Derick Torres came into the earth in Newark, New Jersey on March 29, 2001, from an illegal immigrant. Knowing the risk, my mother gambled her life in the states. A dream manifesting from childhood, she began her trek in the bitter cold months living her first few months off of my uncle’s couch. She fought hard searching for a job every single day until she landed one in a marketing company. My father was still in Ecuador hustling away as a lawyer for a business there. He got a call announcing that his son was going to be born soon. After debating with himself, he left everything to help raise me. I don’t remember being poor, all I remember are the fun memories I had back in Jersey.
All I remember is play, I would always find something to challenge myself. From jigsaw puzzles to video games I would not be satisfied until I was stumped. The puzzles at school were easy, it was annoying to recite the alphabet or counting to 10. I was bored, the only entertainment I got came from recess when I could play with whatever I want. I didn’t like feeling alone, my parents found it to be a great achievement. They would stress the importance of school and learning. I wanted someone on my level to play with, and soon enough someone even better and brighter
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My brother was born December 15th, 2002. I remember trying everything I could to help raise him. I knew he was different, he didn’t act like any of the other kids. I still loved him though, I would always try to play with him. Through time he would begin to trust me, we solved puzzles, we watched movies, and we even started to wear the same clothes. He trusted me and he would copy me any way he could. We became closer after our apartment building burnt to the ground. I helped him through his trauma and soon enough we were back to play again. My family uprooted and moved to Utah to live. My brother struggled with school, I’d remedy this by helping him read, write, and
In Lives in Limbo, Roberto G. Gonzales dissects the disastrous effects of US immigration policy on young Latina/os struggling in the often untouched, unnoticed, uncared for, American underbelly. Through a striking ethnography, Gonzalez examines 150 illuminating case-studies of young undocumented Latina/os, shedding light on their shared experience in the struggle for legitimacy in the United States - their lives, effectively, in limbo. He develops two major groups with which to classify the struggling youth: the college-goers, like Cesar, who received strong marks in high school and was able to land himself a spot within the UC system, and the early-exiters, like Silvia, who was unable to attend college, resigned to a paranoid life plagued
Before coming to the United States illegally with his family, Francisco lived in a small village north of Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico. His family left Mexico in hopes of leaving their life of poverty behind them. Francisco and his family moved from place to place throughout California, following the crops and living in migrant labor camps. Unfortunately, Francisco’s father started to have back problems from picking crops for so many years. Francisco’s family lived in Bonetti Ranch in army barracks for a few years ...
Williams, Norma. (2009). The Mexican American family: tradition and change. New York: General Hall. (Primary)
A mother sees her children off to school at the school bus stop; however, they would never see each other again. The mother’s trip to the immigration check-in has caused a dramatic change in both her’s and her family’s lives. A story such as this, one where a parent is taken away and deported, is far too common in the U.S.A. An unsympathetic system of deportation has torn many families apart and has thrown away all the effort that immigrants have put into coming to America. Throughout the novel Enrique’s Journey by Sonia Nazario, a young boy named Enrique struggles to immigrate to the U.S. and faces many obstacles that infringe on his right to immigrate. The right to immigrate is threatened both in the U.S. and around the world by corrupt dysfunctional
One day, my parents talked to my brothers and me about moving to United States. The idea upset me, and I started to think about my life in Mexico. Everything I knew—my friends, family, and school for the past twenty years—was going to change. My father left first to find a decent job, an apartment. It was a great idea because when we arrived to the United States, we didn’t have problems.
In the result of her brother and father near death from a car wreck, my mother had to stay strong for all the siblings and family. The grief across the family was already bad enough and it wouldn’t have gotten better if it wasn’t for my mom getting mentally strong for everybody and keeping hope. It ended up her dad being fine but as for her brother it would've been a miracle if he lived due to the accident. After his rehabilitation and him getting better the family felt great but no one thought it could’ve gotten worse. Since the car was smashed her brothers head and left him with brain problems, Charles (her brother) forgot who the family was. The doctor and the whole family went through a long process of teaching Charles who they were. Eventually he remembered everything except for everything that had happened 2 years before the car crash. This was an experience that the family was not ready for at all and luckily my mom stayed strong for
May 14, 2017 Francisco Lopez was interviewed a few questions on what it means to be American in the United States. Francisco answered truthfully and honestly to his own opinion. He grew up in Mexico and didn't know about much of anything else besides home and school. He only knew that he was leaving to find a new home and he knew he wouldn't see anyone he meet at school anymore, but he couldn't understand why grandma and grandpa weren't going or why dad came back all of a sudden. At the age of 6 he was on his way to America. Mother and Father talked a lot about how there were so many jobs to choose from. Now at the age of 30 he understand why his parents decided to leave their old life in search for a new beginning.
