A Life's Work

A chance encounter can sometimes prove to be a pivotal moment that forever changes your life. I was an impoverished college student in the Philippines when such a moment occurred. I was buying food from a street vendor outside my college campus, doing my best to stretch my meager weekly allowance, when a young boy approached me from nowhere. He looked to be about ten years old. He wore nothing but a grimy, oversized shirt that hung askew on his shoulders, too loose for his rail-thin body. Without pants, it was a small mercy that the shirt dropped below his knees. His bare feet were calloused and his body caked in dirt. Many tiny spots across his face hinted at a vitamin deficiency.  

“Ate, kon di kahurot sa imo pagkaon, pwede ako’y kaon sa imong sobra?” Sister, if you don’t finish your food, can I eat whatever is left? he asked. The desperate tone of this plea told me he had not eaten in a long time. Gripped with compassion, I gave him half of my food. It was the beginning of a friendship that would give me purpose beyond my personal goals. 

Neil was an orphan without any relatives to claim as family. He roamed the streets of Cebu City by day and slept on sidewalks at night. Every day, for the next five months, he and I ate lunch together. When I had no money for food, we just talked. He was always animated, kind, and friendly. Because my family lived a two-hour bus ride away, in the village I grew up in, Neil became my adopted brother.

One day, an epiphany struck me: Neil could live with my family in the village. My family was poor, but we could offer him a home, family, and education. Neil readily and excitedly agreed when I tested the idea with him.

I went home that weekend, impatient to tell my parents the brilliant plan. They are two of the most compassionate people in the world, so I was certain they would agree to take Neil in. He would come home with me, as a new member of our family, and finally have all the love and support he deserved.

The next time I saw Neil, he was waiting for me with an expectant smile. He eagerly asked, “Ate, unsay sulti sa imo Mama ug Papa?” What did your mom and dad say?

“Neil, I—” I started. I couldn’t say the rest. I just looked at him. I couldn’t explain to him that my parents would have loved to help him, but they were adamant another mouth would be too much to feed. I couldn’t tell him they said no. I couldn’t say any of that to him, and he didn’t need me to.

He looked past me, smiling a faint, abstracted smile. He ran away without a word and quickly vanished into the crowded street. My heartache and hopelessness to see him go could not have compared to his. I never saw Neil again.

Losing Neil brought me to a soul-crushing realization that my destitute existence was a barrier to my family helping others, a barrier that stopped me from doing something for Neil that could have changed the course of his life. My parents are generous, compassionate people, and yet they felt too hamstrung by poverty to take in an outcast child. Out of this heartbreak, I became fiercely determined to leverage education to eliminate the barrier of poverty from my life. I could not bear to let down a child in need again. 

That painful chance encounter forever cemented my view of education as the great equalizer, and so I fought hard to be the first person in my family to earn a college degree. 

My college graduation was a moment of joy and elation, and for the first time in my life, leaving a life of poverty behind no longer felt chimerical. College graduation represented the very real possibility of finding a well-paying job and not returning to a life marked by constant hunger and numerous chores, some of them backbreaking – washing clothes by hand in an open well, gathering firewood, selling “ice water” at cockfights, harvesting crops (corn, peanuts, sweet potatoes, cassava) by hand, etc. My college graduation represented the very real possibility that I could now help my parents and my younger siblings financially. The celebration, however, was heartbreakingly incomplete because Neil was not there to share in my joy.

When I moved to the U.S. three years later, I decided to pursue a career in education as a way of giving back. I started my educational career in the Clover Park School District, first as an emergency substitute teacher, then as a National Board-certified English teacher and an instructional coach at Lakes High School. 

My time in Clover Park will always have a special place in my heart. There I had the opportunity to work with generous people who believed in me and saw my potential. They offered me many opportunities to thrive. They set me up for future success. I could not have asked for a more supportive district and community to jumpstart my educational career in. 

With a heavy heart, I left Clover Park to become an associate principal at Lake Washington High School. It was there that I started my doctoral studies journey. From there, I went to Edmonds-Woodway High School as principal, and then Snohomish School District as Executive Director of Teaching and Learning. Two years into my role in Snohomish, I earned my doctorate degree from Seattle Pacific University. Presently, I am the Superintendent of Sedro-Woolley School District.

To this day, I still think about Neil. Each time I do, my heart breaks into pieces all over again. To try to put the pieces back together, I convince myself that he is okay. I tell myself that he is happy and fulfilled. In his honor, I will continue to leverage education to help students experience the transformative power of education and become the people that they are meant to be: compassionate, civic-minded, and responsible members of society.