First-gen financial literacy

When I get my first job after I pass the bar, I’m going to make more money than my parents ever have. It’s an incredible accomplishment and a testament to their sacrifice that I am able to make this financial leap. Yet, since my first paycheck when I was fifteen, I’ve never learned how to set money aside "responsibly."

My first job

My first job was at El Pollo Loco which was a ten-minute walk from my home. I got the job because I did what my parents told me to do: walk in and ask if they were hiring. I had already done this at several other fast-food chains within walking distance and been summarily rejected. I remember joking with my friends that I couldn’t even get hired at McDonalds. At El Pollo Loco, though, I was rewarded for my “persistence and grit.” 

My parents encouraged me to get a job but they insisted that I wouldn’t be helping with bills or giving any portion of my paycheck to them. I know I could have helped but they didn’t want me to work for the sake of money. To them, a job meant learning responsibility and sacrifice. It meant that I wouldn’t be able to hang out with my friends whenever I wanted because I was scheduled for a shift. It meant that a movie and a dinner literally cost “two hours of my time.” 

I learned the value of time management and responsibility soon enough, but I didn’t know what to do with the money coming in. My parents were focused on keeping us in school and keeping food on the table. I asked my older sister for advice, and she told me to “just spend it on what you want.” So that’s what I did.

Poor habits

My dad helped me apply for my first Discover credit card when I started college. I could use the card to front the costs for textbooks, class registration, and anything else I might need. He instructed me to pay off the statement balance in full every month, but he didn’t explain why. At that point, I didn’t know what a credit score was, and I was already in the habit of spending money on whatever I wanted. 

Eventually, I just tried submitting a minimum payment on my credit card bill and waited to see if anything would happen. The bank accepted the payment and sent me a bill the next month with another minimum payment due. I was so excited that I thought I had hacked the system. I didn’t tell my dad because I would technically be disobeying him, but he never asked about my bills so I never took the initiative and talked to him about it. If the bank didn’t have a problem with it, why would he? I wasn’t living in poverty but after reading excerpts from Hillbilly Elegy, I realize I was always planning what to buy with my next paycheck. 

For a lot of students like me, the idea of a credit score was so intangible. I had no idea I needed to “build up” my credit score? Why? I was just an undergraduate student making minimum wage. If I needed to buy a car or a home, I’d worry about that when I was making more money. 

I think this is a big struggle for a lot of first-gen students like me; we never experienced the benefits of accrued wealth. We are more likely to graduate with debt and much more likely to drop out of college. It’s difficult to convince myself to set aside money that’ll be a boon to me 40 years later when right now, my student loan debts are going to compound on itself every single month. The ever-present problems that have stood before us our entire lives, such as paying for groceries or rent, have built poor habits that make us want to spend in the present. Furthermore, the costs of social mobility, such as student loans and buying our first car, make it even harder to break these poor habits.

One step at a time

Today, I know what a credit score is and how stupid I was for thinking I had figured out a loophole when I was really accumulating interest and undermining my credit score. I read Dave Ramsey, and I asked financially literate people around me for advice. Every weekend, I go through my bank statements and input charges into QuickBooks to keep track of my spending. I set monthly budgets for myself on food, personal spending, and hobbies. 

I told my parents about the stupid minimum payments I had been making and they wanted to help me. They helped me co-sign on a new car they bought so my credit score could slowly get back up. With my monthly budget, now, I'm always paying off my credit card statement in full. When I was working full-time, I started saving money in my Roth IRA and mutual funds account with an eye to the future.

Financial literacy is an ongoing process, especially when you don’t have a safety net to fall back on. Having worked full-time at a few jobs now, I’m still learning. Now that I’m going to have a salary that eclipses my parents, I’m going to have the luxury of setting aside money, but I’m constantly worried that I’m making a mistake. I’ve resolved to take it one step at a time and to not stress over money I don’t have. It's an odd reversal of my prior bad habit of spending money I didn’t have.

Ending the cycle

It is undeniable to me that “First and Onlys” are pillars sustaining the broader existence of our communities. As children, we naturally evolve into problem solvers, driven by necessity and insecurity. We struggle every day to preserve the smiles of our families, as they cheer us on with their excitement. We learn to navigate uncharted territories intentionally in order to break generational curses that have plagued our ancestors. We litter the world with our culture and identities so that people know we exist. 

