By Armando Vazquez / Guest contributor
It began at the turn of 1900s. That’s when my parents were born in the foreboding village of Ahualulco, Jalisco. My jefitos were children of miserable poverty, suffocating Catholic resignation, a caste system that keep all of the campesinos enslaved in the barren and desolate fields that they plowed for sustenance, hope and deliverance. My parents were driven by hunger and blinding desperation out of the village of their birth.
Love would deliver us to the promise land. First my father trekking countless times to El Norte to earn dolares, that he sent faithfully back to my mother. My mother save every penny, and then one day she simply stated to her children, “Su padre llamo, nos vamos al Norte”, and with that proclamation we were off and three days later we arrive at hell.
Tijuana was three years of living hell for us. We were, like thousands of other paracaidas, refugees who harbored one singular dream that of reaching el otro lado; and squatted on the outskirts of Tijuana, in precarious and dangerous hills that act as massive dumping grounds for trash, debris and many of our squatters dreams. We were all illegal squatters camped outside of Tijuana that began to sprawled like an uncontrollable cancer below us. Sometimes at night we would climb to the highest hills and we could see the lights of San Diego, those lights reminded many of us that El Norte was a reality and not a desperate obsessive dream chased by fools.
I was the youngest of eight frightened hungry and lost children. No matter how tough it got in the bowels of that hell, my mother never showed fear and my father keep sending us dolares. My parent were divinely resolute in their mission to reach El Norte, failure was not an option. My parents were born with nothing and travel to Tijuana with nothing. All they had was love. It was the ticket to El Monte, California.
I swear that when we reached the home of my tio Jose I thought in my small jaded and frightened little mind that I had reached the mystical city of Chibola. Everything was golden. This place had everything a kid could want and my parents were together for the first time in years. I most remember the huge grocery stores that seemed to have enough food to feed a whole of every squatter camp back in Tijuana. My older siblings quickly got jobs and younger siblings went to huge and beautiful schools. Life was good, very good.
What is worse, racism or hunger? In El Monte my belly was full for the first time in my young life, but it here in this country that I first encounter racism and hatred directed toward me and my family because we were Mexican. I didn’t get it in the beginning, but soon I would learn that discrimination was everywhere and my people were often on the receiving end of this scourge. In this land of abundance, I quickly learned about hate and racism. Our neighbor next door was an unapologetic racist who call all of us wetbacks. At El Monte high school my two older sisters were targets of racist and cruel assaults that seem to happen every day. Fear began to grow in heart and mind. I had to know what drove some people to hate other people simply on the basis of skin color. I’m am 62 years old and I still have not found an acceptable answer. The second question I asked myself as youth was how do I protect myself and my loved ones from this racial hatred and prejudice and that answer came a lot easier, it was through education.
Fast forward to this year. My three children have reached educational milestones. My daughter Xochitl just completed her Master in Educational Administration at CSUN, my alma mater. My son Aaron completed his BA at UCSB by way of Berkeley, and Emiliano just graduated from UCLA. I give thanks and praises to the Creator, and I am humbled by their intellect, their giving and kind hearts and day to day work that they do with everyone they meet to make their country a more compassionate and tolerant nation that embrace everyone and excludes no one. This is what a good education does to a human. It opens the heart and mind so that love and tolerance can germinate and bloom. This why I have dedicated my life’s work to providing college opportunities to every kid I work with in the community. An educated mind produces a more tolerant heart. God know we need that in our country today. So today on father’s day, let us all commit to giving our daughters and son the gift of education, there is no greater gift that we can give to those we love.
— Armando Vazquez is executive director KEYS Leadership Academy @ Café On A in Oxnard.