Reyna Grande, this year’s Master’s Commencement speaker, has long viewed education as a precious gift and the “key to [her] dreams.” The celebrated author details her courageous journey to obtaining these dreams in powerful memoirs, The Distance Between Us and A Dream Called Home. In these works, she takes readers into her inner world as an undocumented child who immigrated from Iguala, Guerrero, Mexico to Los Angeles, California.
Grande is also an acclaimed novelist, and her articles and essays have appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post and CNN, among others. But no matter the genre, Grande writes fiercely, truthfully and movingly about the immigrant experience in America, especially those who are undocumented. In this interview, she shares the power of writing from the point of view of a child, the importance of reading multicultural books and her advice for teachers who might encounter students like her.
Your award-winning memoir, The Distance Between Us, has been selected by many schools, colleges and cities as a common read selection. What do you think is the value of a community reading a book together?
In the case of The Distance Between Us, I’ve seen how sharing my story of immigration, family struggles and the pursuit of education has resonated with readers from diverse backgrounds. It has sparked many conversations about these themes. The collective act of reading, reflecting and discussing these themes builds bridges and creates a more informed and empathetic community. A shared reading experience can be powerful, and as a reader, you get more out of the experience than reading a book on your own. It fosters connection, unity and understanding. It engages people through a common topic of conversation, providing a foundation for meaningful discussions and debate, and for exploring shared values or different opinions. Stepping into my shoes through my memoir encourages readers to take a moment to consider the lives and perspectives of others and to reflect on their own lives. Reading multicultural books together cultivates understanding and belonging, and it can inspire reluctant readers to pick up a book, reinforcing the power of stories to connect us and celebrate our shared humanity.
Your novels and memoirs have eloquently captured the voices of children who have immigrated from Mexico to the United States. Can you tell us how you go about writing in the voice of a child so well and what were some of the challenges you faced while adopting this voice?
My choice to write from a child's perspective in The Distance Between Us came from my own childhood feeling voiceless, from being silenced in my English-only classroom and feeling my immigrant trauma invalidated at home. Also, feeling silenced by society, too, because child immigrants are often absent from discussions and debates about immigration. At first, writing from the point of view of "little Reyna" was deeply personal—a way to empower my younger self, giving her agency and voice over our story, which was profoundly healing. But in terms of the writing craft, the choice I made as a writer to use a child narrator as a literary device came from knowing that a child narrator offers immediacy, allowing readers to experience events as they unfold through innocent eyes. This is why I love reading memoirs and novels told by child narrators. Children possess a unique worldview, unfiltered honesty and boundless curiosity. This perspective also enabled me to portray my parents without the judgment of my adult self. The challenge lay in revisiting those vulnerable childhood emotions—the fears and insecurities—without giving into my impulse to protect my young narrator. I had to resist the urge to interfere, allowing "little Reyna's" authentic voice to guide the narrative.
What do you think makes literature such a valuable teaching tool?
I believe literature—especially diverse literature—is a vital teaching tool because it cultivates empathy by allowing students to inhabit diverse perspectives, like the immigrant child in my memoir. Stepping into different shoes fosters understanding and helps break down prejudice. Literature also ignites critical thinking, encouraging analysis of narratives, characters and themes, giving students analytical skills they can apply beyond the text, but to their own lives.
Also, discussing literature in the classroom enhances communication, enabling students to articulate thoughts, listen respectfully and build arguments. What I love about literature is that it connects us to universal human experiences—love, loss identity—fostering a sense of shared humanity and belonging, especially for marginalized voices. Stories have the power to open minds and hearts, making students more thoughtful, compassionate individuals able to treat others with respect and dignity, no matter where they come from.
The Distance Between Us was your first memoir. Can you tell us about your decision to write this story as a memoir rather than a novel?
Actually, I did write my story as a novel first! My first book, Across a Hundred Mountains, was meant to be a memoir, but when the narrative took an unexpected turn, it led me to reshape it into a novel. Although inspired by my early life—poverty, my father’s departure for the US—the novel became an exploration of a haunting “what if:” what if my father had never returned to Mexico for me? This question, often asked by readers, inspired me to explore an alternate reality where a young girl journeys to the border alone to find her absent father. In a way, Across a Hundred Mountains is one possible version of my story in the multiverse.
After I wrote a second novel, I switched to memoir. The Distance Between Us, my third book, emerged from a place of anger and helplessness following the DREAM Act’s failure to pass. Writing my own immigrant story became a way to cope and contribute a crucial perspective to the immigration conversation, particularly regarding undocumented youth. Stories possess immense power, both to heal and to harm. By sharing my experiences on my own terms, I aimed to counter the prevalent harmful narratives surrounding our immigrant community.
I’ve read that you’ve had several important mentors in your life. Can you tell us about one of those relationships?