But most importantly, we are not selfish. We transform barriers into stepping stones for those who follow us, and we do it out of love. We work hard not just to end our personal struggles but to elevate our loved ones. 

In the final chapter of Alejandra Campoverdi’s First Gen: A Memoir, the chapter titled, La Trenza, she reiterates the importance of First and Onlys taking the time to address repressed emotions that have lingered in our psyches since our childhoods. She also calls on other First and Onlys to reflect on our successes and genuine feelings of fulfillment. Campoverdi emphasizes that being a First and Onlys often compels individuals to suppress their vulnerabilities in order to embody strength. I understand this. After all, who has time to address their feelings—or even to feel their feelings—when everything is burning around you and your loved ones need you to be strong? 

That said, as our readings and speakers have consistently highlighted throughout this semester, repression of our feelings can inadvertently undermine our ability to experience genuine fulfillment from our successes. I believe that when indirect repression arises, it sometimes takes others to remind us of our efforts. I have spent the past few days reflecting deeply on my own journey. This self-awareness campaign has allowed me to recognize that the efforts I have invested in for years have yielded outcomes surpassing anything my younger self could have ever imagined—I just had not taken the time to notice them.

Since the age of fourteen, I have had an active role in the upbringing of my younger brother, Angello. Although I was a child myself, it was my job to shield him and his childhood from the aftereffects of our parents’ divorce. Our leftover family worked every day to make sure he was ensconced in endless love and security. As he grew up, we wanted him to be well-equipped to enter the professional world. My family worked hard every day to make sure he had the right tools to chase his dreams. Turns out, we did something right!

A few days ago, Angello told me that he had decided to accept UC Davis’s offer to join the incoming Class of 2029. To me, this was an amazing milestone not only for him but for our whole family. Although I’m the first in our family to go to college, I did so by attending community college for two years and then transferring to earn my bachelor’s degree. 

Don’t get me wrong—I wanted to go straight to a four-year institution, but I chose the community college route for two reasons. First, there was the obvious issue of affordability. Like many First and Onlys, the reality of being from a lower social-economic background can make dreams like going to college feel impossible. Second, I felt that my family was too unstable for me to leave home; I provided emotional and financial support to my mother and brothers, and the guilt of leaving them behind to pursue my own dreams was heartbreaking. So, I stayed close to home, and I have no regrets!

In that same conversation, Angello told me that the university had provided him scholarships that will cover the entire cost of attendance. I slowly realized that this financial aid meant he would not need to be burdened by loans or to work tirelessly to cover his college expenses, as I had done. Unlike me, he will not have to juggle a demanding full-time job just to afford college. Any job he does take will be by choice, not necessity. Likewise, his kind-hearted soul can go to college knowing our family is emotionally fortified to handle his absence from home. 

In the last few years, our family has worked on improving ourselves by addressing trauma, and I think it has only made us stronger as a collective unit. For First and Onlys like me, the real successes that bring me genuine fulfillment are the “successes” that advance the life prospects of my loved ones. Viewing myself as a member of the collective unit that is my family is a reminder of how far we’ve come.

Hearing my brother’s excitement about going to college helped ease the uncertainty I had carried for thirteen years. I’m proud that he has earned his seat at the table of higher education. 

For many First and Onlys, our families––for good or bad––are powerful forces. Several of my fellow blogging colleagues have written heartfelt essays describing the complexity of their relationship with their families. For example, my colleague AKJ, in their post “Defining and appreciating my ‘village,’” defined family members as their “anchors.” In contrast, my colleagues Jenna and M highlight the emotional complexity of their parentified role in their family. All of these experiences with our families are valid. Being the emotional anchor of a family while trying to build a future for yourself is exhausting—but it’s also a powerful testament to love.

In witnessing my brother take his next big step in life, I have come to understand that the sacrifices we make as “First and Onlys” are investments in a future we help create. Our efforts echo loudly beyond ourselves. We clear paths alone and trailblaze spaces, hoping someone we love will eventually join us.