EP36 | The Meaning of a First-Generation Master’s: Educational Divides and Bridges

Hello, everyone! Welcome to Education Minority. I’m Lena.

(Chiming bell sound, followed by: “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the commencement exercises at the University of San Francisco.”)

After two years of juggling — raising kids, studying, and hustling on the side projects— on May 8th, I finally completed my graduation capstone presentation.(Live audio from Lena’s presentation: “Hello everybody, welcome to my capstone project presentation today. This is a story about building a podcast brand rooted in communication.”)

And on May 16th, dressed in my master’s gown, I walked up those steps and took part in a graduation commencement that marked a truly extraordinary moment in my life.(“Congratulations, Class of 2025!” cheers erupt)

Thank you all for patiently waiting through this especially busy season of mine. Thank you, dear listeners, for your unwavering support and companionship.It is because of you that this “side project” podcast became the heart of my capstone — and now stands as the launchpad for my next chapter, the starting line of a brand-new career journey.

Introduction | Reflections Sparked by a Single Sash

Graduating with my master’s degree didn’t feel like one of those cinematic “highlight moments” you see on screen. For me, it flowed quietly, almost imperceptibly, through the everyday messiness of parenting and work.

On the day I went to campus to pick up my master’s gown, I happened to notice a special display table set up at the venue. Laid out on it was a school-designed graduation sash embroidered with bold letters: “First-Generation Graduates.”

It was at that moment I realized that this was an honor cord specially prepared for the first person in the family to complete higher education. In that instant, I felt… puzzled. Why would being a first-generation graduate merit a sash? Why was “first-gen graduate” even a thing — something called out, made visible? Sure, in traditional Chinese cultural terms, being the first in your family to earn a college degree, or a master’s, or even a PhD, does carry a sense of bringing honor to the family name. But we rarely formalize or ritualize that identity with anything material or ceremonial in everyday life.

Then I found myself wondering: Am I the first master’s graduate in my family? Strictly speaking — yes, I am. As far as I know, only two cousins and I have earned master’s degrees in this generation. And yet, I realized I’d never consciously reflected on this before. What does it mean to be the first master’s graduate in a family?

Standing there, looking at that sash, memories and questions rushed in:What has been the educational trajectory of my family?How does my parents’ educational background shape the choices and paths I’ve taken?What role has the generational education gap played in shaping how I navigated learning, compared to children raised in highly educated families?Were there invisible gaps or barriers I faced that others didn’t, and how have these differences shaped the separate arcs of our lives?

If “first-generation graduate” is a symbol worth naming, worth wearing, what does it stand for? Is it just a label — or is it a reminder? What kind of resonance or awareness is awakened by making it outwardly visible like this?

And for those who are not first-generation graduates, who grow up under the bright halo of highly educated parents — is that inherited advantage more of a motivation or a pressure?

Carrying this sudden flood of questions, I produced this episode for you — to share the reflections this graduation stirred in me: on the role education plays across generational divides, and how we might search for connection in the spaces where we diverge.

Part 1｜The Educational Rift in My Family

First, let me share a bit about my family’s educational background.

I was born into an ordinary working-class family. My father came from deep poverty — he dropped out of school before finishing elementary school and went out to work. My mother barely completed high school, and that was where her schooling stopped.

The most direct consequence of this generational educational gap was that my parents never held high expectations for my education. Sure, my father, in his younger years, had moments of striving for self-education — he attended some adult classes and had a passion for writing. I still remember, as a child, waking up late at night and seeing him bent under the lamplight, studying hard. He loved submitting pieces to newspapers, and sometimes, when he earned a little payment for his writing, he’d take me out for soup dumplings on the street.

Looking back, I think those scattered flashes of enthusiasm and drive toward learning left a positive mark on my own attitude toward education. But over time — maybe ground down by life — that spark in him faded. For many years, I never saw him pick up a pen or pursue any kind of learning again.As for my mother, she was someone who never had the slightest interest in books. I almost never saw her touch one.

If I’m honest, the “loving, hands-off” parenting environment I used to proudly boast about wasn’t entirely a result of their enlightened understanding of education. More truthfully, it stemmed from their lack of knowledge and limited grasp of what education meant. They didn’t know what to expect, and they weren’t sure how to be involved.Because they didn’t understand, they let go — and in many ways, this wasn’t an intentional choice, but rather a passive outcome.

From as early as first grade, my parents never asked about my homework or test results. Apart from the printed report card each semester, they knew almost nothing about how I was doing at school. Strangely, this absence gave me a completely self-directed educational environment. They never interfered, never set goals or gave advice about my learning or development. They simply followed along with whatever I chose for myself — what I wanted to study, I studied; what I wanted to pursue, I pursued.

