Imagine being a vibrant fifteen-year-old, embracing every step you took on school grounds, thriving, raising your hand when your brain did not comprehend a lesson, all because of your desire to absorb knowledge like a sponge. Now imagine being obligated to drop out of high school to take on real life responsibilities. How would that make you feel?
The familial obligation I faced profoundly shaped my future. This decision, made out of necessity, was one of the most challenging my mother ever encountered. She required me to leave high school to care for my youngest siblings while she worked to support our family. Although she recognized the importance of my education, the pressing demands of Maslow’s hierarchy of physiological needs took precedence over esteem and self-actualization, leading me to feel like a failure in adulthood.
As I grew older, I could feel my knowledge diminishing, slipping through the creases of my brain, and leaving me with a sense of inadequacy. The thought of enrolling in Adult Education classes to obtain a GED was daunting, as I feared failure, judgment from others who might perceive me as uneducated, and the challenging responsibilities of motherhood while being a student. However, I eventually overcame these feelings of inadequacy by shifting my mindset and committing to the belief that I am capable and worthy of achieving Maslow’s highest level of needs: self-actualization.
At the age of fifteen, I was a bookworm that chased after quality grades instead of boys who would lead me through a dead-end maze. I absolutely loved school and adored all the benefits that accompanied learning, humbly wanting to overachieve. That is, until this one life-changing day. I vividly remember the sound of the bell ringing and my black squeaky shoes rushing down the hallway towards the exit doors. Staring down at the glossy marble floors as I exited the doors, I looked up and noticed a loud, familiar face that felt misplaced in my school: my mother. My heart dropped into my stomach because at that moment, I knew something was wrong. She never had the time to pick me up from school. My mother was a full-time employee and a part-time single parent of seven children.
(I was the middle child, with three older siblings and three younger siblings. However, my elder siblings had removed themselves from our household to chart their own course).
I approached my mother with a hesitant smile, and asked “Is everything okay?” She replied, “No, mija (daughter). Our babysitter quit, and I have no one else to watch your youngest sister. I’m afraid you’ll have to drop out of school so you can help me with taking care of your baby sister. If you don’t, I’ll lose my job and the roof over our heads. Follow me to the office and we will request your withdrawal.”
From that day forward, I became a mother to my siblings. My two younger siblings who were older than the youngest were capable of caring for themselves, but regardless, their physiological needs were met by me. Along with this, I had to take care of my new baby girl. I ensured that her diet consisted of foods from across the food pyramid, as I was committed to her health and well-being. My sister’s baths were extra soapy and frequent. I taught her life lessons that I had to learn on my own. She grew and grew like a well-tended tree, and eventually I started working when she began attending school.
After the meetings were over, they loaded us into passenger vans. Between 10:30- 11:00 a.m., we were dropped off in strange neighborhoods and treated as junkmail.
As my first “official” job, I worked as an “independent contractor” for an energy supplier called Just Energy. I was one of those annoying solicitors who knocked on doors and rang doorbells to sell People’s Gas and Nicor Gas in addition to “Green Energy.” The office held mandatory meetings Monday through Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. to motivate us and role play. We were taught a script along with swift answers to anticipated rebuttals. After the meetings were over, they loaded us into passenger vans. Between 10:30- 11:00 a.m., we were dropped off in strange neighborhoods and treated as junkmail. Our Crew Coordinator’s final words were “Make that money.” We were told to meet at an agreed upon location by 9:00 p.m. If the quota was not met, keep knocking on doors until 10:00 p.m. no matter the weather conditions.
And so, I did. This was my third source of education and my main source of income. Cell phones were not as common as they are today, and there were days when I did not have access to a phone which made my job more difficult.
Then one day, my worst fear became my reality.
