Breaking Through (16 page)

"Don't worry about the deadline," he said, noticing the shock on my face. "I called Santa Clara this morning and asked my friend at admissions to give you an extension." I sighed in relief. Mr. Penney chuckled and puffed on his pipe. I floated out of his office thinking my counselor was like the
Santo Niño de Atocha,
the Holy Child of a thousand wonders.

I took the SAT test at Cal Poly on Saturday morning, March eighth. I had a hard time sleeping the night before
because I was worried about the test. When I finally dozed off, I dreamed I was waxing the floors at the gas company. I kept glancing at the clock on the wall because I did not want to be late for the test. When it was time to leave, I could not move. My feet were glued to the floor. I dropped the mop and tried to reach out to grab a desk, but I could not lift my arms. They felt like lead. I looked out the window and saw Papá and Roberto picking strawberries. I cried out to them for help, but they could not hear me. I woke up in a sweat. My heart was racing. I could not go back to sleep, so I got up and headed for the Western Union. After I finished cleaning it, I rushed to Cal Poly to take the exam.

The test consisted of three parts: two on English and one on math. I would have preferred one on English and two on math, but luck was not on my side. When I found out my combined scores were slightly below nine hundred, with math being higher than English, I was disappointed, but I was relieved when Mr. Penney told me I had done better than he had expected.

The day I received the letter from the University of Santa Clara notifying me that I had been accepted, I was as excited as the day my parents returned from Mexico after we had been deported. I read the letter over and over to myself and to my family.

My excitement, however, turned to concern when I saw the cost for the first year was two thousand dollars. I did not tell my parents because I did not want them to worry too. I took the letter to Mr. Penney and thanked him for helping me get into college.

"Don't thank me; you did it on your own," he said.

"Yes, but..."

"No buts," he said, interrupting me. "You worked hard. You don't owe me anything."

I disagreed with him, but I did not insist. I knew Mr.
Penney felt uncomfortable whenever I thanked him. I then mentioned the high cost.

"No reason to be concerned. You'll get scholarships," he said confidently.

"Two thousand dollars?" I said worriedly.

Mr. Penney took a puff on his pipe and placed it on the ashtray. He stared out the window and said: "Unfortunately, you applied too late to the University of Santa Clara to qualify for financial aid but, hopefully, the scholarships you receive from local organizations will cover your first year."

"What if they don't?" I said, feeling anxious.

"You can borrow the rest from the federal government," he said, handing me a National Defense Student Loan application. "Their loans carry very low interest rates, and if you go into teaching they'll forgive ten percent of the loan for every year you teach, up to fifty percent."

"I do want to be a teacher," I said, "but my parents won't like the idea of borrowing money."

"The loan will be yours, not theirs, and you won't have to begin paying it until you have a job teaching."

It sounded good, but I still felt uneasy. Papá said that borrowing money was like being enslaved. He told us about an
hacendado,
a large landowner, who used his company store to keep his father and other peasants in a state of endless debt. However, I trusted Mr. Penney and agreed to apply for the loan.

"How much should I apply for?" I asked.

Mr. Penney picked up his pipe, tapped it lightly against the ashtray, and rolled his eyes to the back of his head, looking for the right figure. "Why don't you apply for one thousand?" he said, bringing his pipe to a standstill and glancing at me.

I gulped and glanced at Mr. Penney, who was waiting for my response. I lowered my eyes and noticed a stain on the carpet.
I would have to clean floors for a thousand hours to earn a thousand dollars,
I thought. I looked up at Mr. Penney and said, "It's a lot of money, but worth it."

"That's the spirit."

I took the application home and began filling it out at the kitchen table. When I got to the line that asked for the place of birth, I suddenly felt the same suffocating fear I had felt for many years of being caught by
la migra.
I heard Papá's voice in my head: "You can't tell a soul you were born in Mexico. You can't trust anyone, not even your best friends. If they know, they'll turn you in."
But I am here legally,
I thought.
I have my green card.
I left that line blank and continued filling out the application. When I finished, I checked it over for mistakes, folded it, placed it in the envelope, and went to bed. I had a hard time falling asleep. I kept hearing Papá's voice and reliving the frightening immigration raids in Tent City and Corcoran. The next morning, at work, I completed the application. Next to place of birth, I wrote in Colton, California.

