Mateo was seven when he first walked into a Carver program.
He didn’t walk in confidently. He hovered. One hand clutched the strap of a backpack that was too big for him, the other holding a folded paper his mother had pressed into his palm—his name, her phone number, and a few careful instructions—already creased from being checked twice. The truth was, the paper wasn’t necessary; Carver already had all of that information, but the first days are hard on parents, too, and this was her way of letting go.
School had always felt loud to Mateo. Loud classrooms, loud hallways, loud expectations. He was bright—his teachers knew that—but he froze when asked to read aloud. He avoided eye contact. He rushed through math problems, not because he didn’t understand them, but because he was afraid of being wrong in front of everyone.
After school, Mateo usually went home to an empty apartment for an hour or two while his mother finished her shift. Homework happened—or didn’t—depending on how tired everyone was by dinner.
Carver changed that rhythm.
At Carver’s After the Bell program, Mateo found something small but mighty: consistency. The same welcoming faces. The same routine. A snack first. Homework with a teacher who noticed when he understood something before he believed it himself.
One afternoon, a staff member knelt beside him and said quietly, “You know this already. Take your time.”
No one had ever said that to him before.
By fourth grade, Mateo was still shy—but he was raising his hand. Not every time. Just enough.
In fifth grade, he joined Carver Scholars, and suddenly the world expanded. There were hands-on STEM projects where getting it wrong was part of the point. In group challenges, his quiet focus proved an asset. When his team built a bridge that actually held weight, Mateo smiled the whole way home.
Middle school brought new challenges—bigger buildings, more complex work, louder everything—but Carver stayed with him. Homework support turned into organizational skills. Enrichment turned into curiosity. Adults asked him what he liked and what he thought he might want to do someday.
By ninth grade, Mateo wasn’t just attending school—he was navigating it.
He joined a Carver summer transition program, learned how to advocate for himself, and learned that asking for help wasn’t a weakness. He discovered he liked technology. He was good at it, actually.
In high school, Mateo earned a paid internship through Carver’s Earn & Learn program. For the first time, he had a paycheck with his name on it. He learned to show up on time, to communicate professionally, and to imagine himself as someone with options.
When Mateo graduated, his mother cried—not just because he had a diploma, but because she could see the road ahead of him.
Today, Mateo is a college student studying information technology. He still gets nervous sometimes. He still prefers listening before speaking. But he knows how to persist. He knows how to ask questions. He knows he belongs in the room.
Carver didn’t change who Mateo was.
Carver gave him a place to land—again and again—until he learned how to stand on his own.
