My grandmother moved from Ireland to Westminster in London right as WW2 begin because at least she could eat there. Unfortunately after coming home from her waitress job one evening her entire building was gone. Thankfully my great aunt and my grandmother both were not there, many people they knew were killed.

They reluctantly decided to move in with their aunt in New York City. They hated it there and asked around on where Irish lived in a less dirty city, to which many people responded Cleveland. There my grandmother met my grandfather who had just finished his tour on the 8th Armored Tank Division. He also came from Ireland and knew that coming to the US meant he would fight for a country he wasn't even a citizen of. Unfortunately he died long before I was born but my grandmother lived to 94 (I was 15 when she passed) and was a history book and loved sharing stories. She was amazed in her late days that you could look up pictures of London during the war on Google. I also got to hear the stories of the many nights spent in the tube stations during the Blitz.

My grandfather dug holes as a union laborer and my grandmother was a waitress at a classy restaurant. They fished up enough money to send my dad to Catholic high school (the same school which I just graduated from 4 years ago). My dad and I both owe our success in life to the fact that the United States is an immigrant nation. I think when I have it hard that at least I have a place to sleep at night an I don't have to get on a boat to go fight for another country I've never been to before.

The Mexicans and Arabs are the new Irish. We cannot push them away when they need us the most.