I had always been an active child, running around, playing basketball, throwing a baseball around, or in other words I was the skinny kid that was able to do what was considered athletic skills. There is even a video of a 5 year old me running as fast as I possibly can down a hill without tripping and beating my older brother. I remember in 4th grade challenging my friends to sprint to one base and back, and two years later in 6th grade being tested for the mile run getting a 6:36 time that gave me a B+ only 6 seconds from an A which I could have easily gotten if I had not stopped to tie my shoe lace. But none of these previous events challenged me the way joining that running team did. It focused my inner strength and molded my talents so that I can be what I was capable of. That single year lit an ember inside me that caught fire and still burns bright and hot to this day. This passion to run, stay physically active, and to coach one day is because of that one magical year that ended 5 years ago. Everything fell into place perfectly: the decision to attend the first day, the jealousy, the first mistake in my first race, the hip injury, my team calling on me at the end, and my pact with Wilson to go out with a BANG our last year in Track. I still talk to almost everyone on that team to this date because it continues to be one of the most important endings in my life which led to one of the most exciting beginnings as an aspiring coach.
Academically the story is filled with more downs then ups. Today I am 3 weeks away from graduating from Cal Poly Pomona University. But if you asked me 6 years ago what I was going to do with my life I would not be describing a bright future as a college graduate.
During elementary school I was jinxed with one bad teacher after another with kindergarten being the exception. The challenge in Kindergarten was that I was a English Language Learner. I was at a home with Spanish speaking parents put into a classroom with lessons and activities in English. During my second year I remember constantly being called a "Slowpoke" by the teacher because I never finished my work fast enough and felt embarrassed and helpless. Then, my 3rd grade teacher would literally just sit in her chair and ask a student to give her a massage as she talked about her own problems. She would later quit or retire and we had a substitute teacher for the rest of the year. On the very first day of my 4th grade class I sat at the front of the rug with my legs crossed and as the teacher walked by she tripped on my shoe and immediately said "How dare you! Did you just try and trip me?" I was so shocked and scared I just shook my head and said nothing. Later that year my mom would come in and the teacher would explain that I was distracted to easily and would wonder the class room. 5th grade I was put into a pretty good class with decent teachers but I had already fallen far behind the previous 4 years that I had to cheat during spelling tests and settle for the minimum.
After I graduated Elementary I was excited to go to Irving Middle School with all my friends. But I had no idea just how the teachers would be there. 6th grade was probably my worst experience academically. my 1st, 2nd, and 4th period teacher was the same man. He was a complete ass hole. If you asked me then I would have said it and if you ask me today I will say it again. That is not to say that I was a perfect student or even average student. I was a flat out bad D-F grade student. I was the class clown, joke, and funny guy. I would constantly cause people to laugh and disturb the class. He would stare me down, yell at me, and give me automatic zero's in class work. One moment I remember perfectly to this day was when we had to line up outside to go to an assembly. We all went and waited and I was talking loud, out of line, and having fun when suddenly he came right next to me and yelled inches away from my ear. If I had not hated him before then I definitely hated him now. After he was done yelling, being the smart ass punk rebel kid I was I said, "You know I can sue you for that." Thinking back now I think I definitely should have. I was too scared to tell my parents that he did that because they would say I caused it. But really, he could and should have been fired for something like that. So as you can tell I had slowly been shaped into a school hating student taught nothing more than how to lie to my parents and how to do just enough to pass.
Well my mom being the good caring parent she was, saw this happening and switched schools after 6th grade. Also what I failed to mention was how after 3rd grade I had been taking Summer School to catch up or make up grades after falling behind. My mother knew it was best to waste 3 months of summer instead of one year of school but it would also add to me hating school and looking at it as a punishment.
