Writing has been a part of my life for four decades.

Poetry occupied most of my time in grade school. My second grade teacher Mrs. Wilkens inspired us with quirky rhymes for reading and writing time.

As a senior in high school, my adviser told me I was not university material. That same year I took a stern scolding from Mrs. Plummer for working to my potential in English literature class. My writing impressed her.

I was different than most girls in my neighborhood. I was (and still am) a dreamer. I wrote about fantastic tales and short poems. Most of my work was crumbled and discarded for fear of ridicule. Vocabulary is a muscle that must be exercised and explored.

In the neighborhood, using big words was a display of defiance of your humble beginnings.  I often heard, “What, you think you’re better than us because you can use big words?”

My first attempt at higher education failed. I took public transportation to work and school. I washed dishes at a rest home to pay for tuition.

No one told me I could apply for grants and loans. I was in foster care for a short time and would have qualified for a substantial amount.

 My family felt I should work. I did, at entry-level clerical positions until my children were born.

When my youngest was ready for daycare, I searched tirelessly for a job — any job. I was too qualified for retail and my clerical skills were outdated.

I took the step to give college another try. I was 30 and knew I wanted to write. I had been writing my poetry all along.

All the creative writing courses were full, but journalism had a few spots open. Fullerton College not only counseled me about what classes to take, but also referred me to various organizations on campus that helped me apply for grants.

That first journalism class was life changing. I found my true voice — the one I had been searching for while tossing crinkled binder paper in the trash. Her name is Professor Julie Ann Davey.

My first assignment was an op-ed piece.  The best one would be considered for publication in the school paper; my article was chosen.

To this day, Professor Davey returns emails and phone calls from the same scared mother of two young children who often threw her hands up and said, “Who am I fooling? I am not smart enough, talented enough or worthy.” She replies with compassion and wisdom with words that revive my confidence and resolve.

Here I am receiving my third degree: Associate of Arts, Bachelor of Arts and now Master of Arts in Communication. I wish I could go back in time and talk to that little barrio girl and tell her not to listen to the naysayers and haters.

I wasted many years doing so.

Now I say goodbye to my academic career. I’ve had many struggles these past five years. However, I’ve met great friends that have helped me through the many difficult times at Wichita State.

I hope to repay them—Mrs. Wilkens, Mrs. Plummer and, most of all, Professor Davey. I want to mentor, educate, entertain and create.