My name is Sgt. Maj. Jose A. Banks. I was born in Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic. As a kid, while others dreamed of becoming baseball stars or doctors, I was fixated on military life. Discipline, selfless service, and brotherhood were among the values that stood out, and I wanted to be part of that. At the age of eight, I even attempted a daring mission: convincing my parents to enroll me in the country’s only military academy at that time. Spoiler alert: it didn’t happen. My future in the military seemed destined to remain in the confines of my backyard, waging war with plastic soldiers and setting up base camps in the woods.
If you know anything about our Hispanic culture, you'll understand that respecting our parents is like an unspoken code, more sacred than any rulebook. I quickly realized my military dreams were not going to be part of my journey. As the eldest of three, I was supposed to be the shining example, but let’s be real, I still got my fair share of “Chancletazos” (Flip-Flop of Doom). Anyone with Hispanic roots can probably relate, whether you called it "La Chancla," "Chancletazo," or just "Pela," that swift sandal was a universal language for "You're in big trouble!" Talking back or lying were among the most common actions that would trigger a quick interview with the “La Chancla,” and you better not run because it makes it worse. My younger sister used to run all the time, it never ended well for her.
Besides the discipline and respect ingrained by my parents, Christianity is another aspect that represented the foundation of my values in our culture. Both of my grandmothers, God rest their souls, had a strong influence on my religious values. They both helped me understand true love through their actions, many times serving as our advocates, getting us out of punishment from mom and dad. They helped me understand the Golden Rule at an early age in my life: treat people with dignity and respect, regardless of how they might treat you. That rule stuck with me to this day, and it will remain in my heart for the rest of my life.
At the age of 12, life threw me a curveball when we migrated to the U.S., landing in the vibrant, diverse heart of the Bronx, New York. Everything was different: weather, language, schools, but the melting pot of cultures felt like a warm hug. I found comfort in the people around me. I have never been surrounded by so much diversity: Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, you name it, we were a mixed platter of Sabor Latino, all sharing a common thread of heritage and values even though we never met before.
My military dream had faded into the background, buried under college books and city life, until one day during my first semester of college. I spotted a fellow student in an Army uniform, and I couldn’t help but ask how she could be in the Army while attending college. She introduced me to the Army Reserve. The Army Reserve! It was like the universe whispered, “This is your shot, kid!”
So, without telling Mom (because, let’s be honest, the Chancla threat was still very real), I joined the Army Reserve. As expected, she wasn’t thrilled; she probably envisioned me ducking a flying flip-flop across the room, but she understood I was becoming a man.
People join the military for all sorts of reasons—some want the adventure, some crave the discipline, and others just like the idea of military discounts. But me? I just knew in my gut that I had to be a part of it. So, in August 1996, I packed my backpack and shipped off to Basic Training at Fort Leonard Wood, MO. Little did I know, I was about to embark on a wild ride.
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t exactly thinking ahead to becoming a Sergeant Major or racking up a list of benefits. Nope, I was just enjoying the ride serving, traveling the world, and being part of something bigger than myself. It was like my second migration. Just as I did when I first came to the U.S., I found myself in the middle of a beautifully diverse community, sharing food, swapping childhood stories, dancing and jamming out to each other’s music. It felt like I had stepped into a home away from home.
Serving in the Army, I’m especially proud of our rich Hispanic heritage. I’ve had some unforgettable experiences, like the time I served at United States Army Garrison, Fort Buchanan in Puerto Rico, or when I took part in Subject Matter Expert Exchanges with the Paraguayan Armed Forces. These moments left a lasting mark on me, reminding me of the unique opportunities the military offers.
But the best part? Wherever I go, I can always connect with my Hispanic roots. It’s not the benefits or the accolades that keep me going it’s that sense of belonging, that feeling of home, that has fueled my desire to continue serving all these years.
The values my parents and grandmothers hammered into me often with love, sometimes with a raised eyebrow have been the rock-solid foundation of my success as a leader. The first and most important lesson? The Golden Rule. Turns out, the secret to effective leadership is simple: treat everyone with respect and understanding, no matter their race, gender, or how much spicier their salsa is than yours. Seriously, everyone has a story, and if we take the time to listen to it before slapping our own perceptions on top, we might actually learn something new.
In our Hispanic culture, parents and grandparents are like the original life coaches. They’re the ones who keep us grounded, guide us, and yes, sometimes give us those “teachable moments” we’ll never forget. I was lucky enough to soak in their love, wisdom, and, let’s be honest, their occasional stumbles too. They taught me not just how to lead, but how to live.