So 7th grade was going to be completely different. It was at Toll Middle School in Glendale and I knew absolutely no one from their. Actually that was a lie, I knew one friend from my boy scout group but he would not be in any of my classes. My first week in 7th grade was very intimidating. I had no one to talk to, no one to tell jokes, no one to have lunch with, and no where to play. However, it did not last, one guy would ask me where I was from and that just let me become more and more comfortable to be the joker I was.
However, something else also happened. During the first week of 7th grade I was classified as an English Second Language learner and put in remedial English. I automatically felt strange, like I had already failed being an average 7th grade student. Why and how was I placed here? After that week I began seeing it as a good thing. Man this work is easy! I can get an A here easily. I turned in our first assignment and the next day the teacher pulled me aside. "Did you cheat?" she said to me. "What? No. I didn't cheat. What do you mean?" I replied. She asked "Did anyone help you write this?" I said, "No I wrote it by myself." She then asked, "You used the word 'whom'. Do you know what that means?" I told her, "Ya it is the proper way of saying 'who', like when a butler answers the phone and says, 'Whom would you like to speak to?'" She looked at me and said "Okay. You can go back inside."
Little did I know that that single word would change the rest of my life. You see, the next day I got a new class schedule that placed me in regular English classes. If I had not written 'whom' on my paper I could have stayed in remedial English for that year, and the year after that, and probably all the way up to High School where I would have never had a fighting chance to be accepted into a University or take regular English.
So 7th grade went by and I began to settle into old habits. I joked around in class, drew, didn't pay attention, and again only managed to do the minimum to pass with a D or C. My 5th and 6th period teachers were the worst that year. The English teacher still yelled and gave weak lessons and my 6th period science teacher was an arrogant power hungry jerk. He would constantly stop class to yell at certain students including me to copy the notes, pay attention, and at one point he even checked my pockets to take away my Tech Deck which was a popular small toy skateboard kids played with their fingers.
After I finished 7th grade 8th grade at the same Middle school was a little easier socially at least. Classes were still hard, I had to take a 7th period at one point because I needed extra help in Math.
Finally 9th grade and Herbert Hoover High school comes into the story. 9th grade I had problems yet again with my English teacher. Now, I would spell his name if I remembered what it was or how to spell it but the truth is I did not take him seriously and didn't care about him. Even when I had him yet again for 10th grade English I did not care. One memory I had in that class was being so bored that I put my head down and started sleeping. He then told the person next to me to get me up and when I did the piece of paper on my desk was stuck to my head. Of course he got mad and made me sit outside.
So now 11th grade came and I had a new English teacher. His name was Mr. Mejia. He was the first English teacher who actually looked cool being a teacher. He was Latino, dark skinned, and kept himself very composed and proud which served a purpose to have kids respect him. And it worked great because that was one of the few classes I took very seriously that year. He had a name tag on his desk that said "The Peoples Teacher" which I thought was very interesting and funny. He always brought up issues about caring, about the reason behind certain events and celebrations that need to be taken back to their roots such as the Armenian Genocide and how kids shouldn't look at it as a free day but as a day to fight for justice; school pride and how pride doesn't mean fighting and vandalizing with other schools; and even Halloween how now it is a time to dress like something ridiculous instead of like a ghost, or zombie, or witch like when it was called All Hallows Eve. He was not just an English teacher he taught me to put value to certain things and stick to your identity especially when we read and discussed 'The Catcher and the Rye'. He explained it so well that it is still one of my favorite books. This was the beginning of a transformation within.
12th grade (the year of track running)-
This year everything started becoming important. If I had not seen it before, I knew now that my past was going to effect my chances to make something with my life. I had always said I'll just join the Air Force and be a pilot, but during last year 11th grade I had to get glasses. So now my future was dark and empty. What was I going to do after I graduate? I did not want to be average anymore. I did not want to have a meaningless job at a restaurant or grocery store.
