Nourish hearts and minds of all children

I wonder how many of today's immigrant children feel what I felt growing up. As a kid, I often stood and gazed at the faraway building on the mountain wondering what it would be like to be there; not knowing it was the University of Utah, but thinking, I will never know what it is. There seemed to be no hope.

It was a world unachievable from the vantage point of my home, an old railroad car in the middle of the 600 West and 700 South railroad tracks on Salt Lake City's west side. I lived in a different world, where my dream was to strive for the best job I knew — to be a switchman on the railroad. My father worked as a laborer with a pick and shovel fixing railroad tracks in the cold winters and hot summers. And though he had seniority and knew the work inside out, he also knew he could never be the boss. The boss was always Anglo.

As I grew up, I saw the hurt and indignities my father suffered that were the result of discrimination because he was Mexican. Like all immigrants, then and now, my parents came to America to seek a better life for their children. As I started school, I began to experience the same indignities as my father because I was Mexican. But my parents demanded that I respect my teachers, learn English and get an education.

As a child, seeing the discrimination my parents had to endure, I wondered why people had to be so mean-spirited to others simply because of the color of their skin, their broken English and their low economic status. And, like most youngsters growing up, I wanted to protect my parents. What was different was the anger and resentment I felt because of how hard my father worked to provide for his family, yet he was unable to advance because he was Mexican. He never complained, did his job, came home dead tired, and often fell asleep in the front yard. He didn't talk much but taught by example. And, though my resentment grew about injustices my parents and others had to bear, my mother taught me the importance of giving and helping those in greatest need, regardless of race or station in life.

As I look back, public education has been an important part of my life including cleaning toilets, sweeping floors and washing walls at Jefferson Elementary while attending Lincoln Junior High, so I could buy school clothes and pay dental bills. My parents were poor, and like many immigrant children today, I did not want to place a burden on them.