I became used to taking full responsibility for my own growth, answering to no one, truly steering the ship of my life. I remember one summer at my grandmother’s house, the whole family sitting together for a meal. My uncle solemnly asked my dad for advice on how to educate children. Maybe it was because the family saw me as “the good student,” but my dad was completely stumped — he had no answer to give.

After graduating college, I worked in marketing and public relations for ten years. Even today, my parents still have no real understanding of what I did for a living. They can’t even name my job title, and when introducing me to others, they often stumble over their words, unable to explain. I never talk to them about my work — just like I never talked to them about my studies when I was young.

This quiet between us has long been embedded in our relationship. At first, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, because I had grown so accustomed to the fact that my parents and I existed in parallel worlds. Even as a child, I could clearly sense the invisible, massive chasm between us — a chasm drawn by educational background. This gulf blocked understanding, weakened dialogue, and hindered many attempts at connection.

I gradually became used to only talking to them about things like making money, eating meals, and health and safety — topics far removed from the world of the mind or spirit. I also got used to staying silent about many things central to my life.

And so, I lived with this gulf for decades, and over time, I even grew numb to it. For a long while, I believed that what mattered between parents and children was love — that sharing intellectual or developmental resonance was unnecessary, even a luxury.

After starting university, I left home to chart my own course. For nearly 20 years, I rarely saw my parents. Then, seven years after I moved to the U.S., they came to live with me — and only through the closeness of daily life did I realize how, over the years I had kept moving forward while they had stayed in place, the gulf between us had grown wider, deeper, and harder to cross.

It took me a long time to find the words to precisely describe this gulf: intergenerational education disruption — a systemic disconnect that shows up not just in academic gaps, but in the resulting differences in knowledge structures, value systems, and patterns of intergenerational communication.

This disconnect has shaped the long-standing, invisible silence between us, turning our life paths into parallel lines — full of love, yet rarely able to truly understand one another.

Part 2｜“Reverse Parenting” and Invisible Responsibilities

On the identity and topic of “first-generation college students,” there’s actually been a great deal of research and discussion within academia.

First-generation college students often play the role of reverse caretakers in their families. Beyond their own studies, they take on a host of adult tasks on behalf of their parents — filling out forms, translating documents, explaining bureaucratic systems, and handling all sorts of everyday matters that their parents, due to limited education or language skills, cannot manage themselves.

In sociology, this phenomenon is called “role reversal” or “parentification” — where the child is prematurely forced into the role of the family’s adult, while the parents, in terms of life management and system navigation, slowly shift into the position of being the ones who need care.

And don’t underestimate these seemingly trivial acts of “helping out” parents. They are not just labor; they are a kind of exhausting role displacement. If you ever dare to feel tired or voice a complaint, you’re easily slapped with labels like “ungrateful” or “unfilial” by societal norms.

Many first-generation students or graduates do feel genuine gratitude toward their parents — thankful that despite limited resources, their parents still supported them in pursuing higher education. But at the same time, they often carry an undercurrent of loneliness and quiet disappointment because deep conversations about life, studies, or values rarely happen at home.

When did I first become aware of the gulf between my parents and me? It probably began when I started meeting the parents of my friends.

One friend, my partner’s work colleague, comes from a family where both parents are Ivy League graduates. His mother was among the first women ever admitted to that Ivy League institution and is now a professor of architecture at a university.

I’ve had many interactions with his parents, even traveled with them. We could talk about art, social issues, personal growth, and belief systems. In conversations with his mother, I experienced a sense of ease and enrichment I had never known before.We could talk for hours — the kind of soul-level dialogue I had never once experienced with my own parents.

In contrast to the flat, surface-level exchanges I had with my parents, I felt how conversation — real conversation — can create intimacy between individuals.

So what is intimacy in a relationship? Is it just about sharing physical space? Or is it about the collisions and exchanges between hearts and souls?

If the parent-child relationship is an intimate one, then doesn’t the quality of dialogue determine the depth of that intimacy? And what is the foundation of dialogue? It’s listening and understanding. But if you can’t actually comprehend or relate, doesn’t the conversation just become hollow, meaningless words?

I suddenly realized that my parents and I had been trapped in a deep well of empty dialogue for too long, and neither of us knew how to climb back up to the surface. They don’t understand my world, my dreams, my attitudes toward life.Simply put, they don’t really understand me.

If you start not understanding your child anymore, doesn’t that signal that the bridge between you has already quietly crumbled?

Now, please don’t misunderstand me — I’m not here to resent or belittle my parents’ lack of higher education. On the contrary, I know deeply that their lack of access to education was never their fault. They were, and are, devoted, good parents.

