CHAPTERS
I first saw the light at 1:44 p.m. on November 12 at Methodist Hospital Metropolitan. My parents immigrated to San Antonio, TX, from the Dominican Republic. Many Dominicans and Puerto Ricans tend to immigrate to South Florida, the Carolinas, or New York and the tri-state area, but my parents followed my tía, who was in the Air Force.
San Antonio has a large and proud military population, earning the nickname "Military City, USA," and is home to four military installations supporting the Air Force and Army.
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I love this city—there’s something incredibly special about it. It’s not too big or too small, rich with culture and vibrant, beautiful people. Sometimes, I find myself defending San Antonio—biasedly and robustly. Even with the issues all large cities have, when people don’t see it as a global contender, I remind them that the ingredients are there. It’s home.
My dad worked in hospitality, and my mom worked in the service industry. They would eventually be parents of two: my older brother and me. Being a First-Generation American is not something I take for granted; my life could have been so different. I empathize with the monumental decision they made (and many other immigrants make) to settle in America.
One of the many things I've always connected with my students about is being a part of a divorced family. It’s a dynamic that only we divorce babies understand.
I was young when it happened, and I don’t even know why. It’s probably not my place to ask. Needless to say, I don’t really know a home with two parents. They were cordial but never… friendly. They talked about each other to my brother and me, and spoke to each other through my brother and me. Later in life, I realized how damaging that was.
Eventually, my dad found a fantastic woman. To this day, she calls me her “sweet boy.” They had my sister. A regular story told is that when her mom handed her to me to hold, I asked her, “when are we taking her back?” To say that my sister and I's relationship was... terroristic... is an understatement. We did not like each other.
However, I’d say my first life heartbreak happened when my dad and my sister’s mom divorced. At some point (as she should’ve), my sister's mom found love again. But that love took her to Connecticut, taking my sister with her.
I remember when we had to say goodbye—as my dad drove off, knowing my sister was moving away and I wasn’t going to see her regularly, the eight-year-old me cried like I had lost a part of my soul.
It was always my mom, older brother, and me. And I was a mama's boy. She just… had to make things happen, and I don’t know how she did it, but somehow, she did. Weirdly, at such a young age, I knew it and respected it.
But her choice of men wasn’t the best.
David was his name, I believe. There are few people in this world I wish harm to, but David - wherever he is - is one of them.
There are many ways a man can be less of a man. One way is to crush a phone over the head of a woman. Another would be punching a woman’s son as he tries to defend his mom. There was blood everywhere. Some days and nights are just ingrained in my head.
She stayed longer than she should’ve. Later in life, I would understand why she would. Thankfully, she found the strength to leave, and we moved to a different part of town.
There are many ways a man can be less of a man. One way is to crush a phone over the head of a woman. Another would be punching a woman’s son as he tries to defend his mom. There was blood everywhere. Some days and nights are just ingrained in my head.
Changing schools is never easy for a child. But for my mother to exit an abusive relationship, it was time for a life change for all of us. Colby Glass Elementary was my new home.
My dad would eventually fall in love with another woman and have my younger brother. Even though we were in a new place, my sister was in Connecticut, and my dad married again and another sibling, it seemed like the first taste of stability - poor and nowhere near middle class, but stable.
I was blessed to have gone through elementary, middle, and high school with the same group of people, some of whom I still call friends. I eventually realized how special that was.
A shift happened during middle school. I became a teenager with typical teenage tendencies, the loudest of which was questioning authority. (Frankly, I still do.) If it didn’t make sense, PJ would say, “that doesn’t make sense.” This directly contradicted a Hispanic norm (what mom and dad say is the law of the land) and caused conflict. In retrospect, this was the beginning of a growing fracture that would be created between my mom and me.
In high school, I always wanted to run track. I was an active kid, always outside and quick. But I realized that to participate in a sport, I would need my family's support. I wasn’t going to get that. I was distant from my older brother. (He was a senior when I was a freshman.) My dad lived on the other side of town, and it wasn’t feasible to take me to school early for practice or pick me up late after practice. And my mom worked ungodly hours to make things happen.
Sports were never going to be an option.
Going into sophomore year, we were making course selections. My friend suggested a class called “Journalism” as an elective credit. I had zero urge to take the class, but I needed that credit, so I took it.
The world has its ways.
