My family is the definition of the American dream. My parents immigrated to the United States to give themselves and their future children a chance at a better life than what they lived. They spent a decade building themselves up. They got jobs and learned broken English. Through all the hardships of being undocumented in a country that wanted their labor, and culture, but discarded their needs they succeeded. They purchased a house, built a family with two children, and built a life for themselves. But there was no way to hide the fact that they weren't born here. Like they say in Spanish, "tenemos el nopal en la frente." This literally means that we have a cactus on our forehead. But the figurative meaning is that we clearly look like stereotypical Mexicans, with brown skin, brown eyes, and hair.

As I grew up, I saw the struggles my parents faced. I saw the racism and discrimination my father faced at his workplace. My dad’s boss would severely underpaid him because his boss knew he was undocumented and it would be very hard to get another job. Likewise, I had to translate for them when we were at the doctor's office. In fact, translating was my job every time we had to go out anywhere. When my cousin was getting married, we weren't able to go because there was an immigration checkpoint on the way to the venue. We knew that if we had gone, we would have had to pass through the immigration checkpoint. Since, my parents are undocuemtned there is a high chance of being detained, our family would be separated and possibly deported which would destroy my life.

My brother was 21, he was finally able to petition for our parents since he is a United States citizen. It was finally the time when my parents were allowed to apply for their residency. This was a big moment in our family. This was a tedious and expensive process. They had to get letters from our neighbors to prove they had been good citizens, make sure they had their taxes in order and documents to prove they had built a long life and the funds to pay for the expensive process. In all, my parents had already waited more than two decades, they still had to wait about two more years.

I remember the day leading up to their immigration interview. My parents sat the whole family down and had a serious and heavy talk with us. They let me know that if they were denied their residency, for whatever reason, we would all have to move back to Mexico. This was a very scary thing to think about. I've lived in the hot desert state of Arizona since birth. I was not ready to leave everything I knew: the language, my home, my friends, and even my extended family. I didn't want to pack up my whole life in the United States and start from zero in Mexico. The night before I couldn't sleep. I was so nervous. I kept looking at my clock and time seemed to stand still. I yearn for my mom and dad to hug their parents. This was too much. I was just 15 years old. I should be thinking about my favorite TV show, not whether tomorrow will be my last day at school.

On the day of the immigration interview, I wasn’t able to go into the interview room because I was underage. So I spent about an hour in the waiting room with the other families that were experiencing the same thing as me. I sat there in the cold room, trying not to cry. Finally, my parents came out with the biggest smiles on their faces. At that moment, I knew that they were accepted. I was ecstatic that all of the hard work my parents did had finally paid off. I was so happy because now we could spend time together as a family. We didn't have to leave my parents behind to visit family in Mexico or outside of the Phoenix area. But most importantly, my parents were allowed to reunite with their families in Mexico after 25 years. So many times they would say "Abrazalos por mi" finally they could hug them, kiss them, and catch up or we would leave everything behind.

For all of my life, my family and I lived in fear. In fear of ice raids, police stops, checkpoints, and deportation. But after the day my parents were accepted as residents, we were free. We are free to go anywhere and to be ourselves.

The children of immigrants don't get to be children. We lose our innocence watching our parents' backs bend, break. I am an old soul because when I am young, I watch my parents' spirits get slaughtered.

The realities of an “American Dream”