him back and needing the money, he took the job and moved away from the place that now only

holds bittersweet memories.

It must have been hard for my dad, being only able to see my sister and me once a year. But we

always made the most out of our visits. We would stay with him for about a month every

summer. I was always over the moon every time we got to go visit. A tradition of ours when we

would visit is that we would have a movie night. He would take us to a Blockbuster Video

(remember those) and each of us would pick a movie. Then we would get home, he would make
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a big bowl of popcorn, and we would marathon the movies that we picked that night. I truly miss

those days. When life was simpler.

Back home in Florida, my life would be in for another change. My step-dad had just made a

golden opportunity for us. He was being offered a job working for the offshore oil rigs which

would pay far more than both of them were making now. The opportunity was too good to pass

up. But in taking it, it meant that our family would have to move again and this time, to a

different state. At the time, I was devastated. We would be moving after our lives had finally

reached a point of normalcy. I was just starting to make friends again and we would be moving

away from my grandparents as well. I was crushed. But I had no say in the matter as we packed

up once again and made our way to my step-dad’s hometown, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.

If I had to describe how I felt about Breaux Bridge at the time, it was that it was small, swampy,

and old. The house we moved into when arriving was built in the 1930’s. It even had vintage

door locks with thick metal keys and keyholes that you could peek through. But the first thing

that I noticed about the house was how it smelled. It turned out that this house was formerly used

as an art studio for a local painter and the whole house reeked of oil paint. But once we were all

settled in, the place started to grow on me. It was a quaint house with a vintage charm and the

backyard was far larger than any of the houses that I had lived in prior. I had space to actually

run around and my step-dad put a rope swing in the tree for me. My misgivings about the place

had quickly faded and I would soon meet someone who would change my life.

In Breaux Bridge, there weren’t many places where you could send your children to school.

There was the public school, Breaux Bridge elementary. But my mother was not happy with the

negative stories that she had heard about it from her new friends in town. So she decided that my

sister and I would be going to the private Catholic school, St. Bernard.
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Once again, I was setting foot into a new school. With new faces all around me. When I was

younger, I was much more outgoing and more willing to talk to new people but now, I have

become much more shy. It didn’t help that because Breaux Bridge was such a small and rural

town, there is a slight stigma to newcomers. It became clear to everyone that I was from out of

state because my accent was different from everybody else’s. I hadn’t been picked on much by

the other kids in the schools that I had attended in Florida, but here is where I would begin to

experience your typical bullying.

As the geeky fat kid from out of state, I was a prime target for the jocks of the school. Who

would find ways to ridicule me daily. Either from my love of science fiction works like Star

Wars and Star Trek. To the way I ran, the way I talked, and the way I looked. There was always

something that they would latch on to. The whole thing would have been unbearable if it weren’t

for a certain person. In my first week at the school, I had made a friend. He was also a target of

the bullying. And we bonded over our love of Star Wars. Soon we could ignore the bullies by

simply enjoying each other’s company.

This was the first time in my life that I had a friend that I could truly be myself around. Every

weekend, we were making plans on whose house to hangout at. We lived near each other, so it

was easy for our parents to agree anytime. Our interests all aligned too. So we always had

something to talk about and get excited for. I truly learned what having a friend meant at that

time. And am glad to say that in him, I had made a friend for life.

The days became routine after that as once again, normalcy returned to our lives. Though that

would change a bit when the weather reports were predicting the course of a hurricane that will

make landfall in Louisiana. Hurricane Katrina was on its way.

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Fortunately for Breaux Bridge, Katrina wouldn’t hit the town head-on but there would still be

damage from it. I remember the hurricane measures that we had to take. Stocking non-perishable

food, preparing a bathtub for drinking water, taping the windows, and getting flashlights and oil

lamps ready. The day before Katrina arrived, I remember looking up at the sky in awe. The sky

had become an eerie pale-green with thick clouds that moved across the sky at high speed. It

looked like the world was ending. And then the wind and the rain came. We all sat together as

the howling wind battered against the house. The rain sounded like thousands of stomping

footsteps on the roof. And then the power cut out. I still remember seeing my mother’s calm

reassuring face illuminated in the light of the oil lantern’s glow. I knew then that everything

would be fine.

The next day, the storm had finally passed. We set foot outside to take stock of the damage.

Fortunately there was no major damage to the house. Just debris from elsewhere strewn about.

