Some of my fondest memories come from my grandma’s living room couch, where my family and I convene for minor holidays. It feels as though the couch holds our childhood secrets; as we sit and eat pernil and arroz con gandules, the old, worn cushions compel us to tell stories we never thought we’d share with one another. And, as we grow older, the stories grow with us. They evolve to become more personal the more we laugh, and more serious the more we fill our bellies with Puerto Rican cuisine.

I remember a time where I sat on that couch, unaware of how much I’d grown since the last time I sunk into its cushions. I grabbed my styrofoam plate from the coffee table in front of me, and almost instantly, my father was telling stories from when he was younger and carefree, something I never thought I’d be able to relate to. I paid less and less attention to the stories the more my plate emptied, until my father mentioned in passing that he hasn't graduated high school. Suddenly, I was intrigued; what had he been doing all those years, then? I listened closely to his next stories about all the different jobs he had worked, but once my plate was in the trash, so was all of my wonder.

Multiple days had passed before I began to think about the new information again, this time with a feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t quite identify. I needed to know more, so I asked about why he didn’t graduate as we sat on the couch at home one morning. He explained that school had always been hard for him, and without the influence from my grandmother to focus on his education, he decided dropping out would be best for him. And now he was successful, despite his lack of education; he had a family and a stable job, two things that I naively thought were unachievable without a diploma.

Now that I’m even older, I realize that it’s easy to take for granted the opportunities that are presented to you. With my mom’s side of the family being so adamant about getting a great education, it was simple to overlook my dad’s experience, one that differs so intensely from my own. Because my mom received her college degree and master’s, it made the most sense for her to pursue her career, while my dad became the primary caregiver, the stay-at-home dad. Even though he did not get far in his own formal education, he always supported mine, continues to support mine, and could not be more proud. As I look back on my childhood, he was always sunken into our sofa cushions, learning right along with me.

Being the first graduate in my paternal family is a privilege that I will always cherish. And so will my dad.