My First Generation Experience

By: Marlenne Perez

As the only daughter of two immigrants from Mexico, I was the first in my family to be born in the United States. Growing up, I learned Spanish because it was the only language that my parents knew. When I started my educational journey, I didn’t know English. I had to learn English through the shows I watched on PBS Kids (Public Broadcasting Service). Before I advanced to the first grade, I had to take an English exam to show the district I knew enough English to stay at the district. I was only four years old.

Throughout my time in elementary school, my parents did their best to support me by attending my parent-teacher conferences. However, things would still be lost in translation because I was the translator. When they noticed how stressful the conferences were for me, they stopped attending. My teachers never said anything bad about me, and I would always bring home a report card with straight A’s.

With my good grades, I was eligible to apply for the honors program at my middle school. I applied and went through the application process on my own, and I was accepted into the honors program. This was an accelerated program, and I was unfamiliar with what they would ask of us. I was a student who always asked questions because, more than likely, I didn’t know what the program was asking of me. My teachers would respond negatively, and on one occasion, even told me I was “too dumb” to be in the program. After school, I would spend many of my days crying about not being able to understand the material. I would have to hide these tears from my parents, because they told me that I shouldn’t cry about having privilege. The privilege being, I was an active student in middle school. I did not have the opportunity to ask my family how to do my math homework, how to write a paper, or how to understand a topic from a required reading. This discouragement led me to fail some of my classes, and I was kicked out of the program after the first year. 

My predominantly Mexican high school was full of English Second Language (ESL) students, and many of them were placed in classes with teachers who were unable to accommodate their learning needs. It was easy to get involved with gangs and drugs at my age; many of the students were actively dealing or using drugs. Everyone in school always had substances or firearms on them, fights for “territory” became a daily occurrence, and having to pause our learning because of lockdowns happened frequently. My school had more active drug dealers than we had counselors. Not having the support from the administration allowed students to have a gateway to being pushed out of the system and being sent to our continuation high school. 

I was discouraged in school because I was placed in honors classes in middle school, but in high school, after being kicked out of the honors program, I was grouped with the ESL students. This frustrated me as I had already proved myself “worthy” of staying within that school district by taking my English exam at four years old. My parents’ thoughts about college changed when they realized how difficult it would be for me to get into a four-year university; encouragement to attend school turned into a choice. They thought they knew I was always going to work at a warehouse with my father in Downtown Los Angeles, so there was no need to finish my diploma. 

I had lost all motivation to continue in higher education. By my junior year of high school, I was already working a part-time job to support my family. My Puente/ESL teacher supported me, and she taught me everything about the college application process, what financial aid is, and what majors would be best for me. She saw something in me that I didn’t see or believe; she knew I was smart, she knew I would make it very far. She believed in me when close family members wouldn’t, she was with me writing my personal statements, when my family at home would tell me I’m wasting my time. She taught me the importance of lived experiences and how my journey in school was unique, and not something that should have happened to me.

I was later accepted to the University of California, Berkeley. I chose to leave my friends and family to attend this school, the school I have always dreamed of attending. The transition was very difficult; I lacked the support of my parents and suffered financially. I struggled to find my place at Berkeley, and wondered if I made a huge mistake by sacrificing the little stability I had at home. Throughout my time at Berkeley, I learned the importance of community as a first-generation student and how my time at Berkeley was not wasted. My motivation for higher education is rooted in the sacrifices my family made for me to have a better life, rooted in the love I was surrounded by in high school, and will continue to thrive with the active support of my community.

Having the opportunity to graduate from high school and go straight into a four-year university was not the reality for many of my peers. Many of them were forced to work in warehouses, pushed into construction, or sent to the continuation school. All of my peers would have been able to attend high school and would have been able to attend higher education had they been given the proper resources. With Prop 13 reform, funds will be properly allocated to students from marginalized backgrounds. This includes funding teachers and counselors who are ethically equipped to understand the lived experiences of first-generation students. Higher education saved my life and taught me so much more than I could imagine.  I am always going to be proud of my roots as a first-generation daughter of immigrants from Mexico.