Something remarkable happened in that journalism suite. First, I met Mrs. Martha Singleton, whom I would model my teaching career after. Not only is she a Godly woman, but she is also a fantastic wife, mother and an even better teacher. For many reasons, she will forever be able to walk on water in my eyes.
I became the editor of my high school newspaper! I always wanted to be a journalist—that was the goal. But I felt like I could have a significant impact—and more fun—as a journalism teacher, so I decided to pursue that after high school.
One of the best things Mrs. Singleton said in that classroom was, "I’m a teacher first and a journalist second.” That has stuck with me throughout my life.
I always wanted to be a journalist—that was the goal. But I felt like I could have a significant impact—and more fun—as a journalism teacher.
My relationship with my mom grew increasingly distant during high school, for reasons I can only assume but have never fully understood. She was never involved with my academics or school activities.
High school was also the time I decided to come out.
There’s something ass-backward about even having to do it, but I felt the need to tell my friends, the people I grew up with.
My friends and I sat at Texas Roadhouse—my best friend was directly in front of me, his sister was next to him, and another one of my friends was next to me. My nails dug into my friend’s thigh—this is when I would tell them, crying as if I had lost ten puppies.
On brand, I was the most dramatic of them all.
“We already know,” my best friend said.
“So, why am I crying this hard,” I responded.​
The only stability I had was in my high school journalism classroom.
Nothing changed with them. They loved me through it. But it seemed like things were changing at home - my brother moved away to college, and my relationship with my mom was nonexistent. You shouldn’t feel lonely at 17.
The only stability I had was in my high school journalism classroom.
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I graduated in the top ten of my class and was ready for college. I applied to multiple universities: Texas Tech University, University of Texas at Austin, and University of Houston, but I decided to stay in town and go to San Antonio College. I was accepted into their Honors Program and would be able to save money. It all seemed perfect.
I was a full-time student working five nights a week. One night, I came home from work to a mother with an agenda. At this point, we had been like two ships passing in the night under the same roof. For some reason I don’t even remember, we began arguing.
“No hagas nada. Sal de mi casa,” she said, which translates to, “you don't do anything. Get out of my house.” I’m a smart kid. I don’t get in trouble. I didn’t drink, didn’t do drugs, never broke the law. I was in college and working five days a week! The same person whom I stood up for and took a fist to my face just kicked me out of the house.
That night, I slept in my 2001 Toyota Corolla and cried a waterfall of tears, trying to figure out where I would go and what the next step would be.
That night, I slept in my 2001 Toyota Corrola and cried a waterfall of tears, trying to figure out where I would go and what the next step would be.
I eventually found an apartment and signed a lease, unaware of how leases even worked. While my mom was at work, my best friend and her boyfriend helped me empty my room. All I had were my clothes, a twin-size bed, and a tiny TV.
This was in 2007. I haven’t had a decent conversation with my mom since.
But I stayed in school, knowing it would be “my way out.” After fulfilling my requirements at San Antonio College, I moved to San Marcos, TX, and transferred to Texas State University.
I didn’t have a job for nine months—thank God for student financial aid. Eventually, I settled: I got a job, made friends, and participated in campus activities, but it took a year.
I graduated. I found someone. I fell in love. It was the best thing that happened. But in hindsight, I was in an abusive relationship I didn’t know I was in.
In 2011, teaching jobs felt hard to come by. I applied everywhere between Austin and San Antonio. Because of a breakup, I needed to run away. I started applying to districts in Houston and eventually got a call to interview. Early one morning, I drove east in an oversized button-up, pants that didn’t fit, and a borrowed tie.
I got the job. I was moving to Houston.
And so was the person I had just broken up with! Why?! ​We sparked our relationship up. Again, it was the best thing that happened… until it wasn’t.
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You see, I was dumb at one point in my life.
Starting my life in the big city with my first big boy teaching job, it eventually transitioned to taking care of him as he spent 60+ days in the hospital, intubated with pneumonia and two collapsed lungs.
He was going to die.
I quickly became his power of attorney. I was just 22. And with this power came great responsibility… and information I wasn’t privy to. I had been lied to since the beginning of our relationship for years, lies that would eventually impact my life. I found this all while tubes were assisting him to live.
He eventually recovered, but I had spiraled in an unhealthy way. I helped save someone's life who didn’t give a shit about mine. And in hindsight, I was in an abusive relationship I didn’t know I was in. I understood my mom a little bit more now. It defined my time in Houston.
Those two years were just as bad as my mother's abandonment. I had to leave.
