From the beginning, my family was a happy one; a typical urban family. Until the day my father left. Now my father wasn 't a deadbeat dad, he was there throughout my whole development from a baby to a seven year old child. It just was one dreadful day when immigration decided to take him away. I still remember that day so vividly as if it’s been played back to me repeatedly for years. I was having lunch with my father and my little brother that day. We heard an unwavering knock on the door. The persistent knocking brought to my father’s attention, he smiled at me and my brother and then he opened the door. I would’ve never imagined this smile will be the last one I received in a long time. There were two Caucasian men at the door. I don …show more content…
My father hesitantly stepped away from the door and left to get a suitable shirt and shoes. As he passed me he whispered “Take care of your little brother for me. Ok, Princess?”
“Ok,” I was perplexed. I still didn 't understand where he was going.
As the unknown man pulled the door closed I yelled “Where is he going?”
He uttered a four word lie that I will remember for my whole lifetime “He 's coming right back.” The hardest part was having to explain to my little brother that my father was gone. That same night I remember all of my siblings and my mother in one room, and that 's when we received a call. I just remember my mother coming back with stressful tears in her eyes. I wish her pain stricken faces wasn’t embedded in my memory. I was young and confused I didn 't understand why they took him because my father wasn 't a criminal, he was a working man that was trying to make ends meet for his family. I didn’t understand the full concept of immigration I just knew my father was gone and may not come back. And because of that it negatively impacts me education wise. I wasn 't focused and I was rebellious. No one knew the problems I was going through they just saw a little girl who wanted trouble. And because of that I was bullied. Everyday coming to school was a struggle because I was constantly reminded by my peers that my father is
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I was excited because I will finally have my family back together. After 5 years of lonesome, worry, struggle, and tears he arrived. Unfortunately, it didn’t lasts long after a year of my father’s arrival I felt my parents distant natures. The love wasn’t there and they avoided each other like a plague. My mother and father finally announced to us that they are separated and they said this is the best route for them to grow as individuals. My father moved away from us and we lost all contact altogether. My story is complicated and even now difficult to rewrite even though I written only a segment of it. Throughout my journey I 've learned many things. One thing I learned is the obvious universal lesson of every struggle story "Never give up". But a lesson I will never forget is what my mother taught me "Dan òkun ko ṣe ti o dara sailors" meaning smooth seas don 't make good sailors. People may say you went through so much in your life how does that not affect you? My answer will be everything I went through I won 't be able to count them using only my hands. My struggles will forever define me, each struggle left a scar on me. My scars doesn 't alter: my beauty, or intelligence, or even my identity. It enhances it. I am a soldier I have went to war countless times with
At the age of two my parents made the long and devastating journey to bring me and my siblings to the United States from Mexico. Wanting a brighter future for us, my parents fought tooth and nail to give us the world they didn’t grow up having. Ever since stepping foot on the U.S soil, going back seemed impossible. The effects of this life-changing move, couldn’t mask the unforeseen disadvantages. Lacking exposure to Mexico’s colorful culture, little to no bonding time with my family from abroad, and the struggle of trying to blend into an environment that was so different, soon began to interfere with my overall identity. Realizing this, my wonderful parents prepared a transformative trip back to my homeland, and back to the past, facing
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.
To understand the first one there is a little background story to it. My family came into America as Illegal Mexican immigrants, although now they are citizens of the United States. My parents have friends that had come to America as well. After living here for numerous years and having children already in high school, one of my family’s friends Caesar was apprehended for speeding and ultimately deported back to Mexico for this small infraction. From what my parents have told me this drastically changed the life of that family entirely. In the beginning they were coping well but eventually their mother needed help drawing in more income. Along with this both of their son’s schools work began to turn down. Their grades suffered, I remembering hanging out with them and having a great time until someone mentioned the word father. Discouraged that they had to live like this, I feel it was the biggest problem. Eventually what came to pass was that both brothers had to find jobs to help their mother. These two promising people who could have easily been admitted into a university were forced to suffer on behalf of their parents. Although my family friend was not sent to jail the premise of being sent away as punishment and the stigma would share similar
My Dad came to America by himself at the age of thirteen from India, hoping to achieve the widely known American Dream. He wanted to do this for his family and to have a better future. The oldest of two brothers, my father had to work a couple of jobs at a very young age. He skipped school for two years in order to make ends meet. He then started school to get back on track. The thrive and effort he put into his studies and work demonstrates how hard he succeeded to get to where he is now. He got accepted to well known universities. His hardships and work ethics with dealing with the society in America is similar to the film Real Women Have Curves and the articles, “ The economic Reality of being Latino/a in America”, “Unequal Childhoods: Class,
Fortunately, contrary to what we had originally thought we were one of the few lucky ones. Our family stayed together and as immigrants, we continue to struggle through the many negative stigmas. This is not the ending to our story but simply a story of new beginnings in a foreign country. As my parents say frequently “America is the land of opportunity” and this is an opportunity I will hold tightly and never let
Since I am not of native decent my family has gone through the immigration process on both sides. My family tree dates back generations to Ireland and England. My father is mainly Irish, his Irish roots trace back to his grandparents. His family had remained in Ireland for centuries until later immigrating to the U.S. The history further than my great-grandparents is vague as my father’s family had lived in Ireland for generations before. Despite being predominately Irish my closest roots with immigration come from England. My grandfather on my mother’s side is a first-generation citizen and is the only immigrant I have known in my family. He often discusses his roots in England and what life was like adjusting to life in America. His stories provide a unique perspective of life in America, verse life in England where our family originates from.
