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The Power of Story

Sarah Ottow

By Emily Francis and Sarah Ottow

Originally posted on Teaching Channel.


It’s the personal stories that are often lost in the conversations we have about immigrants and refugees. One personal story may seem insignificant; however, when the stories of nearly five million English Language Learners are absent from the education narrative in the United States, so is the context through which we can learn to know our students, to build empathy, and to truly understand what our students -- especially newcomer students -- need to be successful. [I, Sarah B. Ottow, am proud to present below some of the life story of my colleague and friend, Emily Francis. Please don’t miss Emily’s incredible book, If You Only Knew: Letters from an Immigrant Teacher. In the book, Emily shares her stories told through letters to her immigrant students. You can also read about the impact her work has on me here in this interview/blog.]

A Story Can Shift Practice

Emily Francis' immigrant story is compelling standing on its own; however, it becomes even more powerful if we ask what this story -- and the many others like it -- can teach us about how we can best reach newcomer students and any student who doesn’t quite fit in.

Emigrating to the U.S. from Guatemala as a child, Emily’s personal story illustrates the mixed feelings and experiences of hope and, conversely, educational alienation of many newcomers to the U.S., and it also supplies us with inspiration of how one’s experience can deeply inform one’s work that, in turn, nurtures the academic and personal lives of bi-literate and multi-literate students.

Stories such as hers often get lost in the broad conversations about immigrants and refugees; however, knowing the stories provides a context from which we can build compassion and understanding. And as educators, the stories help us understand our students better. We know you'll enjoy Emily’s work and words as much as we do.

As you read about Emily's experiences below, think about the similar struggles and barriers your students face in the classroom each day. Allow Emily’s story to illuminate some of the ways that educators can identify their students’ needs and support newcomers with a few simple pedagogical shifts.

More importantly, keep in mind how a growth mindset and asset-based way of thinking is required to see the gifts that every student brings, particularly those from other cultures, languages, and countries.

When we remember the power of stories from others unlike ourselves, we can put ourselves in their shoes, developing empathy for different perspectives and different paths in life. We can learn about the funds of knowledge our students and their families possess, or the rich backgrounds, skills, and assets diverse populations bring to school. We can move beyond the challenging socio-political rhetoric and focus on the realities in our classrooms -- the realities of the world our immigrant students bring to us every day.

Connecting Stories to Practice

Below, Emily recalls her life in Guatemala, before emigrating to the United States. Through this story, we gain some insight into Emily’s strength, the role family plays in her life, and her unwavering focus on finding strength during hardship.

Emily’s Story Part 1: Struggle, Solidarity, and Serendipity

Emily recalls her life in Guatemala, before emigrating to the United States. Through this story, we gain some insight into Emily’s strength, the role family plays in her life, and her unwavering focus on finding strength during hardship.

To be honest, I’m not sure to what Ella Fitzgerald was referring when she said these words. To me, where I came from counts -- a lot! But since I moved to the United States from Guatemala, I’ve been sharply focused on the future.

GUATEMALA

I was born in Guatemala and lived there for 15 years. I’m the oldest of five children -- four girls and a boy.

My mother was a single mother who worked day and night to provide for her children as best she could. I didn't live with my mother until I was seven years old; instead, I stayed with family members or sitters since my mother often had to work.

Life was very difficult for me and my siblings during our childhood. We all encountered verbal and physical abuse, not to mention all the domestic chores we were expected to do on a daily basis.

As the oldest child, it was my job to care for my sisters and brother while our mother was working. I was also responsible for cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and the like. I wasn’t the best cook back then, and I’m sure my sisters will never forget the first time I made them scrambled eggs -- I didn't know I was supposed to let the eggs "gel" and cook before I served them... so they were a little runny.

I went to school when I could -- when my mom was home. But I moved from school to school, from teacher to teacher often. All in all, there might have been one or two school years when I completed an entire year at the same school.

BALANCING PRIORITIES

Education is not a priority in Guatemala. Not because there's no interest in education, but because survival is a greater priority. Third grade was the highest grade my mother and most of my relatives were able to complete. It was normal for me to miss school to help my mother sell oranges, cauliflower, or second-hand clothing at the market.

Even though I missed many school days, I was able to earn my sixth grade diploma at the age of 14. I was very proud of this accomplishment because this diploma is an honor to obtain in Guatemala. Its value is equivalent to obtaining a high school diploma here in the United States. Unfortunately, my mother was not able to be there with me to celebrate.

