I’d spoken to several parents and emailed a few, but Marta[1] was the first parent I’d met in over 4 years working at [science program].
Jorge, a junior, was one of our rising stars. Along with several other students, he was presenting his research at a national conference in Anaheim. Marta, who lived locally, attended the community day portion of the conference on the final day.
I got to Jorge’s poster first. Rather than talk about his research, which I wouldn’t understand anyway, we discussed his experience at the conference. His mother stopped by mid-conversation. He introduced us before turning to the woman who was there to judge his poster.
I had a short conversation with Marta. I learned she was from Guadalajara and had a couple other children who looked up to Jorge.
“You must be proud of him,” I said in Spanish.
She replied enthusiastically, and then confided that she wasn’t sure what she did to get her son to UCLA. Even her family wanted to know her secret.
“¿Qué le diste de comer?”[2] they’d ask.
I smiled at the thought of Marta feeding Jorge a heaping plate of talent for math and science coupled with a tall glass of ganas.