Luckily, this was the year I had Mrs. Vargas. This was her first year becoming a true teacher on her own. We read the book 'Heart of Darkness', we went over issues such as if it is humane to clone people, or have an abortion. We wrote many essays, some of which I put little effort into. But many which I actually cared for and felt interested in. One major essay we did was turned in to college essay graders that would give us a grade out of thirty points. I was excited and nervous at the same time. I was excited because I felt that I had improved so so much during her class, but also nervous because college was the next step I wanted to take at this point and if I failed this "pre-test" I would feel like I would not last in college. However, the grades came back 2 weeks later and everyone was anxious. She said many of us did very well, but some needed lots of improvement. She mentioned that two people got 27 points and one got 30. When I got my paper back I saw 27/30. I was so happy. I wanted to brag to everyone. I thought I wouldn't care who got the 30 but it ended up being a football player who I always thought was a joker also. I looked at him and was thinking, "How the heck did he get the highest grade?" I began realizing that writing wasn't just for the gifted or "smart" crowd. It was an easy process that once you have your ideas in order and working together, you just have to fluff it up and write it down.
Mrs. Vargas taught me how to write after 10 years of horrible experiences and 1 year with Mr. Mejia who showed the value of writing. I can honestly say that if it were not for Mrs. Vargas I don't think I would have EVER chosen my current path.
By this point I had completed my college applications and taken the SAT and due to A.V.I.D. I had to apply to at least 4 UC's and 4 Cal State Universities and decided to go as Undeclared Major.
Every single time a letter came from one of the 8 colleges I applied to I would feel an empty feeling in my stomach. I would get scared and take the letter alone in my room away from my mom in order to open it. "Thank you for applying to our University but we regret to...." There goes my hope. Letter after letter I would read the same words until, "Dear Steve Perez we are happy to send you a letter of acceptance to San Jose State University...". I could not believe my eyes. I had to read it over and over and then all the way down the page two times before I finally told my mom. I was so happy. I could finally start looking forward to something after high school. And then two weeks later, "Dear Steve Perez we are happy to inform you that you have been accepted into Cal Poly Pomona". YES!! 2/8 is not bad. I was feeling happier than ever.
Fast forward to the Summer after high school graduation.
I took my orientation at Cal Poly Pomona and realized Mrs. Vargas' class didn't just help me get accepted into college, it made me feel completely different about school. In fact I think I will enjoy school from now on. This feeling lead to telling my advisor that I wanted to be a teacher. I could not believe the words coming out of my mouth. Mrs. Vargas made learning fun, she made it easy, she made me feel rewarded for my hard work, and most of all, she treated me with respect and kindness. I remember one day I was feeling really depressed and down that I just came to class and put my head down. She knew I was usually very happy and laughing with my friends most of the days so she didn't react like my previous teachers and yell at me to wake up. She asked me with a kind and soft voice, "Steve, are you okay? ...What's wrong?... Do you want to go out for a walk for some time? You can take a friend." And that is exactly what I did. I took my friend Jessica with me to walk around campus we found a tennis ball and played catch for a couple minutes and I felt better. But overall, I felt relaxed and ready to go back to class and focus. When I came back to class she asked, "Feeling better?" I replied with a small smile and a nod.
She was the nicest teacher I had ever had in that point of my life. She changed my entire view on teachers not just by making me excited over writing a good essay but by caring as a person for me and making sure I would be okay and comfortable to be in class. This led to me beginning my path in becoming a teacher. The very same path that 5 years later and 3 weeks from now, I will hold my Bachelors Degree in my hand as a graduate of Cal Poly Pomona University. High School was the end of my hopeless self, the end of not caring about school, the end of a magical year in cross country/track running, the end of thinking of English class, school and teachers as torture. It lead to the beginning of me becoming an aspiring Track Coach and caring School Teacher. And the best part is, it will lead to an even greater new beginning.
Reading this post particularly the part when you were opening up letters to see if you had been accepted to a certain school made me think of my experience. Cal Poly was not one of my first choices but it became only option when I learned I could not afford going any where else. Applying for colleges and waiting for a response is seriously the longest worse feeling ever!!
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