Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Saturday, December 1, 2007
My First Post
I wanted to give you a little background on my motivation to create this blog. It started when my 7 year old son and I where having a conversation while on a family vacation in New York City.
We were walking around town just talking about all the people on the streets and how everyone was talking in different languages.
I could sense he was intrigued by this and asked me where did all these people come from? As we were rushing through the crowd I just quickly explained to him that these people came from all over the world. A brief explanation was fine as the day before we had been to the Statue of Liberty and we already had spoken about how people from all over the world leave their country to come live in the United States.
A very matter of fact conversation between a father and a son and then he asked:
" Daddy - Do you remember the day you came from Nicaragua?"
I must confess, I have not answered his question. Why? I don't know? But I will and I do know that the search for the answer is the motivation for this blog.
Today, the topic of immigration if such a galvanizing issue in America. It does not matter if you are an illegal immigrant or if you have gone through the process to come to America legally. The day you arrived in America, is the same for all....the begining of your journey.
Here is the story of mine:
My journey began on Saturday, March 27, 1982. It had only been a month since my 13th birthday. It was a sunny day in Managua, Nicaragua and I remember being excited that our family (mom, dad and my two younger brothers) was going to Florida on vacation.
It was suppossed to be just a for a week! My grandparents, my aunts and cousins were all at the airport to wish us farewell. There was lost of crying and excitment and I thought - We are coming back next week so why all the crying?
I did not understand then, but my parents knew what was about to happen as they made the most courageous decision of their life. My parents made a good living in Nicaragua and gave us a great life, but life was not easy then. We had endured some very difficult times since the Sandinista Revolution in 1979 and like most parents...they wanted a better future for us.
Even it if meant leaving it ALL behind. A brand new beginning, full of uncertainty and doubt, but with the hope that in America they could give their children a better life.
We arrived at Miami International Airport and I remember the crowd, the lights and how clean everything was. A college friend of my father was waiting for us to pick up us and take us to his home in Davie, Florida.
Not having any clue which direction we were heading all I remember was how many cars where on the road and all the billboards. I could not read most of them as I did not speak any English (only my father spoke English) but I do remember being able to recognize the McDonalds sign.
This was my first of many trips on I-95. We arrived at the house were we would be staying for our "vacation" and the thing I remember the most was that there were so many people there to greet us. It was like a big welcome party to celebrate our arrival.
At 13 years old, I did not get to grasp the meaning of that day, however, for my parents it must have been such a scary moment. I am lucky that my parents are still alive and I thank them for all their sacrifies they have made these last 25 years. I am most greatful for the courage they had to bring us to America in search for a better life.
Today, I am living the American dream.
We were walking around town just talking about all the people on the streets and how everyone was talking in different languages.
I could sense he was intrigued by this and asked me where did all these people come from? As we were rushing through the crowd I just quickly explained to him that these people came from all over the world. A brief explanation was fine as the day before we had been to the Statue of Liberty and we already had spoken about how people from all over the world leave their country to come live in the United States.
A very matter of fact conversation between a father and a son and then he asked:
" Daddy - Do you remember the day you came from Nicaragua?"
I must confess, I have not answered his question. Why? I don't know? But I will and I do know that the search for the answer is the motivation for this blog.
Today, the topic of immigration if such a galvanizing issue in America. It does not matter if you are an illegal immigrant or if you have gone through the process to come to America legally. The day you arrived in America, is the same for all....the begining of your journey.
Here is the story of mine:
My journey began on Saturday, March 27, 1982. It had only been a month since my 13th birthday. It was a sunny day in Managua, Nicaragua and I remember being excited that our family (mom, dad and my two younger brothers) was going to Florida on vacation.
It was suppossed to be just a for a week! My grandparents, my aunts and cousins were all at the airport to wish us farewell. There was lost of crying and excitment and I thought - We are coming back next week so why all the crying?
I did not understand then, but my parents knew what was about to happen as they made the most courageous decision of their life. My parents made a good living in Nicaragua and gave us a great life, but life was not easy then. We had endured some very difficult times since the Sandinista Revolution in 1979 and like most parents...they wanted a better future for us.
Even it if meant leaving it ALL behind. A brand new beginning, full of uncertainty and doubt, but with the hope that in America they could give their children a better life.
We arrived at Miami International Airport and I remember the crowd, the lights and how clean everything was. A college friend of my father was waiting for us to pick up us and take us to his home in Davie, Florida.
Not having any clue which direction we were heading all I remember was how many cars where on the road and all the billboards. I could not read most of them as I did not speak any English (only my father spoke English) but I do remember being able to recognize the McDonalds sign.
This was my first of many trips on I-95. We arrived at the house were we would be staying for our "vacation" and the thing I remember the most was that there were so many people there to greet us. It was like a big welcome party to celebrate our arrival.
At 13 years old, I did not get to grasp the meaning of that day, however, for my parents it must have been such a scary moment. I am lucky that my parents are still alive and I thank them for all their sacrifies they have made these last 25 years. I am most greatful for the courage they had to bring us to America in search for a better life.
Today, I am living the American dream.
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