Because of some of the circumstances that make me who I am, it is hard to say I have any one definitive home. Instead, I have had two true homes, ever since I was a young child. What makes this even more of a conundrum is that my homes have always had little in common, even though they are only a few hundred miles apart. Between the big city of Houston, Texas, and the small town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, I have grown up in two very different towns that relate to one another only in the sense that they have both raised me.
In 2012, I moved to San Francisco nervous but excited. I knew that as an immigrant in a new and strange place, I would face many obstacles, but those obstacles were no match for what my parents endured being away from me for so many years in order to work and ensure I had a better life than they did. When I moved in with my parents in San Francisco, I appreciated catching up on lost time. However, I also often found myself upset when my parents recounted their day and how hard they worked. It hurts me to see the pain and exhaustion in their eyes when they came home after working two full-time jobs. I felt compelled to lighten
I never would have imagined feeling like an outsider in my own home. Unfortunately I wouldn’t even go as far as considering my current home as “my home.” I live in a house with eight people and two dogs and for some, that might not even be slightly overwhelming, but for me it is. I try to keep my heart open about the situation, but I always end up feeling like I don’t belong. Given the circumstances of my situation, I would say life definitely turned out better than what I initially expected, but I was left feeling like a “stranger in a village” having to live with a family that is nothing like my own.
Well this is just one example of how deportation of parents can put a stain on their kids,its hard for me take care of myself I college doing laundry, clean, and sometimes even cooking. I have found it increasingly difficult to take care of myself and i'm consider an adult, not only that my mom only lives thirty minutes east of me. For me, if life ever becomes too hard, its nothing more than a forty minute car ride back to Grand Island and I'm back into the comfort of my home and family support.I could not imagine what i would do one day if a went home and my moms was not there to greet me with a hot meal and shelter, so when I hear stories of these kids losing the parent of deportation without a trace it make me feel for
My parents had go to Switzerland the week after for the funeral and the family. We had school going on and my parents decided to leave us with friends and go by their own. I stayed at a very good friend of mine, and my sister at one hers. They left and, where going to stay there at least a week. The time I spent there was really hard. Not only because the most helpful people I could have been with where away but I kept on having flashbacks.
Even though I clearly remember all the sanity me and my little family went through. I never wanted them to know their mother just up and disappear on them. I took a deep breath and was about ready to tell them the whole truth. They already knew too much. But right before I could speak, I became suddenly unspoken-less. They gave me this look, not a look of sadness, more like a look of pride and honor. They both huddle close to me and gave me a hug. The words that came from their mouths next. I 'll never forget
This experience was the hardest on me emotionally. As a child, you view your parents as almost invincible and losing them is never a thought that crosses your mind. After my mom had surgery, the procedure caused peritonitis, which is a very severe complication. At the time, I feared losing my mom, but Christ gave me peace in the situation. “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (KJV, Phil. 4:13). Through the power of prayer and God, my mom survived the emergency surgery. Even the medical bills were miraculously provided for by many gifts from family and friends. “Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.” (Jeremiah 33:3). The possibility of losing a parent was the most difficult experience of my life; however, during this trial, I experienced enourmous growth in Christ. After my mom healed from her surgery, God called my father to Source of Light Ministries in Madison, Georgia. My family moved to Madison, which is where I would spend the next seven years of my life. My spiritual growth continued a little slower throughout those peaceful
My parents arrived in the United States hoping for a better future not for themselves, but for the baby they carried in their arms. We would often move from relatives ' houses since my parents couldn’t afford renting an apartment themselves. We were fortunate enough to have caring relatives who didn 't mind us living with them since they knew the hardships we were going through. I grew up in a household where only Spanish was spoken given that both my parents didn’t speak any English at all. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher was afraid that I would be behind the rest of my classmates, given that I only spoke Spanish fluently. I was fortunate to receive free tutoring from my kindergarten teacher. We would often read books together until
Complicated is a good word to describe my childhood. I am originally from Lima, Peru, where I lived my first eight years. Also, I am the only child of my mom Susana Ramos, a secretary, and Julio Ayin, a pilot of the Peruvian air force. Since before I was born, my parents were separated because of infidelities. Both, frequently argued over money and myself. I had to constantly attend counseling sessions because I was acting up, due to the fact that I was getting affected by my parent’s hostile encounters. As a kid, I always looked at my friends and saw how their family were united and how they had a great relationship with their father, which I always wanted but never got. I spend countless nights, crying and trying to figure out why my father never came to see me and every time I ask him why he never told me. Until one day I found out that he got