LIFE WITHOUT MY MOTHER

I’ll never forget the day my mother told me she would be leaving Guatemala to make a better life for us in the United States of America.

It’s still difficult to find the words to explain how her decision made me feel. The thought of being without my mother terrified me, but I knew it was the best decision she could make for all of us.

Once again, my siblings and I were divided. My next-oldest sister and I stayed with my dad, while our middle sister stayed with church friends, and my youngest sister and little brother stayed together with a recommended sitter. It was very difficult to be apart from each other, not to mention being without our mother. You might think that my mother's decision was crazy or perhaps cruel, like many people have expressed over the years; but in the end, it was all worth it.

My mother promised she'd fight for us, she promised to make the impossible possible. But many people didn’t believe she would succeed. People would say,

"She'll never come back.”

"She’s going to forget about you once she makes her new life in the U.S."

"You're on your own now!"

I didn't believe any of this. I knew, from the bottom of my heart, how much my mother cared for us.

We wrote to each other constantly.

We sent each other pictures and talked about our future together.

Yet, one year away from each other was all we could handle. We started sharing and noticing the abuse we were experiencing. I couldn't bear the thought of my little sisters and brother going through the abuse I'd experienced.

My mom thought about returning to Guatemala when she found out what was happening. Yes, we needed our mother with us, but what about the sacrifice she'd already made crossing the border? What about the sacrifices we all made for more than a year? What about the plans we'd made for a better future? What about the sacrifices we all made for more than a year? What about the plans we'd made for a better future?

There had to be another way… and there was. My mom sent enough money to build a small shed where we could all live together and I would take on the responsibility of caring for my siblings. In just a matter of days, at the age of 14, I took on full guardianship of my three sisters and my baby brother.

We had what we needed to survive -- we had food, clothes, and shelter; but we were still just kids who needed a mother.

I needed my mother.

One year. That was all my mother could handle.

The only comprehensible solution was for my mother to return to Guatemala and start life all over again. Until, someone asked her, "Why don't you bring your children to the U.S.?"

At that moment, the idea of bringing five kids alone from Guatemala to the United States seemed impossible. However, doors began to open and the plans to join my mother were in motion.

How do we empower students like Emily to share their stories so that we can better understand and support all of our students?

Emily’s Story Part 2: New Land, New Opportunity

Follow Emily's journey from undocumented and unaccompanied minor in Guatemala to legal immigrant in New York City. You’ll read about the tumultuous journey of Emily and her two younger sisters, including the stigmatization they experienced as they arrived in the United States.

It was November of 1993 when we started packing the few items we had to join my mother in the United States.

My little sister and brother were lucky to make it to the U.S. in a month. Their father was able to bring them without any problems. They were able to spend Christmas with our mother and the family.

The journey from Guatemala to the U.S. was different for me and my two younger sisters. My mother made arrangements for coyote "smugglers" to bring us across the border. Mid-November the strangers came to collect us, but we trusted that they'd take us where we needed to go.

We were very fortunate that the group took good care of us during our travels. They gave us food to eat, a comfortable place to sleep, and we never needed anything. Still, we would wake up -- day after day -- wondering if that was the day we would finally reunite with our mother.

We traveled on land for several days. We rode cars, buses, trains, horses, and we also walked. We were desperate to see our mother. We weren't allowed to communicate with her at all -- or with anyone else.

Meanwhile, our mother lived in fear for two months -- not knowing where we were or whether we were safe. My experience as an unaccompanied minor was very stressful. I was unsure, at times, about what was going to happen. Yet, it wasn't even close to what others endure to make the journey to the United States. My sisters and I were very fortunate to have made the journey in safety.

A TUMULTUOUS REUNION

Finally, the day arrived. We boarded a plane in Mexico City and set off to reunite with our mother. It was January 14th, 1994. We wore our best outfits and "our Mexican jackets" for our special day.

We arrived at JFK International Airport in New York City at about noon. We were to tell the officials at the airport that the gentleman who escorted us was our father. We were to say that we were coming to New York to visit family.

We went through immigration, showed our passports, and we answered questions. They must've suspected that I was being dishonest. Before I knew what was happening, they whisked us into a private room for further questioning. My sisters cried and I started to panic. We knew it was all over when we saw the authorities handcuff the gentleman who accompanied us.

The officers were relentless. They continued to question me and my sisters until we broke down and told them the truth. I told them my mother had paid people to bring us to be with her. I told them that we didn't have a family in Guatemala to go back to -- I begged them to please not send us back.