So we all got together to clean up. Once that was done, we had a different problem. Our power

was still out and we learned that it wouldn’t be restored until a technician from the city came by

to check our power lines. So here we are, without power, during the unbearably hot and humid

Louisiana Summer. It was like living in old times. Keeping our windows open to let a draft in

and illuminating the house with only candles and oil lamps. If it weren’t so terribly hot, it might

have been fun. After everything was all fixed and things returned to normal again, the days went

by as usual. But then, we would receive grave news. Nanay has throat cancer.

The news hit us hard. It turned out her throat cancer was found after she had received whiplash

from a car accident. My grandpa was driving the two of them down to a care facility in Texas so

they made a stop over in Louisiana for us to visit. She hadn’t yet received treatment, but there

was optimism in the air. We took the time to take our minds off of it by seeing the sights in
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Baton Rouge with them before they continued on. Months later, the close family all decided to

visit Nanay at the care facility. My aunt’s family and my two uncles were present alongside us.

But I remember how disheartened I was when I saw Nanay. She was so terribly thin. She had

always been a bit of a plump woman but now she was as thin as a rail. The chemo treatments

were taking its toll on her. But no matter what she remained happy and lively for all of us. Not

once did she seem unhappy or scared. You could see it in my grandpa’s face though, it was not

looking good.

Months later, there was no longer anything that could be done for her. My grandpa had taken her

to a care facility at a naval base in California where the entire family would come to say their

goodbyes. The way she looked in Texas couldn’t have prepared me for what I was about to see

in California. She was even thinner than before. They had to perform a tracheostomy on her so

she could hardly speak anymore, but more disheartening of all, was her lack of a smile. The light

was no longer in her eyes. She was no longer keeping everyone positive and happy. The hardest

part of all of this was watching just how much pain she was in. And only a few short days later,

she was dead. This had been my first experience with loss in my life. It has been difficult to put

this onto paper. I was eleven years old at the time and I have always wondered how different

things would have been if she hadn’t passed so soon. I have missed her dearly ever since as did

everyone else in my family. She was truly the glue that kept us together and now that she was

gone. The whole family has split up. My mother’s siblings wouldn’t all meet again until my

sister’s wedding fifteen years later.

After Nanay had passed, life had to go on as usual. My friends were very supportive and I was

able to finish grieving thanks to their help. The years would pass and my sister would graduate

from high school while I would graduate from the eighth grade. I had realized that my best friend
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and I would likely not be going to the same high school. As I would be likely going to the same

high school my sister went to while my friend would be going to the local public high school.

But I never realized how different of a high school I would be going to.

The day of the eighth grade graduation ceremony, my mother dropped a bomb on me. It turns

out, that per her custody agreement with my dad, my sister and I would be moving in with him in

a couple of weeks. I was absolutely devastated by this. My life had finally reached a point in

which I had long time friends, a stable home environment, and a town in which I had learned to

love. But now I would be abandoning that all again. I could not put my thoughts into words. I

was too stunned and I knew that I had no say in the matter anyway so I could only nod my head.

I was too afraid to tell my friends about that conversation. When the ceremony was over and my

friends were heading to the after party, I was so torn that I refused to go. I didn’t see my best

friend again until two years after I had moved. My biggest regret was not telling him that day

and making the best of it.

And so, my sister and I packed our bags and moved in with our dad in Surprise, Arizona. Every

time that I visited my dad it was an occasion that I was happy about. But this time, I was

miserable. Soon all was set for me to attend Valley Vista High School. But I knew it wouldn’t be

the same without my friends there. I decided to keep to myself. I would study alone, eat lunch

alone, and would only talk to my classmates in class when it was necessary. I was like this for

the first semester of the year. But once again, there would be someone who would reach out their

hand to me.

At lunch one day, a girl sat next to me and began talking to me. Through her, I found another

friend and began making more friends throughout the school year. Things were starting to get

back on track for me until my dad would be the one to derail things this time. My dad and his
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girlfriend have gotten better jobs in Chandler, Arizona. So we will all be moving in together at a

house over there. I would be dragged away from my friends by my parents once again. I was still

bitter from the last move but knew that there was nothing I could say otherwise. So to Chandler

we went.

A new city and a new school once more. Was all I could think as we settled into another new

house. And now that I was a teenager, my dad started to become much more strict with me.

Things were looking down once more. I was enrolled at Hamilton High School. When choosing

my elective courses, one caught my eye. It was titled “Intro Into Aviation.” I had always loved

planes ever since I was little. So choosing this class was a must for me. The thing that I didn’t

know was the acronym before the course’s title “JROTC.”

My first day at Hamilton was hectic. There were way too many students for how big the school

was. Every transition between periods was like entering a sea of students. Compounding that

with a somewhat mazelike structure of halls meant that I got lost a few times. My last period was

“Intro Into Aviation” and I was running late. I had taken a wrong turn and somehow ended in the

hallway with all the band rooms. I heard the bell marking the start of sixth period classes.

