Photo by Monica Baires Dr. Yolanda Romero at the 2002 Convocation on Oct. 8.

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Where will your journey lead you?

"Good morning. It is difficult to be an inspiration to a group of people that I am in awe of everyday. Dr. Coronado, staff, students, you are my inspiration. This is such a special time; not only is North Lake celebrating a new school year, a new college president and a new state-of-the-art library, but our wonderful city is 100 years old.

The centennial celebration has already begun, and I urge you to take advantage of the numerous events in the upcoming year and get to know your community.

In thinking of my remarks today and in the spirit of community, I wanted to share a piece of my own history and a moment of reflection with my colleagues and North Lake College students.

It is an honor and privilege to address the North Lake College faculty and student body. My goal this morning is to encourage this esteemed audience to reflect not only on the journey that brought you to this institution, but where the journey will end.

It is my hope that you find inspiration in the journey of an American woman of Mexican descent growing up in a segregated society dealing with socio-economic issues, bi-culturalism, dual identity, the plight of migrant workers and popular culture.

Two years ago I took a group of Phi Theta Kappa students to Kerrville, Texas, to attend the annual Texas honors institute. For three days, we attended lectures and workshops meant to initiate an understanding of the honors study topic and to encourage communication and perhaps create an environment that would lead to synergy. (Synergy being the positive action that is generated by a group so that the total effect is greater than the sum of the individual effects, therefore enhancing the end product.)

One of the speakers shared a poem with us known as the “Man in the Mirror.” The real or formal title of this poem is the “Man in the Glass,” written by Dale Winbrow in 1934 which I will share with you in a few minutes.

The speaker spoke about all the years he spent looking at his image in the mirror and not the person. He talked to the audience about when he finally did see the person in the mirror. He realized that the reason he had so many problems seeing the person was because he didn’t know what he wanted to see. As a result, the image kept changing. After many years of searching, he finally found the person he wanted to find in the mirror -- a person he could be happy with -- a person he could live with. He suggested that we look in the mirror and ask ourselves was it an image or a person we saw in the mirror.

After his presentation and as I walked to my room on campus, past the herd of deer that feeds off of the Schriener University campus grass, I thought how my image had changed in the mirror. I thought about when my own search had come to an end. You see, I remember that at the age of 6 or 7 the image I saw in the mirror was Tarzan. Johnny Weismuller was my hero. Yes, you guessed it. I was a tomboy.

I spent much of my time, to the dismay of my poor mother, pounding on my chest and practicing the Tarzan yell and shouting “Angowa” to our dog, Dusty. Dusty, I am sure -- as I think back -- must have been convinced I was deranged and probably felt sorry for me. During my “Tarzan moments or episodes,” he would lick my feet and sit quietly until I had stopped pounding on my chest.

It was a challenge finding trees to swing from -- especially in Lubbock, Texas. It wasn’t until I was in junior high that I realized what the image in the mirror should be. I knew, without a doubt, what I wanted to see in the mirror. The only problem became that I knew my mother would most likely not let me tease my hair or let me wear a polka dotted bikini -- I longed to be Frankie Avalon’s leading lady.

I knew (and I am still sure of it today) that I would have put Annette Funicello to shame. What can I say? Frankie missed out.
It was in college when I took a long hard look in the mirror. I had always recognized and known my Mexican identity. I grew up in a community that was not willing to welcome diversity and did experience overt discrimination including -- but not limited to - "no dogs and Mexicans allowed" signs.

In spite of this alienation, I was still very aware of my American citizenship. Perhaps this awareness came from the times we went to Mexico to visit our relatives for the summer or Christmas break. Everyone made such an issue of the fact that we were American and spoke fluent English.

Something else reinforcing my citizenship was that on the trip back to the United States from Monclova or Monterrey, my mother would make us practice saying “I am an American citizen.”

This exercise was to prepare us for the questions at the border checkpoint. So the image of a woman born in the United States of Mexican heritage was not new - - I had seen her before. What was different this time was I understood I was a product of both worlds. I have always been proud of being an American and a Tejana, and I knew, even then, I had so many opportunities my cousins did not have in Mexico. That is why we would often bring at least one relative back with us on every trip.

While attending college I became an active participant in the Chicano movement and Raza Unida Party in Texas. Unlike many of my counterparts in the Chicano movement, I had actually seen the great pyramids built by the Teotihuancanos and had been to Durango and visited with Luz Corral Villa, the widow of one of great revolutionaries.

She had in her museum the car riddled with bullets once belonging to Pancho Villa. I began to realize how fortunate I was to have spent so much time in Mexico and to truly understand the beauty of my mother's and father’s homeland. My father, a Mexican Indian born in the small village of Real de Catorce in San Luis Potisi, once the site of a German silver mine, was one of twenty-one children and came from a very poor family. He had a third grade education and began shining shoes by the time he turned four years old. At the age of 14, he boxed in the cantinas for money.

My mother, born in Colombia Nuevo Leon, the step-child of a rich rancher, had been disowned when she chose to marry my father. They were both naturalized citizens and made their living selling insurance to migrant workers.

I never had to pick cotton or hoe weeds like many of my friends, but I understood the life of migrant workers because my parents followed the migrant trail. It was a hard life. It is difficult to describe the deplorable living quarters or to explain the terrible working conditions and long hours with little pay, no drinking water or toilets and the effects of pesticides both on the workers and even their unborn children.

When migrant workers had a bad year so did we. My parents, unlike many in the Mexican descent community, pushed us to get an education and learn English, and they made sure we did. When we were getting closer to school age, they insisted we speak English and, yet, would speak to us in Spanish. I remember my mother and father pretending not to understand. It was very frustrating, but we did become proficient in English.

In college, I also began to comprehend the dilemma the Mexican descent population faced because of their failure to finish school then and even now to the present.

In college, the person I saw in the mirror wanted to make a difference. My journey to make a difference led me to graduate school. It was not an easy journey. In fact, the odds were against me. My journey led me to research, write and teach history and finally to NLC and Irving, Texas.

Students, this is your journey and it is up to you to decide where your journey will take you. Let your journey at North Lake help you to decide what it is you see in that mirror. Is it an image or is it the person? And is it the person you want to see?

So as you leave here today think about that mirror and the poem I am going to share with you now.

The Guy in the Glass
by Dale Winbrow (1934)

When you get what you want in your struggle for self
and the world makes you king for a day,
then go to the mirror and look at yourself
and see what that guy has to say.

For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
whose judgement upon you must pass,
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
is the guy staring back from the glass.

For he’s the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
for he’s with you clear up to the end.
And you’ve passed your most dangerous difficult test
if the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum
and think you’re a wonderful guy,
but it won’t mean a thing
if you can’t look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years
and get pats on the back as you pass,
but your final reward will be heartache and tears
if you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

Thank you, and please have a wonderful school year and remember: Do not cheat yourself."

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