The dollar that
crossed the border.
It was a Tuesday night. June 14, 1989. I was 6 years old. Standing on top of a hill. Scared. Crying. My dad reached into his pocket and handed me $1. One dollar. To calm me down. I took it. Calmed down. And off we went.
33 years later — I have two engineering degrees. I'm an Engineering Manager working on technology that protects this country. My dad's $1 started all of it.
My name is Armando Rivera. I grew up in South Central Los Angeles — oldest of 5 brothers, first-generation, migrated from Guanajuato, Mexico at age 6.
LA Riots. Poverty. Chain snatched. Bike stolen at gunpoint. Twice. 5th grade, my teacher Ms. Threadgill gave me an award. I wore a communion suit and sneakers because my parents couldn't afford a real suit. I showed up anyway.
That's always been the move. Show up anyway. Finish anyway. Build anyway.