I was raised on stories of orange trees, large neighborhood communities, romanticism and joy. The third youngest of ten, my dad came from a family whom I always thought was never ending until recently. Actually, I would always tell people that my dad had too many brothers for me to count or remember until recently. Living in the same house, in the same neighborhood, the Lopez family had built barrios; Latino neighborhoods, where all of the family lived. Everyone was nearby; the uncles; cousins, grandfathers, great-great-great-grandmothers, all lived in the same area with homes that were large enough to fit the large nuclear families which varied from 10-14. I grew up hearing countless stories about my family but I hardly heard about how my parents arrived to America. If it wasn't because I asked and asked questions, I don;t think I would have gotten to hear their immigration stories. That's just something you don't talk about.
My mom was born and raised in a Christian home as opposed to my dad who grew up in a Catholic one. Both my grandparents; from my mom and dad's sides, were hardworking laborers who began to make a living in Mexico through commerce and agriculture. Successfully, both of my grandparents began their own business and were very successful selling, and growing their products- expanding their business very quickly in the 1930's. Their businesses did so well they hired laborers to help them do the work. My dad tells me stories about how him and his brothers were expected to come home after school and help their dad with the business. My mom on the other hand was not allowed to work. Sarcastically she once told me, "one day I told my parents I didn't want to go to school anymore- so I didn't". My mom's family was very stable and so was my dad's. With my parent's admiration of their homeland, I constantly begged the question, "then why did you leave?".
In 1991 the process of immigration began for my parents. Since two of my dad's brothers lived in Texas at the time- as laborers, he decided to bring my mom with him to America and join them in pursuing the American dream. Through a visa, he was able to come America for a year or so until he went back to marry my mom and brought her back with him. After applying for my mom to get a visa; through an international dance team, my mom crossed the boarder with the help of a coyote- whom people payed to to help them cross the boarder. In a bus of 50 women or so, they made their journey from Juarez, Mexico to the border near San Diego. Once or twice, my mom tells me that when they stopped to rest along the way, there were always people who tried to make her believe that they had a "better way" of crossing the border with American citizenship. Without my dad, her and her friend in once occasion, did believe one person who told them he could help them quickly get to the U.S. Eventually;after figuring out the guy was a fraud, they had to formulate a way to run away from where they had taken them.
Prior to my mom immigrating to the U.S. my dad had crossed the border with a visitors visa so as my mom made the process of immigrating, my dad was ready to pick her up at the destination she was said to arrive. Arriving in San Diego, my dad joyfully picked her up and began their long road trip to Seattle. Upon their arrival, my mom had the hardest time assimilating to the American culture. Since my dad had already lived in the U.S for a little while and since he was mainly at work all the time, it was easier for him to get used to the American lifestyle. For my mom however, it was the first time she was away from home. It was the first time she had ever left the country. Neither of them spoke any English either. It is mind blowing to me that neither of them spoke any English and yet where able to make a living.
Starting from the bottom, my dad began working as a janitor in a restaurant, and eventually worked his way up. He later became co-owner of another restaurant with two of his older brothers after a couple of years in the U.S. My dad had to teach himself or learn from mistakes. I ask my papi how he was able to manage a business and do business work when he did not receive any education on how to run a business, and he would always say, "I don't know mija, it was God". Because of this, my parents have always enlisted in my siblings and I the importance of hard work. Though we may not know the exact hardships my parents had to go through in Mexico in order for them to want to leave, the things they experienced were enough for them to want to come to America and stay here as strangers. Now, after living here for more than 20 years, America is "our home" they say. My mom always tells me that it would be nice to go back home and visit, but she would never want to go back to live there.
Although Mexican traditions and values are very valuable and important in our family, I [we] understand that the opportunities that this country has given my parents to succeed, has enabled us to be the family we are. America has brought hardships, yet it has brought us a new life. The immigration of my parents has begun a new cycle of opportunities for the generations to come in my family. For this, I am thankful.
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