Embracing the Journey: My Passion as a First Generation Mexican American College Graduate by Francisco Barboza (aka Alex Manriquez) Being a first generation Mexican American college graduate is not just a milestone, it is a source of deep passion, pride, and purpose in my life. It represents more than personal achievement; it embodies the hopes, sacrifices, and dreams of my family and community. Every step I have taken in my educational journey has been fueled by the desire to honor those who came before me and to pave the way for those who will follow. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the challenges that many immigrant and first generation families face. My parents worked tirelessly to provide a stable home, often juggling multiple jobs and long hours to make ends meet. Their sacrifices were quiet but monumental, rooted in the hope that their children would have opportunities they never had. Education was not just encouraged it was seen as the key to breaking cycles of hardship and creating a better future. However, as the first in my family to attend college, I quickly realized that the path was far from easy. I faced challenges many first generation students know all too well navigating unfamiliar systems, balancing family responsibilities, and sometimes feeling caught between two cultures. There were moments of doubt and frustration, but my passion for learning and my commitment to my family’s dreams kept me moving forward. My Mexican American heritage is a vital part of who I am and fuels my passion to succeed. It grounds me in values like hard work, resilience, and community. It reminds me of the rich culture and traditions I carry, and the strength found in my roots. Being a first generation college student means that I am not just breaking new ground for myself, but also challenging stereotypes and expanding the narrative of what is possible for people who look like me. This passion drives me to excel academically, but it also inspires me to give back. I want to be a role model for younger generations in my community, showing them that college is achievable and that their dreams are valid. I understand the power of representation, seeing someone who shares your background succeed can ignite hope and motivate others to pursue their goals. Moreover, my journey has shaped my desire to serve others, especially those from underserved backgrounds. I want to use my education not just for personal growth, but to advocate for equity and access in education. I believe that by supporting students who face the same challenges I once faced, I can help create a more inclusive and supportive environment where all students have the opportunity to thrive. In essence, my passion for being a first generation Mexican American college graduate is intertwined with a sense of responsibility and gratitude. It is about honoring the sacrifices of my family, celebrating my culture, and contributing to a future where more students like me can succeed. Every class I take, every challenge I overcome, and every goal I reach is a testament to the power of perseverance and the promise of education. I am proud of this identity and driven by a vision, to break barriers, uplift my community, and inspire others to believe that they too can achieve greatness. Being a first generation Mexican American college graduate is not just a chapter in my life; it is the foundation of my purpose and the legacy I hope to leave.

Human Skills: Life, Empathy, and Purpose by Francisco Barboza (aka Alex Manriquez) If I could create a class that all K-12 students were required to take, it would be called Human Skills: Life, Empathy, and Purpose. This course would serve as the emotional, social, and practical foundation for young people as they grow through childhood and adolescence. Too often, schools focus heavily on test scores and academic standards while overlooking the human development of the student. But behind every test taker is a person learning how to understand themselves, relate to others, and navigate real life. This class would be built on three pillars: emotional intelligence, life preparedness, and purpose. These elements are rarely taught directly in schools, yet they are crucial to a person’s well-being and ability to thrive in adulthood. The goal of the class would be simple: help students become more confident, compassionate, and capable individuals who understand themselves and their value. First, emotional intelligence would be woven into every grade level. Students would learn how to name and manage their emotions, communicate clearly, and respond to others with empathy. Activities might include journaling, classroom conversations, and role playing social situations. Students would be taught to listen not just to reply, but to understand. They would also learn how to resolve conflicts, recognize unhealthy patterns, and ask for help when needed. Imagine students growing up with a toolkit for how to handle anxiety, peer pressure, and even grief. The result would be healthier friendships, fewer behavioral issues, and stronger communities inside and outside of school. Second, the course would focus on real life skills. By the time students graduate, they should know how to budget, cook, apply for jobs, manage their time, and care for their mental and physical health. From elementary through high school, this content would be taught at age appropriate levels. A younger student might learn how to make simple healthy food choices or care for their belongings. A high school student might learn how to understand a paycheck, prepare for an interview, or create a basic savings plan. These skills would prepare students to step into the adult world with confidence and independence. Third, this class would help students discover their purpose. Too many students graduate with no idea who they are or what they care about. This course would encourage reflection, curiosity, and exploration. Students would identify their values, talents, and passions, and learn how these things can shape a meaningful life. Guest speakers from different industries could visit the class, and students could work on projects that reflect their interests. By graduation, every student would have written a personal mission statement something that helps them say, “This is who I am, and this is what I hope to give to the world.” The impact of this class would be life changing. It would help reduce bullying by teaching empathy. It would lower stress and anxiety by helping students manage their emotions. It would equip students with everyday tools they will use long after school ends. Most importantly, it would help them see their own worth and potential. We live in a world that is fast paced, overwhelming, and often disconnected. A course like Human Skills would slow things down and help students connect with themselves and others in meaningful ways. If we want to prepare students for life, not just exams, then we need to teach the human side of learning. And that starts with a class like this—one that teaches the skills that truly last a lifetime.