While I’ve been fortunate to have many wonderful mentors, the one I cherish the most is my English professor from Pasadena City College, Diana Savas. Diana was the first to recognize my writing talent, to encourage me to pursue a writing career, and the first to help me believe that my immigrant story mattered. She also introduced me to Chicana/Latina authors like Sandra Cisneros and Julia Alvarez, providing crucial role models. I will never forget the day she handed me a copy of The House on Mango Street.
Beyond academics, Diana offered me personal support. When my father was arrested, she opened her home to me, providing a safe space where I could focus on my education instead of survival. She guided me in my university applications and attended my graduation to take part of the moment when I became the first in my family to get a university diploma. Diana has witnessed my journey into adulthood, marriage, motherhood and my writing career. Last year marked 30 years of friendship! We traveled to Hydra, Greece, where Cisneros finished The House on Mango Street. It was a powerful full-circle moment for us.
You attended public school in the Highland Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. What was your K–12 educational experience like?
My early years in California schools were deeply challenging. When I arrived in 1985, the year before Californians voted to make English the official state language, I already felt the sting of prejudice in my English-only classroom. This traumatic experience made me feel ashamed of speaking Spanish. Despite Highland Park being predominantly Latino at the time, I felt invisible, voiceless and inadequate in that classroom—a total outsider. This created a complicated relationship with my mother tongue, leading me to reject Spanish in favor of English, and preventing me from becoming truly bilingual or biliterate. In my K–12 classrooms, we didn’t read diverse literature, and although I loved reading and writing, the lack of stories I could relate to made it difficult for me to truly connect to the reading material in my classrooms. There were no authors who reflected my experiences, reinforcing my feeling of being an outsider, even in the world of literature. It wasn’t until Diana Savas's classroom at Pasadena City College that I encountered diverse literature, and that changed everything for me.
After you graduated from UC Santa Cruz, you returned to Los Angeles and taught at Edison Middle School. Looking back at this time, can you tell us more about your experience as a school teacher and how it impacted your writing?
My brief stint as a middle school teacher was challenging due to my lack of preparation. At UCSC, education wasn’t on my radar, and I graduated with degrees in Creative Writing and Film & Video without any teaching coursework. Facing a harsh reality post-graduation—no parental support, couch-surfing and a minimum-wage mall job—I felt depressed and disillusioned. When I heard of LAUSD’s “emergency credentials,” I landed a middle school teaching position and received a mere week of training. This was not an ideal situation. Ill-equipped at 24, with a baby face and being only 5 feet tall, I had little authority in my eight grade classroom. I felt bad for my students because I knew they deserved better—they deserved a well-trained teacher, who had the experience and knowledge, and most of all, a passion for teaching, which at the time I did not.
Though I only lasted four years in that role, it didn’t deter me from teaching entirely. I eventually found myself where I was meant to be. Today, I teach Creative Writing in an MFA program. I find great joy in mentoring adult writers and aspire to be the kind of teacher Diana Savas was for me, guiding the next generation of storytellers to realize their writing dreams.
With the value of higher education being questioned, drawing on your personal experience, what has been the impact of higher education on your life?
My maternal grandfather was illiterate. He signed his name with an “X” because he was denied schooling. My father only reached the third grade before having to go to work. My mother was fortunate to complete the sixth grade. Coming to the U.S. offered me the precious chance for education they lacked, a gift I was determined to honor. I recognized early on that education was the key to my dreams. My BA and MFA have opened doors for me and provided social mobility, a career and personal growth.
The problem is the escalating cost of higher education, which is a barrier many students are facing today. Government policies have increasingly made higher education out of reach, forcing many to take on crippling debt. This burden, made worse by the high interest rates, takes a toll on mental health and financial stability. When coupled with underpaying jobs, it can lead to disillusionment, which then makes one question the value of higher education itself. In today’s unstable climate, with education funding at risk, I fear higher education will become even more unattainable for young people.
What advice do you have for future educators who might encounter students like you in their classrooms?
My key advice to teachers of immigrant students is to prioritize creating a safe and welcoming classroom. To remember that your students may be facing unseen challenges like language barriers, cultural adjustments or even trauma. Approach them with empathy and patience.
Like Diana, try to offer consistent encouragement and believe in your students’ potential, often before they see it themselves. Validate their cultural identities by learning about their backgrounds and incorporating them into lessons. This will help students believe that their experiences and knowledge are valuable assets in the classroom—that they have something to offer.
As a teacher, you can be a bridge to essential resources like language support and community organizations. Understand the difficulties immigrant families might encounter navigating the school system. It’s important to cultivate empathy, build an inclusive environment, believe in your students’ abilities, validate their identities and connect them with support. Your understanding and encouragement can be profoundly impactful on their success and well-being in their new country.
