Narrative Of The Immigrant Narrative

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.

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.

I remember the day I knew I belonged in Emergency Services. I was a young cadet in the Civil Air Patrol, assigned to the radios on a search and rescue ground team. Somewhere in Northern Connecticut, an emergency beacon was calling for help, and it was up to us to find it. The high-pitched siren was the only sound in the van as I carefully manipulated the radio direction finder and called out instructions to the driver. The excitement and tension in the van were palpable as we closed in on the beacon.

I was always a precocious child, yet argumentative and rebellious. I did not want to accomplish anything following a pattern set for me. I wanted to forge my own way. This determination set me at odds with my mother, and has defined our relationship all these years. It has surely led me down my own irregular path in life, and placed me in position to be the family’s black sheep.

With the settlement of first immagrants to America, this has been the phrase in which they preach. I seemed to those from an outside perspective of America, that this was the place to be. This was no exception for my grandfather. His valuable lessons of dedication, persistence and passion have shaped me into the person that I have become.

I interviewed a beautiful and courageous woman, of African descent. Born and raised in Monrovia, Liberia on May 20, 1969. In addition, she has one biological brother and three step siblings. Currently she resides in Loganville, Georgia, where she lives with her two children. By the same token, she and her husband been married for twenty-one years to her loving high school sweetheart husband. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she lost her husband in the line of duty. Causing her to become a widow, continuing to survive life without her husband. When I conducted this interview, had one topic in mind that I wanted to learn more about her life as an immigrant and how did influence her life.

I am from a country with beautiful landscapes that has turned into a warzone country.

I chose my immigrant participant from a personal perspective, yet not knowing much about him. Last year, my first year teaching, I had a little boy in my class that was Latino, very shy and quite. He struggled in reading and writing and after meeting with his parents and ESOL teacher several times, the decision was made to retain him in first grade. His parents, especially dad was hesitant about the decision, and began to tell small glimpses of how his son was very much like him, shy, and scared to reach out because of the language barrier. There was never much elaborated on, but I could tell that dad had possibly been in a similar situation before. This year, I was lucky enough to have this same child in my first grade class again. After receiving

Being born in the large west African nation of Nigeria, I was aware of the economic, social, and health hardships faced by many people in my country. This reality did not escape my life and the hardships my family and I faced while in Nigeria had a profound impact in the person I am today. Fortunately for us we were able to win the Visa Lottery and immigrate to America where my passion for learning and science began.

One person can have the power to change a community’s perspective or sharpen it. As a Latina and an immigrant, my family’s experience has taught me about the process of entering the United States and the complications that follow. Still, my comprehension of social issues developed further the day I met my brother’s friend and classmate, who followed my brother home, unannounced, on the bus. I will call him Eric, my brother’s friend and his family are Salvadorian undocumented immigrants who seek political asylum. Eric’s family consists of a younger and an older sibling, and his mother. The only source of income is what his mother, who does not speak English very well, makes. Lately, this is what keeps me up at night. Thoughts of this child and his family consume my mind while I brainstorm ways of helping. At a young age when their biggest concerns

My father left my mother as a young immigrant, he left me at a young age, I only had my mother and my little sister. I couldn’t imagine the world without them, so when I discovered I could potentially lose my mother, I almost fell apart.

As I walked into the house, my parents were waiting for me in the living room. I did not know what was happening, but from the look in their eyes, I knew that was something wrong. My mother sat me down to tell me that my father had lost his business. The situation seemed so hectic; yet, the conversation felt like it lasted a lifetime. Finding out this news was detrimental to my family because my father had worked hard in America to build this business. I learned that my father had to give up his business and, as result my family had to start over, and find a new way to make a living.

I am the youngest of four children and the son of two immigrant parents. My parents had migrated to this country at a young age hoping to give a better economic future to their two kids at the time. They had to make the sacrifice of leaving all their family and friends behind to give us an opportunity they never had, going to school and graduating. They worked hard to give us a the things we needed and things we wanted.

My dad teaching me how to drive is a dream. Seeing him come home every night from work is a dream. His attendance at my graduation later this year is a dream.

Oddly enough, this illustration begins in an airport bookstore I was rummaging while killing time before a flight in 2004. The store had displayed many softcover books upfront authored by a name I recognized as the Democratic National Convention’s keynote speaker from earlier that year. That man was, at the time, Senator Barack Obama. As it caught my eye, I surveyed the back cover of Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance and for the first time in my life, I read something that resonated with me at my core. It didn’t have anything to do with public policy or red states and blue states; rather it was his desire to “reconcile his divided inheritance.” He was a black man raised in a white family yet he had traveled to Kenya to face his and his father’s truth. As much of a stretch this may seem, this man’s eloquent story of a struggle to understand and resolve his identity was a truth that I too struggled with and continue to struggle with today.