My father was born in Mexico City; Mother, Guanajuato. Both of them came here when they were about twenty one. They never became in tune with American Culture, let alone the English language. Their minds were never too clearly focused on school. All that mattered was that I work for today and live for today. In my family, tomorrow matters little. I follow my parents in terms of respect, they’ve found that respect gets things done; love gets in the way. I do what my father tells me because I respect him, whether he can see it or not.
  Teachers think I’m incapable because I don’t listen. They see that I know what I’m going to do with my life, and have the nerve to call me naïve. This hypocrisy’s like a virus. I can’t help if it’s rubbed off on me. I don’t listen well to authority, not because I can’t fall in line, but because those ordering me around don’t deserve my ear’s attention.

I understand that to give respect, one must first give it; who’s to say where that process begins between giver and taker?

My life was already planned out by my parents as was theirs before them.
  When I walk through the halls, I can see their disapproval and continue. I get to class and keep my earphones in to see who cares - no one. As the day goes on, purpose gets gradually more difficult to find. I see the path ahead, I can feel the fork in the road. To the left, the field of work that has ridden my father’s conscience to near insanity, living day to day, the separation between toy and maker is jammed through the two’s equal superiors. To the right, years of starvation so my children can eat, where one spends mountains of dollars to feel like they’ve made a difference in this world. The answer’s simple: Which hand do I write with?
  I went to the  counseling to get her opinion. She was as expected, one sided. I should have known, she wouldn’t realize that most of the jobs I qualify for are the ones I could get without a college diploma. Lately even the community college jobs are being taken away just as quickly as dropout’s. The only jobs that stay open are my dad’s. The fields were like homes to some, permanent positions for most, and temporary graves for others. There, every day was Take-Your-Son-to-Work-Day.
  Finally I decided that trying it would only hurt my wallet, hurting  I soon realized that it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Finally I have a place in society. I’m now working at getting my bachelors. The experience is totally different. Professors respect you, your limits, and time. One of my favorite songs from Mana mentioned que "No me importa lo que piensa la gente de mi." As my personal motto, I followed it to make sure that I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. But now, with more exposure to the real world around me. I been preached to would ‘bury me alive.’ I was finally able to make the right decision that would make my life worth living.