Why I’m Passionate About Becoming a Special Education Teacher by Francisco Barboza (aka Alex Manriquez) "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." – Professor Harold Bloom When I first read this quote, I paused. It did not mention grades, curriculum, or testing. It spoke to something deeper, something spiritual and emotional. In Bloom’s words, “presence” is the student’s awareness of their unique value and voice. It is when a student realizes they are not just a body in a chair, or a name on a roster, but a being who matters, who belongs. It is when a student says, “I am here. I exist. I have something to offer.” For students with special needs, this realization is not always easily reached. They are often spoken about instead of spoken to. They are measured by what they cannot do, instead of being nurtured for what they can. That is why I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher. I want every student I work with to feel their own presence, to understand their worth, and to know they are not only seen but celebrated. My Mission My mission is to create an environment where special education students feel safe to explore, try, fail, and try again without shame. To do that, I plan to prioritize four core principles: Relationship over results: I will build trust first. If a student does not feel emotionally safe, academic growth will always come second. Individualized empowerment: Each child’s learning style, pace, and strength will guide how I teach. I will use every tool, music, art, movement, storytelling, to help students express themselves. Voice and agency: My classroom will be a space where every child is encouraged to make choices, express preferences, and share their perspective, even in small ways like choosing the classroom song or the color of their worksheet. Celebrate presence, not perfection: I will celebrate progress in all forms. Whether a student learns to tie their shoe, spell their name, or simply raise their hand for the first time, that moment matters. That is presence. How I Will Guide Students to Discover Themselves When students come into my classroom, I do not just want them to learn academic content. I want them to feel seen. I want them to experience the joy of realizing, “I can.” I will use encouragement, music, visuals, tactile tools, and consistency to help students discover their own voice and confidence. When a nonverbal student lights up because someone understands them through sign, or a student with autism leads a classroom activity with confidence, that is presence. That is the spark I want to kindle. Because I know that once a student recognizes their own presence, once they begin to say “I am here, and I matter,” nothing can stop them from growing. A Brief Fairy Tale: “The Classroom of Light” Starring Francisco, the Presence Bringer Once upon a time, in a small town filled with quiet whispers and invisible boundaries, there lived a young teacher named Francisco. He carried a backpack full of books, instruments, and something rare, hope. One day, he was called to teach in a classroom at the edge of the kingdom, where children were often forgotten. These were children who moved differently, learned differently, or spoke in ways others did not understand. The townspeople said, “They will never shine like the others. Just keep them quiet and safe.” But Francisco saw something else. He saw sparks waiting to be ignited. He began each day with music that danced through the walls, stories that reached into hearts, and games that turned learning into laughter. He sat with each child, not just to teach them but to listen. And slowly, something magical happened. One by one, the children began to glow. A boy who had never spoken before hummed a tune on a xylophone. A girl who feared eye contact led a morning greeting. A child once labeled “too slow” recited a poem from memory. Their light grew stronger each day, and soon the townspeople began to notice. “What is this light?” they asked. Francisco smiled and said, “They are not becoming something new. They are simply realizing who they already were.” From that day forward, the classroom at the edge of the kingdom became known as the Classroom of Light, where every child learned to say not just “I am learning,” but “I am here. I matter.” And the teacher? He did not wear a crown or carry a sword. But he was a hero, because he helped each child find their presence.

Planting Seeds of Purpose: A Moment That Changed Us Both by Francisco Barboza (aka Alex Manriquez) It was a typical Wednesday evening at church. The sanctuary buzzed with the sound of conversation and laughter as preteens filed in, backpacks slung low, some still in soccer cleats, others quietly hiding behind oversized hoodies. These were the kids I had grown to love: awkward, honest, full of questions, and on the edge of discovering who they were. As a worship leader and mentor for students ages 11 to 14, I had the privilege of walking with them through one of the most vulnerable, confusing stages of their lives. That night, a young boy named Daniel caught my attention. He had been coming for a few weeks but never said much. He often sat alone, his head down, his body language cautious. I learned that he was new to town, recently placed in foster care after being removed from a difficult home environment. Teachers described him as “withdrawn,” and while he never acted out, he never reached out either. At the end of our message that night, we broke into small groups. Our topic was “identity” and how we often let our circumstances define our worth. As I opened up to my group of sixth grade boys, I shared that I didn’t grow up with much, and there were seasons in my life when I felt forgotten or not “good enough.” I watched their faces shift, some wide eyed, others nodding slowly. But Daniel, he looked up for the first time, eyes locked onto mine. After group time ended, Daniel stayed behind. He waited until everyone left the room and asked, barely above a whisper, “Did you ever feel like you just don’t belong anywhere?” I paused, sensing the weight of the question. “More times than I can count,” I replied. “But I learned that just because you feel that way doesn’t mean it’s true. You belong, even before you believe it.” That conversation marked a turning point. Over the next several months, Daniel started showing up earlier, helping set up chairs or staying late to clean up. He began opening up during lessons, answering questions, and even sharing parts of his story. At one event, he volunteered to read a Bible verse out loud in front of the group, his voice shaking, but steady. Afterward, he beamed with pride. It was the first time I saw him smile like that. As mentors, we don’t always get to see the fruit of the seeds we plant. But with Daniel, I witnessed transformation firsthand, not because I had all the answers, but because I showed up consistently, listened, and reminded him that he mattered. Working with children, especially those navigating hard circumstances, has taught me that impact is rarely dramatic. It is built in small, faithful moments, like sitting beside a kid who feels invisible, speaking truth into their life, and believing in them until they believe in themselves. Daniel reminded me why I want to pursue a career in education. He is not alone. There are thousands of children like him, bright, resilient, and full of potential, but often overlooked because they don’t fit in traditional molds. If I can be the kind of teacher or mentor who helps students recognize their worth, unlock their voice, and believe they have something to offer the world, then I will have lived out my purpose. My experience with Daniel didn’t just impact him, it changed me. It solidified my calling to work with young people, to stand in the gap during the years when their identities are still forming, and to offer stability in a world that often feels uncertain. Education isn’t just about delivering content; it is about shaping lives. Whether through music, mentorship, or simply being a consistent presence, I want to be an educator who makes students feel seen, heard, and valued, just like Daniel needed, and just like I needed at one point too. This is the kind of impact I want to multiply in classrooms, rehearsal rooms, and communities for years to come.