After I had turned in the scholarship and NDSL loan applications, I rushed home after work and anxiously checked the mail every day. As soon as I walked in the door, I would ask Mamá, "Did I get any mail?" "No,
mijo,
not today," she would say. As days went by, she would meet me at the door and before I had a chance to ask, she would imitate me, saying, "Did I get any mail?" She would smile when the answer was no and then try to cheer me up. "You need to be more patient, Panchito," she would say. "It'll come; I've been praying." Her words helped, but I could not stop worrying. I remembered Mr. Penney saying, "With your school record, you won't have any problem getting scholarships." I calculated my grade point average, 3.77, and prayed and hoped that my counselor was right.

On June 1, 1962, I got the news. I arrived home from work that evening and found Mamá waiting for me on the front steps, waving a white envelope. I was so anxious to get the mail that I accidentally tripped over one of the stray dogs that followed me as I got out of the car. "You got mail,
mijo,
" Mamá said, smiling from ear to ear. I snatched the envelope from her and ripped it open. The letter was from Mr. Paul Rosendahl, director of guidance and chairman of scholarships at Santa Maria High School. "What's it say?" Mamá asked excitedly. I quickly scanned the letter and started jumping up and down.

"I got the Alegría Scholarship for three hundred and fifty dollars; the Kiwanis Club for two hundred and fifty; the Lions Club for two hundred; and the Madrinas Club for two hundred!" I exclaimed.

"
Gracias a Dios!
" Mamá said, folding her hands and looking up at the heavens. She gave me a big hug and lightly pushed me inside the house. Our excitement had woken up Papá. He came out of his room and slowly sat down at the kitchen table.

"
Qué escándalo es éste?
" he asked. Trampita, Torito, Rorra, and Rubén all came out running to see what was going on.

"Panchito got money for school!" Mamá shouted, a bit out of breath. "Tell them,
mijo,
tell them."

"I got one thousand dollars for school," I said excitedly.

"It pays to work hard,
mijo,
" Papá said, lighting up a Camel cigarette.

"Let me see the money," Rorra said, pulling on my left arm.

"They'll send it to me when I am in college," I told her, chuckling.

"Yes, when he
goes away
to college," Papá uttered wearily. His eyes watered.

"Okay, everyone back to bed. It's late," Mamá said. "Papá needs to rest, so be quiet." She followed behind my brothers and sister, making sure they went back to
bed. Papá winced as he got up from the chair and shuffled back to his room. He had a sad look on his face.

The following day, I got another bit of good news in the mail. Frank Schneider, director of financial aid at the University of Santa Clara, notified me that my National Defense Student Loan application for one thousand dollars had been approved. I now had enough money for my first year of college.

The school year was coming to an end and, for the first time, I did not feel sad about it. I looked forward to graduation.

The ceremony was on Thursday evening, June seventh, at eight o'clock at Wilson Gym. At five o'clock that day, Roberto, Trampita, Torito, and I worked as a team and began cleaning the gas company as soon as it closed. At six-thirty I rushed home to get ready and pick up my parents. My brothers stayed behind to finish. They were to leave after work, pick up Darlene, Rorra, and Rubén, and go directly to the gym. I was excited and nervous. I was to lead the flag salute and give the welcome at the graduation ceremonies. I felt proud and hoped my parents could attend, but I was not sure they would.

I remembered that neither of them had gone to Roberto's high school graduation. That day Papá complained about a terrible headache and his back, and insisted Mamá stay home to take care of him and the children. My brother felt hurt, but he said he understood.
For graduation, Papá gave him an old ring that belonged to my grandfather. Roberto wore his ring proudly. I think his ring meant as much to him as my Saint Christopher medal meant to me.

