As I started my treacherous walk from the CNN Techwood Studios to my apartment on the Georgia Tech campus, sweat droplets began to permeate through the outer layer of my blue dress shirt.
The Atlanta summer heat made a 15-minute walk feel like an exhausting hour-long journey across a hellish desert. Perhaps akin to my parents’ walk to school as kids, my mind thought.
The palpable rays of sunlight flashing towards my mom’s forehead and my dad’s broken hand-me-down sandals twisted by the rocky terrain.
I can’t help but look down at my Nike Air Forces and admire the shiny white glare they offer.
They both knew they would have to leave home because no one wants to live in a small, impoverished town in the middle of nowhere, Mexico.
At age twelve, my dad was presented with a choice: stay in our small town and see if he could find food on a day-to-day basis while also finding a way to finish secondary school (equivalent of Junior High in Mexico). Or, he could follow his dad to Mexico City and start working. To him, it was no choice at all. Thus (prematurely) began his adult life.
Unlike my dad, I left home of my own volition— and would’ve unenthusiastically welcomed the idea of living close to home right after high school.
As for my mom, she wishes she had finished her education. My grandfather never let her finish school because of the simple fact that she was a woman. Naturally, her fearsome instincts forced her to leave the same town as soon as she could find an opportunity.
I can’t help but remind myself I can make my own decisions, and can afford to make the wrong ones on occasion.
When they came to this country, they immediately began to ascend in a strange but exhilarating environment conducive to work, work, and…. Well, more work. My dad as a baker, my mom as a grocer at a supermarket.
That was until my younger brother crashed into our lives. He was born with Autism, and because of it, at age 20, his mind functions as if he were a four-year-old, maybe even a five-year-old on a good day. He’s clung to my mom for as long as I can remember; suddenly, the bashing force of two hard workers was sliced in half. Add that to the list of challenges that persisted for my parents.
All of that, while my biggest worry on campus had everything to do with typing away at a computer or adding up numbers for school.
Still, it’s thanks to my dad’s frustratingly long days at work, and my mom’s business savvy, that fate had them owning a small business — a small bakery.
It’s because of my mom’s perseverance that I was able to get an education. It’s because of my dad’s 4 a.m. shifts that I will always be willing to work past midnight inside a press box.
So when I think about my time in college, the resounding sentiment is gratitude.
Grateful for those peaceful evening walks on my way to Gregory Hall while my AirPods spilled out the sounds of 104.3 (670) The Score. Grateful for the swell of perspective the people on this campus have offered me, even when they didn’t realize it. Grateful for the strangers, some of whom I ended up calling friends.
But maybe most grateful for the opportunity to make mistakes. Ultimately, an opportunity my parents never got.
Growing up, my mom always told me, and even to this day, tells me it’s my responsibility to supersede whatever they accomplish in this country. And while I’m grateful that the bar is set high, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how daunting a task it seems at times, especially since I’ve chosen to pursue journalism way past its heyday.
But they helped me get this far, so why not go all the way? After all, it’s because of them that I’ve had the opportunity to chase a dream.
I’ve covered a Music City Bowl, the Final Four and interned at CNN Sports. I’ve sunk my teeth into compelling storylines and told the stories of amazing athletes and people at Illinois. After graduation, I’ll be a part of the Sport Journalism Institute’s 34th class and intern at the Memphis Commercial Appeal.
So maybe that 15-minute walk from the headquarters of one of the most recognizable brands in the history of television to my campus apartment in a modern American city was not so treacherous after all.