Walking faster, I began mulling thoughts in my head. This course said it was “JROTC.” The

acronym was unfamiliar when I enrolled. But I knew I had heard it before. I rounded the corner

into the correct hallway as it hit me. JROTC? That’s a military program isn’t it? Right as I see

the JROTC instructor standing outside of the class. His pristine Air Force uniform, clear as day

on him.

It was too late to back down now. On the first day, I learned that in an JROTC course, the

students will be learning basic military customs and procedures including wearing the uniform

and learning how to march. I was a bit daunted by how much involvement there would be in this
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course, I just wanted to learn about planes and pilots. But I decided that it would be embarrassing

to back out now. So I stayed the course. I of course had to cut my hair, which I had allowed to

grow down to my shoulders. But I soon learned that I enjoyed the regimented nature of a military

setting. I enjoyed wearing a sharp uniform and working towards the unit’s goals. It felt good to

be a part of something as everyone in the unit all seemed to get along. In a way, I guess the

structure and unity that I felt in the JROTC program contrasted the ever changing nature of my

life growing up and I latched onto it.

During my time in Hamilton High School’s JROTC unit, I developed a deep respect for the

instructors. The two instructors were an Air Force Master Sergeant who was military police and

an Air Force Colonel who flew F-16’s. The stories from their careers as well as the way they

carried themselves really made an impression on me and I often cite them as role models who I

often try to emulate. I know many of my fellow cadets who would say the same. So many times

we competed against each other trying to impress our instructors.

My time in my high school’s JROTC program was also where I had my first work experiences.

In a JROTC unit, just like in an actual military unit, there are multiple divisions that have staff

assigned to them. My first job in the unit was serving under the public affairs department as a

photographer. My first task was to take photos on our upcoming field trip to the Air National

Guard base in Tucson. I took the job seriously as I worked to photograph everything that was

going on. I ended up with over 200 pictures by the end of it and I was happy to see some of them

used in the school newspaper and the yearbook. Later that year, I would be promoted to chief of

public affairs and would lead the division in making presentations for the unit’s functions for the

year. These experiences laid the foundation for my professional life as It was here that I had to

learn how to lead a team.

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Seeing as it was an Air Force JROTC unit, the penultimate course of the program was an

introductory flight course. I was ecstatic to be taking it. And it really showed in my work. I had

to have read the textbook in that course cover to cover. The meat of the course was learning the

actual ground school portion of flight training. This entails many things from how to read a

navigation chart, to basic meteorology, air traffic control procedures, and of course the operation

and maintenance of an aircraft. I studied everything forwards and backwards as it had become

my dream to be a fighter pilot.

After the school portion was done, it was time for the real deal. We all went to the Chandler

Municipal Airport for an actual introductory flight lesson. I was so nervous. I got seated in the

cockpit as my instructor took the seat next to me. The first thing he said to me was “start the

aircraft.” Fortunately I had been training for this and knew exactly what to do as I started the

aircraft’s engine without issue. The instructor walked me through the procedure for requesting

takeoff clearance with the tower. With clearance we made our way to the runway, my heart

beating out of my chest. And then, it was time to take off. I pulled the throttle as the plane rolled

down the runway. All the time in the simulator had taught me to only apply a slight bit of

pressure on the yoke so as to not cause the plane to jerk up. Once airborne and on-course, my

instructor looked over at me and asked if I had ever flown before seeing as I did everything right

in the takeoff. I could only smile and say that it was my first time. It was truly a crowning

moment for me to see all my effort paying off right before my eyes.

Soon, I would be graduating from high school and on my way to college. My dad and I had

planned for me to stay at home as I could commute easily enough to campus. Seeing as I wanted

to pursue a career in the Air Force, I had enrolled in the Air Force ROTC program at ASU. But I

was not at all prepared for how different that experience would be than my time in high school.
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A high school’s JROTC unit is basically a glorified boy scout troupe when compared to a

college’s ROTC unit. In college, ROTC is actual military training with actual expectations and

discipline. The sheer amount of dedication and effort that ROTC asked of me was quick to teach

me how unprepared and immature I was. I wasn’t ready to give my all to the corps to really

dedicate my time to being who the corps wanted me to be. While I could handle the rough

physical training that we had three days a week, having to wake up at four in the morning to do

so was proving difficult for a night owl like me. In the first semester, there was so much

information that was required knowledge that I could be tested on at any time which I was not on

top of. And soon I started to feel inadequate compared to my peers. I noticed just how much

more effort that they were putting in. If I were in my shoes then, I would have done the correct

thing which was to step up my game and dedicate myself more to success. But at the time, I lost

heart and ran away. I finished out the semester and resigned before the next. I am ashamed to

even think back on it. But it just goes to show how much growing I still needed back then. Such

growth would occur during my first experience with working a real job.