But as their child, in many moments — especially when they show indifference, disinterest, or even resistance to learning anything new — I feel a deep sense of helplessness, a flicker of disappointment, and a strange, subtle self-doubt.

Why would self-doubt arise? I think it’s because I am, after all, an extension of them. And if your parents are beings who have lost curiosity for the world and desire for growth — and they are your point of origin — wouldn’t you, at some level, feel the heavy, silent suggestion that: This is where I come from. Maybe… this is my fate too.

Data shows that parents with college degrees are nearly twice as likely to have children who complete college compared to first-generation students. Meanwhile, the dropout rate within three years for first-gen college students is as high as 33%, compared to just 14% for non-first-gen peers.

This helps explain why the identity of “first-generation college graduate” or “first-generation master’s or doctoral graduate” is worth naming, worth celebrating.Because breaking free from a family environment with no foundational passion or ongoing investment in education is, in itself, an immense challenge.

For kids who grow up in families where no one has attended college, completing their studies means overcoming layers of resistance — economic, cultural, informational. It means breaking through the inherited monopoly that higher education has long represented for elite families.

So, if you, dear listener, are the first undergraduate, first master’s, or first doctoral graduate in your family, please, right now — give yourself a big, heartfelt hug.

You did it.We did it.

​​Part 3｜The Illusion of Intimacy Created by Education

Of course, the professor-mother I mentioned earlier doesn’t represent all highly educated parents — because I’ve also noticed that some friends with highly educated parents don’t have strong or healthy parent-child relationships at all.

Clearly, having a degree does not equal having true inner education.Some parents, despite their impressive credentials, impose even harsher academic demands on their children — like the infamous tiger parents — treating education purely as a ladder for upward mobility, a tool, rather than something to be enjoyed or pursued out of genuine curiosity about the world. As a result, the learning energy they pass down is often negative, even harmful, leading to cases where highly educated, high-achieving parents end up raising children who perform only modestly or even struggle.

Here, I want to share another true story from a friend of mine — she’s also a mom of two and comes from a classic “highly educated family.” Her parents are early immigrants to the U.S.: her mother completed her undergraduate degree in the States, and her father went all the way through to a Ph.D. As the only child, she should have, in theory, enjoyed exceptional educational resources and a nurturing environment.

But reality was far from that ideal. Her childhood was spent under the oppressive shadow of a relentlessly strict father. In her home, the pressure to excel went far beyond academics — it turned into daily verbal put-downs, sarcasm, and even emotional abuse. For her, home was not a safe harbor; it was a suffocating prison.

As an adult, she chose to cut ties with her father. While she successfully completed college, she spent years after graduation avoiding the workforce. Although she wasn’t under significant financial pressure, she poured nearly all her time and energy into self-repair — healing wounds, rebuilding shattered confidence, and trying to piece together the self her childhood had crushed.

This example reminds us once again: Even in highly educated families, if parents lack genuine emotional support and respect, what’s called “education” may not be a lift — it may be the very blade that breaks a child.

A high degree does not equal good parenting. Whether a parent truly understands education has never been about their diplomas — it’s about how they treat a living, breathing, independent human being. So, what I want to say is this: parents’ lack of formal education is not the problem — because children don’t necessarily need to draw motivation from their parents’ achievements. In fact, those achievements can sometimes become a source of pressure rather than inspiration.

But what does matter — deeply — is the life state that parents embody. That becomes a crucial mirror shaping a child’s worldview. Whether parents show an attitude of continuous learning can significantly influence their children’s internal motivation and their sense of hope for the future.

A study led by the Department of Psychology at the University of Michigan showed that when teenagers perceive their parents as disinterested or dismissive toward learning, they are more likely to develop feelings of helplessness and meaninglessness in school — and even experience diminished confidence when thinking about their future careers.

I believe a child’s future is not just about walking roads their parents never walked —it’s about becoming something their parents never even imagined. But the foundation for that is this: that parents have once, even briefly, shown their children what growth looks like.

That Ivy League mother I mentioned earlier — her example isn’t meant to say parents should chase elite schools or high degrees. Rather, it’s the precious passion and capacity for lifelong learning she embodied that matters. I also remember every small moment when my own parents, whether learning English or picking up a new skill, showed that hunger to learn, that spark of drive and effort.

In those moments, I felt genuine pride in them — and a deep, hard-to-describe joy. Those moments matter. As children, we need to feel proud of our parents. That pride is a spiritual gift parents can give their children. It is a form of love that flows in both directions.

