Agreed, obviously it’s not the case for everybody but I feel sorry sometimes for people who’s ancestors have been here for a few generations.

I’m the eldest of immigrants. My parents are from Mexico and Central America, my father and his sister arrived to the states when they were 17 and my mother was 15 when she arrived with her mom and dad. Neither of them spoke English, my dad got here and went to work odd jobs until he learn enough English to have a steady job, and my mother went got to go to school here for a bit.

They met through my aunt (my dads sister) and got married, had three kids and rented out someone’s garage. My mom watched the kids and educated us the best she could while my father worked low-wage jobs until he got his Class A and saved up to move us into a house. We didn’t leave that garage until I was 16, I always knew that we were poor since we were young because I would go to my friends house and see that they had their own room with a big TV and would go do stuff on weekends while me, my brother and my dad would go and help my dad work odd jobs.

Sometimes I feel like I missed out on my “childhood”, but I’m glad that we grew up the watching our parents struggle. My dad always told us, “If I could come here, without knowing the language, and own a home, there is no excuse for anybody that is born here to not be able to do the same”.

I’ve always dealt with depression and fear in the past but my fathers words and memories of him struggling always played in my head and it kept me going. My parents worked too hard for me to become a drug addict or a criminal. It boggles my mind how many people my age feel like people owe them better jobs, or don’t wanna fight against their depression. Life can be cruel and unfair, but that doesn’t mean we just surrender.

I feel grateful for it all.