Given the privilege, the following, or something like it, would be my commencement speech:

Welcome fellow students and their family members and friends. Welcome professors and administrators. Thank you all for everything you’ve done to help us reach this achievement.

It’s an honor to be up here. Part of me, however, wants to say that I am not qualified to receive this diploma, or at the least, I was not expected to achieve this.

I grew up in a South Sacramento neighborhood. I was born and raised here. I lived in a small three-bedroom house with my three brothers, mom and dad. We had several dogs, cats and fish. Typical lower-class home.

I had good friends growing up. I was a happy kid. I played basketball, burnt ants in my backyard, had my first kiss next door, went to the movies with my neighbors, bugged the old man across the street like a Dennis the Menace, rode my bike through the rocky streets and even offered to mow the lawn of my elderly neighbor.

Typical.

But, inside, things weren’t all that ordinary. Despite my everyday activities and aspirations, obstacles abounded.

Chances were that if you were someone who depended on drugs and lived near my community, my residence would be an ideal destination. My house outputted drugs. For many years, my mother and father were oblivious to the dangers I encountered every day as my brothers trafficked drugs. Mom and Dad cared but were, to some extent, helpless.

Police raids were routine at my house. I vividly remember that on many occasions a squad car or two landing on our patchy front lawn. It was unreal.

My parents were scapegoats and were put into jail several times, which led to their embarrassment and neighborly ridicule. But more importantly, it led them to extreme pain and sadness for their children while the dangers at home persisted.

There was at least one drive by.

There was blood. Tears. Despair. Alcohol. Gun brandishing and firing. Fist brawls. A near homicide that included my mother and jailed my father.

There was hopelessness.

My three brothers all followed the same road that leads to a sorry life. Our environment reliably and sadly bred societal and personal failure.

Despite this sickness, I, like any child, heard stories that I can achieve whatever I want.

Really?

I wasn’t sure if I could believe that proverbial notion when I was 12, 13, and 14 years old. Not under my circumstances. However, I didn’t know then but I know now: I was on the road to failure but somehow found hope and motivation despite the lack of success around me. That hope and drive was there. It is there.

I am here to tell you that no matter what obstacles develop, what tragedies occur, no matter the failures you or those around embrace, there is a tomorrow ahead. Another day to try. Another day succeed.

I still believe that I can do almost anything for which I aim. However, I cannot evaluate whether this mission is accomplished because I’m barely beginning what I sought: finishing college and starting a career.

I remember the joy in my mom’s eyes and heart the day I received my high school diploma. She was satisfied – certainly, me being the first in my family to get a high school diploma convinced her that I had fully succeeded. Whispering, I told her I wasn’t done.

I am by no means the gleaming light of success. I am not a 4.0 student; I do not have a job lined up after I cross this stage. But, what I can tell you is that I am not easily discouraged or disturbed and I’m not done.

I know that speed bumps can only ask me to slow down, but not stop me from achieving the end of my road, my destination, my success.

Yeah, I might encounter some drug deal, but I promise you that I will not let the drug, or any obstacle, dictate or foreshadow what I do in life. We can all succeed, even my brothers…Thank you and congratulations; I hope the best for all of you.

Gamaliel Ortiz can be reached at [email protected]