My dad paid for my first year of college, but the subsequent years would be paid by myself. To

do this, I had to get my first job. My dad coached me on how to craft my resume and how to ace

interviews, and so, the job hunt began. Though I soon learned that some of my dad’s knowledge

was outdated. Every business that I arrived at to fill out an application and hand in my resume

pointed out their online hiring process. I was a bit limited in the jobs to choose from as I needed

ones that were part-time and willing to accept someone with no experience. I ultimately landed a

job working at a Fry’s Deli.

The training was quite intense, and the shifts could get pretty crazy especially on the weekends.

But I soon found my groove. I worked at that location for around seven months when I began to
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notice problems with how the deli was run. Much of the deli staff were not very hard workers.

Most of them were part of the day crew. And they would often leave before the lunch rush. For

the night crew people like myself, we often had to cover for the lax work that the day crew left

behind. It was frustrating. But I could handle it. The cracks really started to show later. The deli

manager would often push her work onto other staff. The shifts were given out based on

seniority so I had very little choice in which shifts I could take. Two deli staff members quit

causing a big problem in coverage. The final straw was when I had to work the deli by myself

during the busiest day of the week. The day crew hadn’t washed any of the dishes or even put

any of the meats that they took out back into the fridge. I called my manager for assistance. They

said that they would come by to help out but they never came. And so I asked the store manager

if I could close the deli early as it had been a common procedure for the deli to be closed early if

only one person was there to close it. He told me that I had to keep it open till close despite this.

At this moment, I was at my breaking point. I was already getting frustrated with the job every

day, but now that even the managers were not willing to help out had really rubbed me the wrong

way. And so I closed at the right time. And because I wasn’t able to get help or close early and

because of the extra work left behind by the day crew, I wasn’t able to finish cleaning the deli

until four hours after my shift was supposed to have ended. I decided to do the job as best as I

could as I had taken pride in the thoroughness of my work. But after that, I just wanted out. I

know that it wasn’t the correct thing to do. But I never came back to the store. I just couldn’t

handle another two weeks at that place. And quitting was a good move later as it was two months

after when that Fry’s would close down.

And so, the job search began anew. It wasn’t long before I was hired on to the Home Depot. I

started on as a lot attendant. The job involved pushing carts and loading heavy purchases for
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customers. Not very technical work but I took pride in doing it well. And soon my co-workers

knew me as someone who could get things done well. A couple years later, I was offered a new

position and took on a position as an electrical sales associate. It was certainly a major learning

experience going from very the very simple work of pushing carts to selling and giving

recommendations on electrical hardware. But I took my training seriously and have learned

much from my senior co-workers. I am now fully capable of selling the correct products for

entire electrical remodel projects. I take pride in being able to help customers solve their

problems. I have had many customers who need help troubleshooting or just learning how to do

something related to their home’s electrical work. It makes me feel valued when I can offer that

assistance and my work is appreciated by my co-workers and managers alike and I am

determined to keep their faith in me.

Conclusion

My life has been full of change. At the time, I couldn’t appreciate the changes that I was

experiencing. Leaving friends behind, moving to new places, losing loved ones, and trying new

things were all terrifying experiences for my growing up. But looking back on all of it. I realize

how the changes that happen in my life have all shaped me in different ways.

Learning about hard work from my mother after her divorce. Getting in touch with my roots and

learning how to live a frugal lifestyle from my Nanay. Learning about determination from my

mother and step-dad’s search for jobs to make a better life. Seizing opportunity even if it will

lead to great change. Always being willing to meet new people and make new friends. Finding

something to work toward and putting in the effort to do it well. Striving to work to the best of
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my ability even if I am unhappy with my job. Learning from those around me to do my job well

and taking pride in what I do.

I am writing this to teach those who read it, be they descendants of mine or just somebody that

happens to read it, that life will change at any point in time. At the time, the changes that happen

will seem daunting or unfair. You will want to go against the change, to go back to the way

things were. But I am here to tell you that you must embrace change. See the positives that the

changes in your life will bring and seize upon them. Keep moving forward to better yourself and

be willing to help others do the same.

I will be including this in my e-portfolio at https://coltonmstanley.weebly.com/my-narrative.html

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