My Father: Immigrant Parents

Being a daughter of immigrant parents has never been easy here in America. Both my parents worked excessively hard to be financially stable. Unfortunately at the age of ten my life changed. I learned that my parents no longer loved each other. The arguing and fighting my parents had, only damaged me emotionally. I was too young to grasp the idea that my parents were separating which become one of the hardest times for my mom to maintain my siblings and I. Shortly after, I began attending church and fell in love with the idea of getting closer to God. Luckily, my life took an enormous turn the moment I gave my life to Christ. God has opened numerous opportunities for my education. I am proud of all the accomplishments I have achieved in high

Just like many immigrant families, my family had to encounter many adversities in the United States. My mother had to live the harsh experience of walking long hours and starve as she battled to cross the border of Mexico and the United States. Nothing, not even the fact that she was 5 months pregnant was going to stop her because her dream of giving me a better life was stronger than any hardship. My father was a legal resident of the United States but during this period of time it was very hard for an immigrant person to aspire for a good job. He was destined to work in the fields for many years. I grew up and went to elementary school and since my father was working out in the fields I was signed up to the Migrant Program. As a small elementary

I do not consider myself nor my family to be any form of the word immigrant. An immigrant is a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country. I would modify the definition and interpolate the word “voluntarily” into the definition. Furthermore, in accordance with the directives of this assignment, I will explain what family history I am aware of to the best of my ability.

It’s been a year since my father passed away. Traditionally, my family will get together that day to mourn and recall the memory of my dad. When we cleaned his desk a few months ago, we found these old newspaper articles about dad and our family, refugee immigrants who were resettled in Kansas City area over than two decades ago.

There were three lessons that my immigrant parents ingrained in their first-generation children: Work hard, never give up, and most importantly, give back. Among other life lessons they taught us, these three were the basis for everything. It would be the basis that would and will define me as a person.

I was born in a small ranch in Mexico, and raised in Oregon .My first year and a half I grew up with only my mother and grandmother, my father in the US trying to raise enough money to send to my mom and me . I came to the United States with my mom at the time in only understood Spanish. The Spanish language stayed with me up until I was 3 , I was the only child but my older cousins taught me a new foreign language. From the moment I learned to speak English to almost 14 years later, being a year away fro graduation its been a big struggle. Fighting against the "I cant's" and "failure" it's been a bumpy ride. Something that has really shaped my life is, as I grew up I didn't quite understand the meaning of immigrant, my 7 year old mind didn't

Immigrant groups take refuge in America in hope of starting a better life for themselves and their ongoing generations. They take on the belief that upon coming to America, they will be presented by the riches and freedom granted by the “American Dream”. However, these opportunities are not easily achieved. Many immigrant families are challenged with the initial obstacles of having to adapt to the new languages and the customs of their environment. For example, without the basic knowledge of the standard English language, immigrants will not be able to apply for a majority of the jobs available. This puts immigrant parents at disadvantages because then they will not be able to provide the sufficient funds needed for allowing their children

Hello reader, I’m about to tell you a story of some of my life. I am not normally one to volunteer details about myself, which I’ll remain somewhat reserved or completely leave some events out of this autobiography. Nonetheless, I believe I can still make my story interesting for the reader. I was born 1979, in Tampa, Florida; which, is also the same day my biological father decided to leave my mother and I. My mother isn’t a native Floridian, but had moved there with her family when she was still an infant, and had spent most of her life growing up in Florida. Needless to say, my father leaving was not an exciting time for my mother and I. Although she was employed Jimmy Cater was president and had taken the nation into

It is not uncommon to hear one recount their latest family reunion or trip with their cousins, but being a first generation immigrant, I sacrificed the luxury of taking my relatives for granted for the security of building a life in America. My parents, my brother, and I are the only ones in my family who live in the United States, thus a trip to India to visit my extended family after 4 years was an exciting yet overwhelming experience. Throughout the trip, I felt like a stranger in the country where I was born as so many things were unfamiliar, but there were a few places that reminded me of my childhood.

My family immigration story involves a lot of typical topics and a few hardships which people may not expect. By my generation, we have become accepted as White. However, both of my grandmothers had mixed ancestry.

Growing up with two immigrant parents, me and my siblings were and still are their go to source when needing help translating something or talking to someone in the store or on the phone. Like the author Amy Tan, when my mother has a question about why her phone bill was higher than usual or needing help with a product at a store, we are her go to source. Although my parents spoke english fluently, their thick accents made it hard for people to understand them. They would not be taken as seriously when speaking with others as if their accents made them sound as if they were less educated not knowing they spoke over three languages.

Throughout my entire life I have heard the word “immigrant” countless times, inmy childhood, in my middle school days, and especially nowadays with the controversial topic taking over social media. I’ve been labelled with this word or image ever since my birth, and yet I still don’t exactly know how I should feel about that.

I am a first generation Asian American and my life began when my father was 18 years old. From China with basically the clothes on his back, he traveled across the sea to the United States, the dreamland, all in the hope of a better future. He worked endlessly with few days off to provide for his family and continue to do so today, which only allowed me to see him one day a week at the most. He told me that's the burden he has to bear so I can have an easier life, working in a job I like. My mother's life story doesn't differ much from my father's with the only major distinction being that it centered around my life. She wake up 5 in the morning to cook my lunch for school and to become my personal chauffeur. If I need her, she is there. Since

I was raised in a close-knit family household, which has left me with great memories and many stories, but I have also had first hand experience the troublesome transition of Mexican immigrant parents to America. However, the trajectory my of success my parents have had without any resources has encouraged and impacted me greatly to go out and help those in need, because everyone has the potential of greatness. Even though I didn't always have the dolls, clothes, home, or shoes I wanted, I was too busy to mind, because school academics and dance have been a passion of mine since I was smaller; it fills my heart with joy every time I am part of these things. Besides, having two brothers made everyday something special, and I still love taking

I have had two different names growing up. My parents came to America at the turn of the new millennium with big dreams and hopes. Coming from a devout Jainist society, their perspectives towards life were very different; they believed in hard work and most of all nonviolence. I, on the other hand grew up in a sweet, small southern town on the tip of Florida. Life was all about going to the sandy beaches, chilling with pals, and just having a “good ole time”.