I helped save the life of someone that didn’t give a shit about mine. And in hindsight, I was in an abusive relationship I didn’t know I was in.
I applied and ran back home to San Antonio where I felt comfortable. I landed at Judson High School.
Again, the world has its ways, doesn't it?
After a year of teaching speech communication, my principal revisited my resume and asked if I wanted to advise the journalism program. I jumped at the opportunity but was utterly unaware of the task.
I loved writing, photographing, and creating a newspaper and yearbook. But advising, taking over and rebuilding a program with over $50,000 in debt, no newspaper, no reputation, nothing, was a different beast.
But I had the support of the best leader I’ve ever had in Principal Hernandez. He let me do my job, do what’s best for kids! I was reminded of Mrs. Singleton's words: "I’m a teacher first and a journalist second.”
It was the best 8 years of my life (so far).
I created The Fuel, which became an award-winning media organization. I oversaw print newspapers, an online supplement, and six social media platforms, achieving nearly 12,000 followers and increasing year-over-year viewership.
I managed The Rocket yearbook, covering over 2,700 students and nearly 60 campus organizations. I created, planned, and worked on all external communication for the campus across various media platforms. I elevated the journalism department and publications, resulting in state and national awards for individual students and entire publications.
It was the best 8 years of my life (so far).
I am incredibly proud to have led and grown over 40 journalists each year. We had two Texas Print Newspaper Editors of the Year and were voted Best Digital Student News Organization in 2020 by the Texas Association of Journalism Educators. We received multiple SNO Awards for coverage, site excellence, writing, and engagement.
In 2018, I started my Doctorate in Education. In 2019, I was honored as the Judson High School Distinguished Educator of the Year.
In 2021, I decided to leave.
In 2018, I started my Doctorate in Education.
In 2019, I was honored as the Judson High School
Distinguished Educator of the Year.
In 2021, I decided to leave.
When I decided to leave Judson Journalism, I cried for days!
I went to therapy.
For almost a decade, administration and teachers helped me build the award-winning journalism program I dreamed of. More importantly, incredible student journalists and their parents supported me in ways many advisers dream of. I always wanted to be the teacher I needed when I was in high school. I tried to represent certain groups of students and showed them someone who looked like them at the front of the classroom.
I will always feel like I let so many people down.
But as my principal can attest, I constantly wanted more, like a spider monkey with all these big ideas, having to be pulled back occasionally. I felt like I had done everything I could’ve done with the available resources, and it was just my time to try something new and write a new chapter in my life’s book.
And it failed. Twice.
It was a painful few years. I was no longer part of something bigger than myself. At the same time, I was finishing my dissertation. It was a very lonely time.
However, after 4.5 years of work across 107 pages, I completed my research.
On July 28, 2023, I defended my dissertation. I became Dr. Pedro Cabrera! It's the most significant achievement of my life.
​That moment was like the moment in movies when the character experiences tunnel vision, staring into the distance and reflecting on all their life experiences.
Getting my terminal degree closed a critical chapter - I was done with formal schooling, and one could consider me an expert in my field. However, I continue to find avenues to learn, grow and give back to my academic and creative community. I fill my bucket, and find value and love, in my work with the Journalism Education Association and the National Association of Hispanic Journalists familia.
I’m far from perfect - I’ve made a ton of life mistakes. And still do - most humans do. But in hindsight, my life could’ve easily and quickly gone… left. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t.​
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Feels like... Because of my public school! and a fantastic teacher!, my life was changed.
Because of my public school!
and a fantastic teacher!
my life was changed.
Post-doctorate, I struggled. Advising was my dream job - I loved it sooo much. And I was good at it! I just wanted to use my skills for something different.
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Although I became an award-winning writer, I was handicapped - with all my success within and outside the company, I was put in a former laundry room as an office. Felt like I was a player in a game I knew nothing about. I’m not a gamer. I'm pretty direct - if there’s a pink elephant in the room, Imma yell “pink elephant!” so we can address the pink elephant. It was a messy game, as if my failure was anticipated.
And I knew I wasn’t going to get a leader similar to when I advised - hate him or love him, and trust me, I’ve been on both sides of that coin - my work was seen, trusted to execute some massive projects for our campus and community. And I flourished.
So when I landed in higher education, I was reminded that I'm an expert in my field, that I am worthy of a seat at the table, and that the change I want is bigger than a classroom. The little boy in me thought—kids like me, once labeled as one of “those kids,” don’t end up being Assistant Professors at R1 institutions.