My little sisters wouldn’t stop crying. I couldn't stop crying. The officers kept asking me where my mother lived and with whom she was staying. I told them, honestly, that I didn't know where she lived and that I didn't even know how to contact her.

We were there -- confined -- for  12 hours. Tired. Scared. Hopeless. The questions kept coming.

My mother was in the U.S. with an illegal immigration status. It would’ve been over for us if she’d come to claim us. She knew that the moment she walked in, they would’ve taken her into custody. She knew they would've immediately made arrangements to deport us together.

ANGELS OF HOPE

It was then I noticed two older women -- my grandmother and her sister -- arguing with the immigration officers. They seemed to be talking about us because they kept pointing in our direction. I didn't know them because they'd lived in the U.S. and had little to no contact with my mother over the years.

As American citizens, our grandmother and our great aunt fought for us and claimed our lives. They made sure immigration knew sending us back was not an option since there was no one to take care of us back home.

After several hours of negotiation, my grandmother resolved the problem by claiming my mother and her children. As a citizen, she took responsibility for caring for us and providing for us. She also worked with the immigration office to make available the documents required to allow us to stay in the U.S. with a legal immigration status.

After pictures, fingerprints, and signatures, we walked out of the airport on a cold winter night and into a yellow NYC cab. That night we were able to hug our mother and sleep together under the same roof after two long years.

​Finally, we were together again and happy.

And 23 years later, we’re still together -- and still happy.

Emily’s Story Part 3: Embracing Education, Navigating Failure

Follow Emily's journey from undocumented and unaccompanied minor in Guatemala to legal immigrant in New York City. You’ll read about the tumultuous journey of Emily and her two younger sisters, including the stigmatization they experienced as they arrived in the United States.

I love the time of year when parents proudly post and share their children's prom and graduation pictures. It's -- without a doubt -- an accomplishment worthy of celebration. 

This might not be the best graduation picture you've ever seen -- it's not even an original. But, it's the only picture I have of my graduation day.

Here I am, in a cap and gown that I wasn't permitted to wear after taking this picture. This picture, for so many years, represented a personal narrative of failure.

I encourage you to read about my personal journey from Guatemala to the United States. These posts provide some background on my early years, my journey to America, and ultimately, how I arrived at my graduation day.

EMBRACING EDUCATION

January 1994 marks the date I started attending school in the United States. I was 15 years old when I enrolled at Martin Van Buren High School in Queens Village, New York. I was very confused. I was starting in high school, but I hadn’t yet completed the requirements of junior high school. I learned that because of my age, I needed to begin in the ninth grade. Talk about a serious achievement gap!

But I was thrilled to start school. My new school was towering, fascinating, and alluring. It was so clean and the structure was something I had only seen on television. I was stunned when they handed me a pass to ride the bus to and from school. For so many years I'd walked miles to attend school, and now I'd get to ride the bus. Oh, but wait... it got better. Free breakfast and lunch. WOW!

I couldn’t have asked for more. I realized that my school was meeting my essential needs so I could attend school and learn.

From the very first day, I gave it all I had. I didn't speak a word of English, but I welcomed every single opportunity available to learn. I enrolled in any class I could -- even weekend English classes. There was no stopping me -- I was in a land of opportunity and I was going for it.

ESL, ESL, AND MORE ESL

During my first school year, my classes consisted of one English as a Second Language (ESL) class after another. I had wonderful ESL teachers. They were very friendly, always making me feel welcome.

One ESL teacher knew a little bit of Spanish so if I needed something, she was my go-to person. My ESL classes had an old-school structure with textbook guided lessons. There was no interaction, but a lot of note-taking and worksheet practice.

I didn't understand then why I wanted to get out of ESL so badly. Today, I realize that not being able to be part of the courses other students were taking was making me feel like a failure. In some ways, walking the school hallways as an ESL student made me feel inferior and not worthy of "real" learning. I had different classes, different textbooks, different schedules. I was different.

A determination within me ignited to learn English to shed my ESL status. A year and a half after starting school -- during my junior year --  I placed out of ESL after taking the annual language assessment. I was super excited because that meant I could enroll in core courses to gain credits for graduation.

I started taking economics, history, math, biology, health, etc. But this is where the real struggle as a language learner began.

AN UPHILL BATTLE

My sitting spot was always in front of all my classes. I wanted to be as close as possible to the teachers and the boards. I took as many notes as possible in each class. I brought home all my textbooks to review and to complete assignments. I realized that the school had a library that would give me books to take home, so I checked out three different types of dictionaries and a thesaurus. I would use these at home to translate my notes and to complete assignments.