Part 4｜Starting With Myself: Becoming a Model of Lifelong Learning

I often find myself reflecting: what kind of parent do I want to be?

When I first became a mother, I didn’t have a clear answer. Back then, I simply hoped to be the kind of mom who was deeply present, closely involved in my children’s early years.

But now, as I graduate with my master’s degree, I feel my vision has evolved. I want to be a mother who lives out her own growth through action, keeps progressing, and sets an example — a mother who, one day, can sit with her children and discuss social issues, explore art, and talk openly about life’s direction, as part of an intellectual community we share together.

I believe true educational resources are not just found in schools or financial investments. They permeate the everyday conversations at home, the breadth of a parent’s perspective, and, most importantly, the power of parental example.

Through my own choices, I want to show my children that their mother, at age 40, went back to earn her master’s degree and reignited her passion for oil painting. Learning is a lifelong pursuit, and it’s never too late to begin again.

Fittingly, my graduation commencement featured two remarkable guest speakers.One was NBA coach and former player Steve Kerr, the championship-winning coach of the Golden State Warriors, renowned for his calm, wisdom, and strategic vision. The other was his 90-year-old mother, Ann Zwicker Kerr, a scholar who has dedicated her life to fostering cultural exchange between the West and the Middle East and advocating for international education.

They were invited because my school, the University of San Francisco, was awarding Ann an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters, in recognition of her decades of work advancing international education and cultural understanding.

The most moving moment was when, just before the award, this 90-year-old mother watched her own son stand before her, delivering the introduction. Can you imagine your child looking at you with eyes full of respect, admiration, and love? (Steve Kerr: “My mom has long advocated for respectful discourse among nations and peoples, through her work, her worldview, and her lived experience. She has known more than her share of darkness……”) At that moment, Steve stood tall on stage, gazing at his elderly mother with deep emotion, proudly declaring to the world:“And I say this with complete objectivity — my mom is awesome.” (cheers erupt) That, I thought, is the true face of intimacy between a parent and child.

I also want to mention Ann’s late husband — Steve’s father — Malcolm Kerr, a renowned scholar of Middle Eastern studies and former president of the American University of Beirut, tragically assassinated in 1984 during the Lebanese Civil War, a loss that shook the world.

This is a family — three generations deeply rooted in education, cross-cultural exchange, and Middle Eastern affairs — a family whose motto might well be “scholarship as mission, peace as path.”

As I watched this elderly mother, still vibrant on the educational frontlines, her eyes gleaming with wisdom, (Ann Zwicker Kerr: “Before I begin my prepared remarks, I want to share what an honor and joy it is to be here today. When I arrived, I heard the band playing and saw so many inspired, festive students who’ve done their work here — and it filled me with such happiness. I want to thank my son, Steve, for his gracious remarks of his mom……”) and standing beside her, the child raised under her example,I was deeply moved by the respect and mutual understanding reflected in their words, their glances, their connection.

Perhaps my parents and I, regretfully, did not have much of that connection. But at the very least, I know this:

Starting with myself, I will strive toward that goal — to be the kind of example for my children that radiates lifelong passion for learning and personal growth.

It’s not about chasing achievements; it’s about holding onto a heart that never loses its curiosity for the world and the new things it offers.

Conclusion｜Your Child Will Become the Kind of Person You Choose to Become

I believe that at every stage of parenting, the core task shifts.

In the early years, when children are highly attached to their parents, our job is a lot of up-close caregiving and support. But as they grow older, their need for physical care from us diminishes — and yet, this doesn’t mean they are drifting further away from us.On the contrary, we can still stay deeply connected to them spiritually.

At this stage, the parent’s task is no longer just to “focus on the child,” but more importantly, to focus on oneself — to keep learning, to keep staying curious.That becomes the most powerful form of role modeling we can offer.

As long as we, the parents, strive each day to live as our fullest, truest selves, our children will naturally grow into the lives they are meant to lead.

I once came across a line that stayed with me: “Children don’t follow what you say, they follow who you are.” Yes, Children won’t do what you tell them; they will become who you are. What they see is not your list of achievements, but your attitude toward the world. Not the words you speak, but how you live your life.

When a child watches his/her parent, even at nearly ninety, still teaching, still standing on the global stage advocating for international education — how can they not believe that growth has no finish line, that life can keep burning, keep glowing, without end?

And perhaps that, in the end, is the ultimate mission of being a parent.

Alright, that’s the end of today’s episode.

I hope that this small spark of reflect

ion from my own journey can help ignite some of your own thoughts on parenting and self-growth.

May each of us, as parents, grow together with our children, learn together, explore together, and become fuller, more complete versions of ourselves.

Thank you for listening — see you in the next episode.