Essay On Personal Narrative: My Life As An Immigrant

In the mid 1980’s my mother immigrated to the United States of America with the help of one of her sister who was already living in California. She left me in the care of my grandmother who became like a mother overtime (Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2007:25). Growing up in Mexico I never considered the type of work my mother was doing in the US, but I would hear las lenguas (people talking) in my neighborhood, saying that my mother was likely barriendo los doloras (sweeping up dollars) from the streets en el Norte (in the North). At night, I would lay in bed thinking about my mother sweeping up dollar bills from the streets. I imagined her with a smile -contenta (happy). The dollars she was supposedly sweeping up allowed her to provide for me, but also reinforced

I recall one day while waiting for my mom to arrive from work a white man dropping her off in a large truck infront of our apartment. My mother stepped out of the truck and waved bye to the man. “Ese era el Jerry, es el del rancho” she told me. During my school vacations, I would go to work with my mother. She did not want me staying home because she feared I would get into some trouble. Getting to her work was a struggle. Since we had to travel by bus from Escondido to Poway, and transfer buses we were always vulnerable to the harassment and attacks of la migra (border pratol). In those days, la migra andava dura (border patrol was policing immigrant communities heavily). In fact, border patrol agents frequented main bus transit stations waiting for brown bodies to disembark buses. Encountering immigration authorities while undocumented is a frightening event that leaves one shaking with fear. To avoid being questioned by the immigration officers we would quickly make our way to the mall that stood across the transit center until the situation