MY STORY
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 were following my tia, who was in the Air Force.
San Antonio has a large and proud military population—with the nickname Military City, USA; it is home to four military installations supporting the Air Force and Army.
My dad worked in hospitality and my mom worked in the service industry. They were now the 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 to settle in America.
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 biasedly and robustly defending San Antonio—even with the issues that 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.
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 happened. It’s probably not my place to ask. Needless to say, I don’t 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 momma'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. 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 strength and decided 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. Blood everywhere. Some days and nights are just ingrained in my head.
Changing schools is never easy for a child, but it is one of the necessary things. For my mother to exit an abusive relationship, it was time for a life change. Colby Class 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. 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 I.
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 support from my family. 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 was 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 elective 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 to me.
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 became increasingly distant during high school for reasons I can 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.
We 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 number ten in my class. I 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 a reason I don’t even remember, we began to argue.
“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 Corrola 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 out my room. All I had was my clothes, a twin-size bed, and a tiny TV.
This was in 2007. I haven’t talked to my mom since.
But I stayed in school, knowing it would be “my way out.” (I still believe education is the way out of a bad situation.) 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 financial student 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 just had broken up with. You see, I was dumb at one point in my life.
We sparked our relationship up. Again, it was the best thing that happened… until it wasn’t.
Starting my life in the big city with my first big boy 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 the life of someone 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.
The two years in Houston 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 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 simply 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 viewership yearly.
I managed The Rocket yearbook, covering over 2,700 students and nearly 60 campus organizations. I created, planned, and managed all external communication for the campus through various media platforms. I elevated the journalism department and publications to win 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 that I led and grew over 40 journalists yearly. 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.
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'll always feel like I let so many people down.
But as my principal can still attest, I constantly wanted more, like a spider monkey with all these 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. Not only was I no longer part of something bigger than myself, but some made an effort to ensure I was othered and less than. At the same time, I was finishing my dissertation. It was a very lonely time.
However, after four and a half years of work in 107 pages, I completed my research.
On July 28, 2023, I defended my dissertation. I became Dr. Pedro Cabrera!
It was that moment in movies where the character experiences tunnel vision while staring into the distance and reflecting on all their life experiences. From stumbling into a journalism classroom to leading an award-winning program, from abuse to abandonment, from San Antonio to San Marcos to Houston and back, they are all defining moments and incredible stories.
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.
When I landed at the University of Texas at San Antonio, I was reminded that I'm an expert in my field, that I am worthy of having a seat at the table, and that the change I want to have is bigger than a classroom.
And it's because of my public school! and a fantastic teacher that my life was changed.
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I’m far from perfect - I’ve made a ton of life mistakes. Most humans do. But in hindsight, my life could’ve easily and quickly gone… left.
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I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t.
We must continue to share our stories, and I’m happy to be still writing mine…
And it's because of my public school!
and a fantastic teacher
that my life was changed.