Of course, my school work was always done after making dinner and putting my siblings to bed. Don't forget, even though we were in the U.S., I was still the oldest child and expected to care for the little ones while our mother worked. My mother can attest to how I'd stay up till 3:00 am completing assignments and studying my notes. I enjoyed learning. I cherished new information. I was like a sponge soaking it all in.

I'll never forget the day I started reading my economics textbook and the terms "supply" and "demand" began to make sense. I was understanding the words... I was understanding the content. I was learning!

I must've finished my economics book in a day or two. I started passing my classes and earning the required credits for graduation. I was so focused on school work that I didn't care much about "senior's field trip" or "prom." To be honest, I didn't know how important these events were. All I wanted was to get my credits and pass required assessments to graduate.

I've learned how important and necessary a high school diploma was to be able to go to college. And I wanted to go to college. I wanted to be the first in my family to have a career. I wanted to be a teacher and make a difference. I had the vigor, so I knew I could do it. What you can't see in the graduation image above is the excitement I felt taking graduation photos in that cap and gown.

THE WALK OF SHAME

During my senior year, I was required to take some standardized state assessments. I don't remember exactly which ones I had to take, but the one I'll never forget is the United States History State Exam. I wasn't prepared for this exam. I'd not taken enough classes to learn the required information to pass. I'd only been in the United States for a little over two years -- not enough time to learn the whole of its history. Yet, this standardized exam and others were required no matter what. I took the exam not once, but twice. The first time in English and the second time in Spanish, but I failed both times.

My guidance counselor called me to her office to explain that passing the U.S. History exam was a requirement for graduation. She was kind, but she told me that without a passing score, I wouldn't graduate. She said,

"You have all your required credits for graduation, so you don't have to continue in school. Go home, study, and come back next year to take the test again. Once you pass, you'll get your diploma."

GO HOME. STUDY. COME BACK NEXT YEAR.

These words echoed in my head as tears ran down my cheeks. That afternoon, I walked out of Martin Van Buren High School for the last time. The walk of shame from the guidance counselor's office and down every step outside the building felt like an eternity.

I was crushed. I was so disappointed in myself. I was disappointed in the school system for the lack of support. How was I going to explain this to my family? Where was I going to get the strength to study for the test once I was out of school?

I failed. I was a failure.

I became part of the statistics of Latino high school dropouts in the United States because I didn't go back. Why go back? I thought. I failed it twice, there's no way I can make it now.

If I wasn't going to school, I had to work. So at the age of 18, I got my first full-time job as a cashier at a local supermarket. My first job in the United States. I was a cashier at C-Town in Floral Park, New York.

I was a very efficient worker. I worked for hours to earn money... or perhaps, to forget and avoid how I was feeling.

This, of course, is not how my story ends.

Emily’s Story Part 4: Sí Se Puede

Emily learned that she wouldn't be graduating high school, so becoming a teacher seemed like an impossible dream. But, in the end, her failures were nothing more than a detour on the path to success.

I’ll never forget the last day I walked out of Martin Van Buren High School. The tears rolling down my cheeks weren't happy tears as I once imagined. Instead, they were tears of sadness, disappointment, and frustration. I wasn’t going to graduate from high school.

I earned every credit required for graduation. I gave everything I had as a newcomer. I learned the language. All these efforts... and nothing to show for them.

Having a career and becoming a teacher now seemed like an impossible dream to achieve. The sense of failure was so strong within me. For the next six years, I suppressed everything I knew to be true about myself.

But in the end, my failures have been nothing more than a detour on the path to reaching my goals.

In 2000, I moved to North Carolina and worked as a cashier at Bass Pro Shops. I was proficient in my work and I was quickly promoted to team leader and later, customer service leader. Being a cashier was a fun job, and it was paying my bills. But the desire to have a career and to become a teacher wouldn't fade. My aunt Rosy, the same aunt who came to the airport when I was facing deportation, once again came to my rescue. She mentioned a local community college and encouraged me to find out about getting a GED.

I enrolled at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College and in a matter of months, I received my High School Diploma Equivalency. My High School Diploma! Now, this might be just a GED to many of you, but to me, it was the key to my profession.

A FOOT IN THE DOOR

In 2004, I took a leap of faith by submitting a college application to pursue an associate's degree. At the same time, I submitted an employment application to Cabarrus County Schools.

