I didn’t have a typical elementary school experience.

In the spring of 2012, before I started kindergarten, my parents put my name into the lottery for Green Meadow’s brand-new Spanish Immersion program. Twenty-five spots were available.

When my name and 24 others were pulled that June, the course of our lives changed for the better.

Upon entering the classroom for the first time, I was handed a sticker from a sheet with various motivational words in Spanish. I looked around the room and noticed that many objects were labeled: lavabo, sink; reloj, clock. This environment would be my home for many of my formative years.

The goal of the program was to create bilingual students. We talked amongst ourselves in English, but our teachers gave their lessons entirely in Spanish and we were expected to reply to them in the language. The books kept in the classroom library were all in Spanish, too.

Despite its success inside the classroom, the program got off to a rough start in terms of its impression in the community.

Some community members disapproved of the program and took to town meetings to express their worries: They falsely believed that it was taking resources away from other English classes and making other kids feel left out.

A few of our teachers were ignored by other faculty members in the halls, and we students received the isolating title of “The Spanish Kids.”

This treatment dissipated over the years, but there were social dramas within the class itself since we were together every year.

Middle school was a turning point, however. In fourth grade we began having classes like art, physical education and music with other students. In sixth grade, Spanish became a single block in the day, sandwiched between English subjects. I went into that year attached at the hip to my Spanish friends, but I ended it with a whole new group.

Throughout the rest of middle and high school, most of my close friends were not part of the Immersion program.

But even as we got older, our Spanish classes, Advanced Placement and later dual-enrollment, were still mostly made up of our own kind. Stepping into those classrooms year after year felt like a return home.

In our senior year of high school, dual-enrollment Spanish was our last block of the day. It felt symbolic: We were the first group of students to take the class, and we figured everything out together just like we’d done 12 years ago.

When names were called on graduation day, my heart squeezed the most at hearing those of my Spanish Immersion classmates.

I am now studying journalism at Boston University with two minors, public relations and Spanish.

My peers have also continued to study the language, many double majoring in it with other programs like psychology, studio art and kinesiology.

Many of us have also traveled to Spanish-speaking countries, some multiple times. The trips weren’t specific to the Immersion program, but we put our skills from it to use.

This past summer, I visited Menorca with some college friends. I love speaking Spanish outside of an academic context, and on that trip I tried to do so whenever possible.

The conversations would start with me asking someone if I could practice my Spanish with them. Then they would ask me how I started speaking the language, and I would tell them the story of my small town: how my family entered the lottery for the Immersion program and won me a spot, how the school system succeeded at something new.

Looking back on the experiences I had and looking forward to how I’ll build from them, I come to a gratifying realization: I may never win the real lottery, but the one I did win makes me feel just as lucky.