Sonia Nazario, herself an immigrant, was aware of the acrimonious debate on undocumented migration through her work as a prominent Los Angeles journalist. The issue was brought to a head when her housekeeper’s son arrived unannounced from Guatemal...
Dr. Torres diagnosed Johnny with posttraumatic stress disorder during his most recent incarceration due to a difficult childhood. This childhood was riddled with abuse both physically, mentally, and emotionally which in itself is difficult to handle for any 5 year old. However having to endure the fear of watching your mother being abused and then having your father go to prison for shooting two neighbors really took a toll on Johnny.
In his book Lives in Limbo, author Roberto Gonzales explores undocumented student’s experiences through interviews and data retrieval. In U.S. dominant culture, the transition from adolescence to adulthood is believed to entail moving from full-time schooling to full-time work and from financial dependence to financial independence, living independently, getting married, and starting a family of one’s own. (Gonzales, 2015, 95) For undocumented youth, the transition to adulthood is more complicated, and as they leave adolescence, they enter the condition of illegality. Laws aimed at narrowing the rights of those unlawfully in the United States prevent these youths from participating in key adult rites of
When I look back at my childhood, I see it as a highly colored, exaggerated version of what it must have been. Everything seems brighter, and bigger than reality allows. It’s the ideal “child’s world,” full of Barbies, dress-up, and playgrounds. But, if I try hard enough, I can remember the feeling of being there. The feeling of being small, and nearly innocent. Most of the time when I think of my childhood, I look back on two specific years, kindergarten and first grade, and the summers before and after the two. Both of these took place in Schaumburg, Illinois, in a two-bedroom town-home that I still call “my old house” even though it’s not that anymore. I’m not sure if these are the years I simply remember the best, or if that was actually the time I felt most like a child. I had many friends, and we had plenty of time to play games and use our imaginations. Nevertheless, I don’t usually reminisce about the shows and movies that I used to watch, and certainly not how these things affected me growing up. When prompted, however, I can remember specifics. I even begin to see how visual texts, like The Little Mermaid and Full House, have influenced me throughout my life and especially in my childhood. I have felt the impact of these things in my life as recently as this year, and I can see not only how the shows I watched influenced my behavior, but also that I chose to watch shows and movies that I thought were representative of me.
My father has told me and my sister how lucky we are since we were born, how lucky he is. My father was encouraged by my grandparents to come to America and live a better life, much like Vargas was sent by his mother. My grandparents were middle class workers who wanted nothing but the best for their kids, trying their best to give 7 kids the best life possible and realized my father and my Aunt could only get so far in Morocco and had them apply for green
In the year 1980, the Ramirez family migrated to the United States led by my grandparent’s Francisco and Ana Ramirez, whom where the first to arrive to the land of opportunities. Their journey was not easy they had to struggle, and fight for their
In 1975, my mother’s parents had gone to America to try to find a stable job so they could later bring their children, to live a happier life since most of Mexico believed that America was where you
Up until March 5th of 2009, I had been an only child. Many big changes occurred in my life the year prior to the birth of my new brother. My mom became remarried, we moved to a bigger house down the same street, and there was talk of a new baby in the future. The remarriage was a small celebration held at a quaint location on a chilly fall night, a night you would rather be snuggled up on the couch with warm, fuzzy blankets drinking from a mug of hot cocoa. The move was a breeze, as I can just about see the old house through the tall maple trees from the new. I carried whatever I could back and forth, running quickly back down the street to grab more. The excitement of a new house chasing me to and from. Lastly, the talk of a sibling. I wasn’t sure what to think. The thought of a sister excited me, but a brother not so much. I wanted to share my dolls and dress up, not have to play with mud and trucks. Despite my wants, I had a feeling it was going to be a boy. The day of the ultrasound, I made a bet with my step-dad the baby would be a boy. After, I was a dollar richer and a sister of a brother to be. Having to wait a few more months to meet the little guy would be torture, as the anticipation was killing me slowly. I may not have been ready for the changes made and the ones to come, but I took them like a champ.