I did not want to give my parents the choice of saying no, so as soon as I entered the house, I said, "Are you ready? We have to be there by seven-thirty." Papá and Mamá were sitting at the kitchen table talking. Before they had a chance to say anything, I quickly went into the shed, took a quick, cold bath in the aluminum tub, and got dressed. When I came out, Mamá was getting ready, but not Papá. "Get me a couple of aspirins,
mijo.
My head is killing me," he said, covering his head with both hands.

I brought him three aspirins and a glass of water. "Here you are," I said. "Your headache will be gone in no time. By the time we get there you'll feel fine."

"I don't think I can go, Panchito," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am not feeling well. Besides, I don't speak English; I don't know anyone and..."

"You won't be the only one who doesn't speak or understand English," I said. Papá was noticeably upset that I had interrupted him. He gave me an angry look. I softened my voice and pleaded, "Please, Papá, it means a lot to me." Papá lowered his head and thought for a moment.

"What would I wear?" he asked.

"You can wear my white shirt and tie," I said happily, thinking that he was giving in.

Mamá must have heard us, because she brought out the white shirt and tie I wore at the Rotary Club luncheon. Papá grinned and slowly got up from the table. "Here,
viejo,
let me help you," she said, unbuttoning Papá's shirt and helping him to take it off. While Mamá helped him put on the white shirt, I slipped into my graduation gown and put on my white silk California Scholarship Federation sash. "You look like a priest," Papá said, chuckling.

"He'd make a good one," Mamá said.

The shirt was a bit too big for Papá. It made him look thinner and the whiteness made the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. I then helped him put on the tie. "
Esto parece babero,
" Papá said.

"It's a tie, not a bib," Mamá said, laughing.

"It makes me look important," he said.

"You are important,
viejo,
" Mamá responded. Papá looked up at her and grinned.

It was the first time I had ever seen him wear a shirt and tie. He looked strange to me, but handsome. I looked at the clock. It was getting late and Papá had not changed his pants and shoes.

"You go ahead,
mijo,
" Papá said, noticing my nervousness. "Don't wait for us;
vieja
and I will get a ride with Joe and Espy."

"No, I'll wait for you; it'll only take a few more minutes."

"You can't be late," he said firmly. "You should leave now."

I did not want to leave without them. I was afraid that Papá would change his mind after I left and end up not going. "I'll wait," I responded.

"Go, I said!" Papá shot back. I had annoyed him with my insistence. Mamá caught my eye and signaled for me not to argue.

"Go ahead,
mijo,
do as your father says," she said. "We'll meet you there."

I picked up my cap and left, not knowing whether or not Papá would attend. I got to the gym a few minutes before the procession. I moved up to the front of the line to join my classmates who had also made the California Scholarship Federation every semester for four years. We marched up the middle of the aisle, banked on both sides by rows of seats reserved for our graduating class. I sat in the front row, facing a low platform that served as the stage. After the Reverend Glen Johnson from the Gloria Dei Lutheran Church gave the invocation and benediction, I was introduced. I walked up to the podium, feeling nervous but confident. I quickly scanned the bleachers, hoping to see my family, and began: "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God ... with liberty and justice for all." I could hardly hear my
own voice as thousands of others joined and recited it with me. It sounded like a prayer in church. As I finished, I saw Papá and Mamá entering through the door in the back of the gym. My father braced himself on my mother's shoulder. My heart raced with excitement. I smiled, took a deep breath, and proudly gave the welcome.

Little changed for my family and me during the summer after graduation. I worked for Santa Maria Window Cleaners, helping Mike Nevel during the day and doing my regular job in the evenings and on weekends. Trampita worked for Mike Nevel and often helped me in the evenings. Torito picked strawberries for Ito, and Mamá ironed for migrant families and took care of their babies. She also looked after Rorra, Rubén, and Papá.

What did change was the size of my brother's family. Roberto and Darlene had a beautiful baby girl who brought joy and new life to our whole family. My parents doted on her. Papá bragged about how much little Jackie resembled the Jiménezes. Mamá naturally agreed with Papá, but she insisted that Jackie also looked like my brother's wife. Trampita, Torito, and I argued about who Jackie's favorite uncle was. We never agreed, even after
I had convinced Rorra and Rubén to take my side.