Thanks, Mom and Dad, for Immigrating.

{Angel asked if he could contribute a blog post today, one that was very important to him, so I'm stepping aside.}

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I came across this article in the news recently--the story of immigrants who ended up willing their entire estate to the government of the United States of America. Their motivations aren't entirely clear, but it's suspected that these immigrants felt grateful to a country that had taken them in when their own countries had provided no home for them.

I've also recently been reading up on the background of the Rohingya, the people who seemingly no country will claim as their own, although they have searched desperately for somewhere where they can live normally.

Reading these stories brought my mind back to the immigrants in my life, my mother and father. I have come to realize that  my life is hugely influenced by the fact that I was born in America. I am grateful and thankful that I was born in a country where I was provided an education and where my family received assistance when we were living in poverty.

It is possible to get a good education in Mexico. It's possible to live comfortably and well. But it would not have been possible for me; my family is not among the rich and powerful. If it weren't for my parents individually moving to America in the years before I was born, my brothers and I wouldn't have had the kinds of opportunities that we have simply because we're American.

Everyone has some sort of immigrant story of their parents or grandparents going through great physical trials and personal sacrifice to come to America--there are so many stories that it's easy to just ignore them, or lump them all together, call it the "past", and be done with it. I know the reason that my parents came to America was that they thought the great country to the north offered them a brighter future. And it did--for them, as well as their children, and the next generation, too.

I know I could receive criticism for thanking my parents for doing something that was illegal. I know there's nothing that sets an red-blooded American's temper going like hearing that the child of a teenage undocumented immigrant was on WIC. But I can't help but be thankful--because what they did gave me the life I now get to have. As teens, my parents did something incredibly scary, leaving their families behind and moving to a country where they didn't speak the language. My mom didn't see her own mother or father for over 10 years, because if she went back to Mexico, she'd have had to stay. Neither of my parents had a high school education. My dad was homeless for a period of time when he first arrived. But they found ways to get work. As a child, I remember our family sharing a two bedroom apartment with another family so that we could afford the rent--my brother and I slept in the dining room. Dad was working in different machinery jobs, Mom was working as a CNA and going to school to get her cosmetology license.

No, my parents aren't perfect people, and they haven't always made the most strategic decisions. I hadn't learned any English by the time I was put in school, which is the dramatic story behind why I flunked kindergarten. I'm proud of them for hiring a lawyer and becoming U.S. Citizens--which they have now been for the majority of my life.

Because my parents chose to immigrate to America more than thirty years ago--today, they live in a safe neighborhood with a good school for my youngest brother. My parents may not have been able to go to high school, but I was able to get my Bachelor's Degree from a private university. My other brother served in the United States Military, and is now in the process of getting his Bachelor's Degree. Because of their choice, all three of us have had a life far easier than their own. We may speak Spanish every chance we get, and we may love homemade Mexican food, but we're American, because of choices my parents made long ago. They are a great example of parental love, to me, and I'm thankful to them for making our lives possible.