It was a regular day of knocking on doors. I was working in Edgewater, located in the city of Chicago. The sales process changed to make mandated phone calls to customer service to confirm a quality sale. Unfortunately, I did not have a cell phone at that moment, forcing me to use my customer’s phone. I was invited into their apartment to use their landline, and naively, I followed him inside. Upon entering his apartment, he trailed behind, asking me to walk further into the living room because his phone was “closer to the big sofa.” After approaching the couch, I became aware of the deafening silence that informed me that no one else was home. The dark apartment, closed curtains, and stacked newspapers gave me goosebumps and raised the hair on my skin.
Suddenly, I heard a loud thump. He closed the door behind us, locking both the doorknob and the deadbolt. He asked menacingly, “What if I told you that today is your last day of being alive?” His face wore a malicious expression. I remember counting to five in my head after he asked his question, hoping for him to follow with a “Haha” or “Sike!”
But relief never came. He slowly took two steps closer, and suddenly it felt like a huge sandbag landed on my back. Except it didn’t.
I snapped into reality.
My internal voice told me that I must make it out alive.
I knew I could do better–that I deserved better–and should work towards earning my education. However, things did not end that way.
Thinking quickly, I began to lie, saying, “Haha, today might be my last day alive, but it will also be your last day of freedom. My supervisor assigned me specifically to enroll you, and he’s parked outside. Our enrollment process is timed and if I don’t come back out within the next two minutes then the protocol is to involve the police.”
I tried my best to hide the fact that I was terrified and lying. His demeanor changed and he let out a fake laugh, followed by the claim “Okay, it’s a joke.” In my gut, I knew that he wasn’t really kidding. Little did he know, the truth of it is that my supervisor couldn’t care less and wouldn’t know if I was missing until after 10:00-10:30 p.m. I was just a number to them. They received commission for every customer that I enrolled in addition to residuals. Anytime an “independent contractor” voiced their concerns or simply wanted to go home, we were told by our regional manager, Mr. Nicholson, to “Keep your head in the f***ing game.”
That was my last day working for Just Energy.
I knew I could do better–that I deserved better–and should work towards earning my education. However, things did not end that way.
The sun and moon set and rose countless times. I eventually gave birth to my own children and felt the urge to enroll in an Adult Education program. I expressed my desire to a friend who told me “It’s a little late for that. You’re only getting older.”
She was right, the more I aged, the less I remembered everything I had ever learned in school. My math skills were completely depleted, and I had not picked up a novel book since the last time I walked the glossy marbled floors of my high school’s hallways. I was ashamed of the little knowledge I still had, avoiding conversations with my in-laws regarding my educational background. I was afraid of being belittled and perceived as unworthy of contributing to their family tree.
“Mommy, I used you as an example. My assignment was to write about my favorite hero, and I wrote about you. You never gave up on your dreams and inspired me to never give up on mine.”
My spouse and I had children despite my insecurities, and my children became the reason I decided to take action. It was then that I realized that it is never too late to obtain my GED. I felt the urge to prove to myself that I–as a woman and mother–had the ability to pick up where I left off at age fifteen. All it would require is patience. And so, I enrolled for the Adult Education classes at Morton College. As a result of my hard work and perseverance, I walked across the stage and received my High School Equivalency Diploma, a CNA certificate shortly after, and a two-year scholarship. I am proud to say that as a returning student, I went above and beyond, and thrived in all my courses.
The day I realized that my biggest goal was accomplished was the moment I picked my oldest daughter up from school one sunny afternoon. She had rosy cheeks, eyes glossy and bold, as she stared at me in silence. Finally, she said, “Mommy, I used you as an example. My assignment was to write about my favorite hero, and I wrote about you. You never gave up on your dreams and inspired me to never give up on mine.” That made my soul shiver and tears flowed down my cheeks. We hugged in silence for what was probably thirty seconds but felt like five minutes. Since then, I can openly express that I was a high school dropout without feeling ashamed. My aspiration is to become a registered nurse and I am currently taking the required prerequisite courses. And one might ask, “Why now after a decade has passed?” And the answer, my friend, is because it is better late than never.