Byline: José Chávez
When I picked up Melissa Osborne’s new-ish book “Polished: College, Class, and Social Mobility,” I didn’t expect to find myself nodding along at 2 AM, RedBull in had muttering “clock that tea!” every few pages. Osborne interviewed 150 first-gen students for her research, and honestly? Their stories hit close to home. But what really got me thinking was how different my experience at CSU Pueblo has been from the “polishing” process she describes at many institutions.
Listen, as a first-generation college student, who now works at the school with other first year and first gen students, I’ve heard all the well-meaning advice. “Just work harder!” “Think of college as a way to help your familia!” And my personal favorite, “It’s like learning to ride a bike and the bike is on fire, and you’re on fire, and everything is on fire!” You know, like the meme (look it up, it’s really funny).
But here at CSU Pueblo, we’re doing things differently. As Osborne points out in “Polished,” many universities see first-gen students as projects to be “fixed” – like we’re some kind of IKEA furniture with missing parts. (Spoiler alert: We came with all our parts intact, thank you very much!)
Instead of trying to “polish” us into completely different people (shout-out to Osborne for that metaphor), CSU Pueblo takes the radical approach of, wait for it… actually seeing us as whole human beings! Mind-blowing, right?
Sure, we might not know what a “networking mixer” is (Is it like a blender? Do we bring smoothie ingredients?), but we bring our own kinds of knowledge to the table. Maybe we learned budget management by helping our parents with bills, or developed leadership skills by taking care of younger siblings. I’ve been translating city and government documents for adults since I was 8. These aren’t deficits – they’re superpowers!
And let’s talk about that dreaded “homesickness” that hits different for first-gen students. As Osborne’s research shows, it’s not just missing Mom’s cooking (aunque sí, I would kill for some proper pozole right now) or Dad’s Sunday car maintenance lessons in the driveway. It’s that bone-deep ache when you catch yourself using words your family has never heard, or when you realize you’re developing a taste for that fancy coffee your cousin would call “pretentious.” It’s the weird guilt that creeps in when you’re excited about your sociology presentation but can’t quite explain to your parents why understanding social constructs matters when they’re working overtime at their second job.
Osborne nails it when she talks about students feeling caught between worlds. Last weekend, I found myself code-switching so hard between my research presentation and my family dinner that I got emotional whiplash. At the presentation, I’m dropping terms like “intersectionality” and “pedagogical framework,” but at dinner, I’m trying not to sound like, as my tío says, “one of those college know-it-alls.” The struggle is real, familia.
And don’t get me started on the identity gymnastics. One minute you’re confidently leading a class discussion on global economics, the next you’re wondering if your accent is getting lighter or if you’re betraying your roots because you enjoyed that wine tasting event at the campus cultural center. (Though between us, I still prefer homemade cerveza.)
CSU Pueblo gets this. Our mentoring programs don’t just teach us how to format a resume – they help us process the whole “Who am I becoming?” existential crisis that hits around midterms. (Pro tip: It pairs well with pizza and a good cry while pacing outside Hoag Hall.) Our mentors understand the whole journey because many of them were first-gen students too. They don’t just nod sympathetically when you’re having a meltdown about feeling like an impostor – they share their own stories of triumph and struggle.
Like last week, my mentor Dr. Victoria Obregon spent an hour with me not just reviewing my grad school applications but talking about how she navigated telling her own family she wanted to pursue a Ph.D. when they were hoping she’d come home and work. She gets it. She’s been there. And she didn’t just survive; she thrived without having to completely reinvent herself.
Our First-Gen Program doesn’t try to “fix” us like Osborne describes happening at other schools. Instead, they’ve created these amazing spaces – like the weekly “Keep It Real” sessions in the LARC – where we can talk about straddling both worlds without judgment. Where it’s totally normal to discuss your research presentation and your mom’s worry that you’re becoming “too American” in the same conversation. Where switching between Spanish and English mid-sentence isn’t just accepted – it’s celebrated.
And the best part? The program connects us with other first-gen students across campus. My first gen study group is like this beautiful mix of stories – children of immigrants, kids from rural Colorado, urban students, all of us trying to navigate this new world together. We help each other with calculus, sure, but we also help each other remember who we are and where we come from. Because at CSU Pueblo, being first-gen isn’t a project to be managed – it’s an identity to be proud of.
So, while other universities might be trying to turn their first-gen students into polished pennies (again, thanks for that image, Osborne!), CSU Pueblo is more interested in helping us become better versions of ourselves – not different people entirely.
To all my fellow first-gen ThunderWolves out there: your background isn’t baggage, it’s your backup generator. Your family’s work ethic, your community’s resilience, your two-worlds; one mind perspective – that’s not stuff to overcome, it’s your secret sauce! And hey, if you’re still figuring out which fork to use at fancy dinners (why are there so many?), don’t sweat it. We’re all learning together, and CSU Pueblo’s got our backs. Because at the end of the day, being first-gen isn’t about what we lack – it’s about all the amazing things we bring to the table. Even if we’re still not sure which fork to use at that table
