Personal Narrative: My Life In The United States

Life in the United States for my father and I had been unkind. We lived in a really beaten up trailer home in Northeast Portland. We had no money and were on the verge of becoming homeless. Too poor to buy food from the grocery store, we survived on partially spoiled food from local food banks and the extra food I would snatch from school. Our trailer, with poor 1970’s insulation and paper thin aluminum tin exterior, was practically a refrigerator during winter. We had no heating, nor electricity, so much of my time I spent at school, which kept me warm and fed Monday through Friday. It had been this way for years. My dad was unemployed, had health issues, and no formal education. My mother wasn’t around, and most of my family either lived in El Salvador or Bolivia. We were virtually alone in the United States. On a few occasions, conditions for us had been so severe that we abandoned our lives in the United States altogether and moved to different countries all over Latin America. Taking us as far as Bolivia and Perú, to closer countries like México, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Belize.

Initially, I would work for other people. For instance I would deliver pan dulce for a bakery or haul crates of vegetables at el mercado, but eventually I realized I was not making enough. So I became my own boss and sold anything I get my hands on. I sold everything from chips to cigarettes on the cracked concrete streets of Guatemala City. It was a great gig, and I was naturally a great salesman, I made just enough to help my family. For the first time ever I became the main source of income for the family. Feeling proud and accomplished I overlooked the sacrifice I was making. I was among the millions of children around the world who worked instead of receiving an