My Story

My story began at four years old, arriving in America as a refugee in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. I do not remember much on how we escaped from Vietnam when the North Vietcong took over Saigon. However, as the youngest of nine children raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly; sewing late into the night and taking odd jobs while relying on government assistance, I learned early what it meant to struggle. Our family didn't speak English or understand American culture when we were accepted into a new country, which kept us in survival mode: work hard, stay unseen, and never dream too big.

Growing up without a male role model and watching my siblings fight to find their own paths, I turned to friends for guidance and permission to rebel against a world that I did not understand. While their influence felt like acceptance at the time, it led me down a difficult road. I barely graduated high school, moved from California to Arizona searching for belonging, and found myself in trouble with the law instead. At my lowest point, jobless, disconnected from family, and lost, I felt completely defeated.

During my teens through my 30s, my family labeled me the black sheep. They had good reason to believe my path would lead me to a dead-end. While they worked hard following traditional paths, I was out partying, struggling to find direction and protecting my vulnerability at all costs, which prevented me from listening. They never believed I would amount to anything, and their lack of acceptance only deepened my longing to belong somewhere, to anyone who would accept me.

Yet through it all, my mother was there in the only way she knew how. Despite navigating a foreign country without speaking the language, raising nine children alone with no support system, and having no roadmap for life in America herself, she never gave up on me. Unfortunately, I was a young rebellious man who rejected his mother, feeling ashamed of our situation, and pretended to be someone other than myself. Fortunately, my relationship with my mother dramatically improved as I grew personally, so I owe everything to her determination, sturdiness, strength, and unconditional love for her children. 

My personal growth came at a turning point: a VP at a company saw something in me and offered me an opportunity. He became my first true mentor, showing me that my life could be rebuilt. Though, the opportunity came with a high cost of painful growth professionally because I had to manage over 40 employees without an education or management training, but through trial and error. I struggled for four years, built resilience, and became humble that I needed to further my education to be successful at this game. 

Tired of moving from one dead-end job to another, I made a decision at 32 years old that would change everything; I enrolled in college. At 35, I earned my BS in Business. I never attended that graduation. I earned my first master’s degree in education in Adult Education and Training, discovering my true passion for teaching and empowering others. I didn't attend that graduation either. Education had never felt like it was truly mine to claim, but an escape from my struggles from life.

Right after completing my master's degree, I did something unconventional; I sold everything and traveled throughout Southeast Asia to learn more about myself. Visiting Vietnam, the country where I was born, humbled me profoundly. I realized the enormous sacrifices my mother made to give us the opportunity to live what was, despite our poverty, a privileged life. My US passport allowed me to travel freely through many countries, exposing me to the challenges people face in third-world nations, challenges my family had escaped.

I settled in Thailand, teaching at a university for a year and a half. Standing in front of classes of 30+ students gave me invaluable experience. But something else struck me deeply: every colleague dreamed of earning a Ph.D. from a US institution but had to settle for Thai or Chinese universities. Meanwhile, I had access to opportunities they could only dream of. That realization brought me back to America.

After earning my Ph.D., I made a different choice. For the first time in my life, I decided to attend my graduation. I invited my mother, the woman who raised nine children alone in a country where she couldn't speak the language, and who never believed education was in the cards for our family because of all the barriers we faced.

She told me it was the best day of her life seeing me getting hooded as Dr. Ngo. Seeing her son accomplish something she never thought possible and that moment validated every sacrifice she'd made, every late night at the sewing machine, every struggle she endured.

That graduation also changed how my family saw me. The black sheep who they'd given up on had earned not one, but four degrees. The respect that came with my first master's grew even more with the Ph.D. Being rejected by my own family (or me not knowing how to be accepted) for so long had fueled my desperate need to belong and now I understand that pain gives me the empathy to create safe environments for others facing similar challenges.