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My entire life, I have hustled! I've worked so hard through so many obstacles. But I've also balanced as best I can. Now, I've checked all of life’s boxes: I have the job, the truck, the house, friends, my chosen family, and I travel. Life was great. But I was missing one thing - love.
When I finally landed in higher education,
I was reminded that I'm an expert in my field,
that I am worthy of a seat at the table.
If anyone has dated in San Antonio, TX, especially in my specific tribe, it’s a journey of ridiculousness. It's one of those necessary evils one must go through. I don’t understand why people think that dumb is sexy - it never has been and never will be.
Then, I met Paul.
Our first date was very much on brand - we went to Whataburger! It was a regular, smegular first encounter - good food and good conversation (although I’d later find out I was on his radar before our first date). But, I ghosted him! after that date and eventually found out I'd also given him COVID.
You gotta admit, that’s just hilarious.
It’d be a couple of months until we would hang out again.
When we did, I don’t remember what it was. Our banter was effortless, and he did something that is one of the three necessary things - he made me laugh. So, I asked him to dinner.
At that dinner, he did the other two - he held the conversation and showed that he was brilliant. So, we went on to date two, three, four, five, and to Dallas, Austin, Houston, El Paso, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic.
There’s something different about dating in your 30s. Don’t get me wrong - growing with someone is a beautiful thing. But we already spent time building ourselves and our lives, and we were also in toxic relationships that taught us what we didn’t want. Those life conversations were swift and respectful from the beginning, a stark change for both of us. It was clear - what we saw was what we were going to get.
It’s been amazing, something I want to protect.
When I thought about what made Paul ring worthy, I thought of 1 Corinthians 13:4 in the Bible. (Shocking, I know.)
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Paul is patient, especially when dealing with a Dominican Scorpio. Paul is kind. He does not envy, he does not boast. He is very proud, but he deserves to be. He built a very successful business from the ground up, through blood, sweat, and many tears. I could never do what he did.
He does not dishonor me or others, is not self-seeking, and is not easily angered. Trust me, he’s shockingly calm, a great compliment to my crazy.
And I know he will always protect, always trust, always hope, and always persevere.
He’s good to me. And I respect him. And I’m proud to stand next to him
​I am a very type A personality - things need to be a certain way, and there always needs to be a plan. Paul is a type B person - spontaneous and goes with the flow.
He’s also a "Fuck it, Book It" person. During Lady Gaga’s Coachella set, I said, “it would be sooo cool to see her in concert.” Paul’s hand immediately grabbed his phone and began researching. “She’s playing in Paris.”
Excuse me, whoa?!
Can’t we go to Dallas or Houston? Nope. This man said - let’s jump on a plane and go to Europe. That night, he booked the concert tickets - to Paris we were going. And might as well, while we were there, let’s hop over to London.
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In September, I bought the ring for our trip. My best friends were sworn to secrecy. Once the ring arrived, I hid it in the house, in the suit coat pocket that I would eventually pack for the trip.
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It was a phenomenal trip: we adventured, we ate, we danced. We did all the things.
He had planned a photoshoot in Paris because - why not? We were in Paris! What Paul did not know was that I would turn this photoshoot into the moment to propose.
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I was never nervous because I was so sure.
I was never nervous because I was so sure.
It started at 8 a.m., and it was a struggle from the beginning - it was around 30 degrees and windy. We were freezing. He was not having it. I was not having it. Occasionally, I would hit his chest and say, “get it together!” In the back of my head, I wanted these pictures to be perfect - they just weren’t fun pictures, they were our engagement shots.
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The entire time, I was trying to figure out when the best moment would be.
We reached a spot with not too many people. I knew what was in the photographer’s frame. It was time, and I knew it would be a perfect picture.
I told the photographer, “I’m going to do something.” I looked at Paul. And with no hesitation (because I was sure), I said, “I'm obsessed with you. I love you.” I kneeled and asked him to marry me.
He said yes.
He was shocked. He didn’t know. But now, we are those obnoxious people who got engaged in the most romantic city in the world and photographed it all.
I found my person.
Although I was sure before our Europe trip, I was more sure then that Paul Anthony Aguilar is the person I want to write future chapters with.
“I'm obsessed with you. I love you.”
Storytelling is a powerful, persuasive skill. We must continue to share our stories because we really are more alike than we are different. And I’m happy to be still writing mine.