Clearly, because of my educational background and my few employment experiences, my choices for employment were limited. The instructions on the application were to choose three possible positions of interest. My first choice was a custodian, my second choice was cafeteria worker, and my third choice -- only because I had to have a third -- was teacher's assistant. I had great references, so I expected a callback. What I never expected, however, was a call from principal Corey Cochran to interview for a teacher's assistant position.

I played his message so many times to make sure I understood it correctly. Me, a teacher's assistant. No way!

It was the only call I received, so I scheduled an interview. During the interview, I met Angie Power, a first grade teacher who needed an assistant. I walked out of the interview discouraged because I didn't think I answered the questions correctly. I imagined my limited educational experiences were evident and I wasn't the right person for the job.

Then fate stepped in. The following weekend at the store, a co-worker's register wasn't working and customers were waiting. I rushed over to help and learned that one of the waiting customers was Angie Power, along with her husband. We greeted each other and hugged like we had known each other for years. We had a connection.

That evening she called the principal and asked that he hire me as her assistant. Thus, my career with Cabarrus County Schools began.

Angie took me under her wing and taught me right along with her first graders for eight years. I learned so much from her as an educator, but I also perfected my academic language right along with her students. I mastered many of the foundational skills of the English language in her classroom. She always made me feel like a teacher and always trusted me to teach her class. She valued my ideas and always encouraged me to continue my education.

Working as a teacher's assistant and bus driver, I earned my Associate's degree at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College. Walking across the stage to receive my first diploma was an experience I'll never forget. This accomplishment gave me back my sense of worth, and the feeling that I was a failure began to fade.

In 2007, I enrolled at the University of Charlotte to begin working toward a degree. My courses at the university were challenging. Keep in mind, the only schooling I'd had in the U.S. was three years of high school and the three years of community college. This is only six years of academic language -- relatively few when compared with my peers. I once had a professor say to me, "Writing like this, you'll never graduate college." A very sad statement written with red pen all across my essay. I'd like to go back to her today and say, "You were so wrong."

ANOTHER DETOUR

While completing my general education credits at the university, I hit another wall. I wasn't able to pass the PRAXIS I exam. A passing score on this exam was necessary to be admitted into the College of Education. If I couldn't gain admission, I couldn't take the courses I needed to be an elementary school teacher.

I took this test six times and failed every time. I was ready to give up. Another test was getting in the way of achieving my most desirable dream.

Then it hit me -- I realized that I was failing not because I didn't have the motivation or knowledge, but because I was struggling with the language. Instead of quitting, I needed to know how I could help students who were having the same struggles in school. I wanted to support students like myself so they could be successful.

This is how I first learned about the TESOL (Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) program.

Again, using my failure as a detour to achieve my goal, I entered the graduate program. After earning a Bachelor's degree in Spanish, I went on to pursue a graduate certificate to teach ESL (English as a Second Language). In 2012, I graduated with a certificate to teach and continued in the program to earn a Master's degree in TESOL.

A DREAM COME TRUE

I interviewed in many surrounding counties, but in my heart, I wanted to teach in Cabarrus County Schools, the county that had first opened its doors to me. In July 2012, I received a call inviting me to begin my ESL teaching career at W.M. Irvin Elementary School.

Finally, a dream come true!

I walked into room #167 telling myself:

You did it! You're a teacher now.

This is MY classroom.

I embrace and cherish the opportunity I have each day to inspire my students. I create opportunities to build relationships and empower my students to believe in themselves. 

I believe it's necessary to go above and beyond my responsibilities as an educator to reach out not only to my students, but their parents as well. I hold quarterly meetings with my students' parents to teach them about our school system and how to better support their children at home.

I also work to build rapport with mainstream classroom teachers. I help to lighten their loads by providing strategies and methods they can use in the classroom to better support our language learners. I also offer professional development on enlightening topics that not only make teachers better for language learners, but for all learners.

In 2016, the Irvin elementary staff elected me to represent our school as the Teacher of the Year. After an interview process and a series of classroom observations, I was named district Teacher of the Year for 2016-2017.

This is what I call "The Shining Wall." I choose to display these awards and titles in my classroom because I want my students to see that Sí Se Puede! -- Yes, it is possible!

Being an ESL student and having a sense of failure shouldn't be an obstacle to achieving our dreams. Nor should a single test. Anything is possible -- and my story is the proof!


Check out Emily’s Book, If You Only Knew: Letters from an Immigrant Teacher

More Resources for Deepening Your Practice

  • Read We Must Always Look Inward to consider ways we, as educators, must consider our own identities when working with diverse groups.