Mexicans Don’t Become Nurses

Although today is my day off, I stumbled across this very inspirational blogpost and thought I’d share it. Enjoy!

What Happens to Us

The day that my mother graduated with her master’s degree, I wasn’t impressed.  I was in my twenties and still had the arrogance of youth.  I inwardly scoffed at the school she graduated from, Cal State University at Los Angeles, because I had graduated from the ivy halls of UCLA.  I scoffed at her major, which was Home Economics, because I had graduated in English literature, reading opaque tomes like Sartor Resartis and Canterbury Tales.

But what youth doesn’t always understand is struggle.

In 1942, my mother wasn’t the best student at Garfield High School in East L.A., but she wasn’t the worst, either.  Maybe some of her academic difficulties had to do with the fact that her parents were so poor that she was often hungry.  Sometimes, when she and her brother were walking home from school past the Japanese graveyard, she would eat food that mourners had set…

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