Personal Narrative: My Immigrant Family

Coming from a Mexican immigrant family I have learned to recognize since a very young age that because of the status that my parents are placed in they cannot pursue a better future like the one I want. I have been given the opportunity to challenge myself with obtaining a higher education than just high school itself. My parents have demonstrated to me through their hard work that I have to value this opportunity unless I want to end up with low paying job. My life long dedication comes from seeing my parents make sacrifices in order for my education to continue.

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

It was summer of 2010. My parents were still married and we went up to Wichita Falls, Wichita to go see my brother Chris who was in the Military on base working. We stayed there for a week. I still remember the car ride up there. We rented a van, we had tvs in the rented van, my sister Rylee, my other brother Garrett (he was in the military too), my mom Traci, and my dad Doug, and my brothers military bag it was like a person. I still remember I had to sit in the back with that bad it was so big. Garrett put the seatbelt around the bag like it was a person. The car trip was so long but it was all worth it in the end. It was in the middle of the week and we were out on the beach. My brother Chris and his pregnant wife Ashley had a boat the water

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 challenging being the oldest child in every family. What is even harder, is being the first child of immigrant parents. From the obstacles I faced, I was able to become independent. My parents left El Salvador to go to America for a better life. When they left their country my mother was pregnant with her first child which was me. After I was born and I began to grow, the only language I spoke and heard was Spanish. Since both my parent spoke little English and spoke mostly Spanish I thought it was only natural for me to follow them.

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.

My background is interesting. My twin sister and I were raised by parental grandmother until she passed away due to lung cancer when I was 11 years of age. My grandmother had 15 children and raised 2 more. My diverse experiences in life begin here. My Mother was Caucasian and my father was Hispanic, both born and raised in Texas. Both of my families were similar but very different. They were similar in that they were of low economic status, but very different because of their beliefs and their culture. My Hispanic family believed and still believes that God is number one in life (prayed before every meal) and that you respect everyone regardless of how they may treat you. My Hispanic family believed in helping one another when given the opportunity.

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.

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 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

I am fortunate enough to be the first generation of two immigrant parents, and while that seems unlucky to most people, it is one of my reasons for wanting to serve. My parents moved here when they were children and did not have the luxury of being US citizens for a long time, but they were able to benefit from a new lifestyle that included having healthcare, a better education, and more opportunities for a better life. Through this they were able to give me the best life possible without having to worry about some of the same struggles they had as a kid in a third world country. As a child of immigrant parents I benefited from the US making my parents citizens and it would be a great honor to be able to give back to my country for everything

You see some of my family are immigrants. I had two uncles that were deported back to Mexico. It’s really sad to watch them getting taken away. Knowing that you're probably not going to see them for a long time. I remember one of my uncles gave me this spinning top. You had to wrap a rope around the top and through it on the ground to make it spin. I always ask for help, I would say “uncle come help me” then he’ll

At the age of 12, my family immigrated to the United States. Upon the arrival, we encountered financial insecurity, language barrier, and, most importantly, cultural exclusiveness. Likewise, learning English is often assumed to be the vastly grueling part of the assimilation process, but I disagree. For young adults, learning English does not impose any impenetrable hardships, however, becoming a part of the culture does. The continuous oscillation between the cultural identities of an old and new culture led me to become ambivalent about my role in the American society. Likewise, my parents understood the emotional strain I was challenged with and decided to place me into an academically superior high school. Similarly, they believed that

I was born in Chin State,in a small city called Ngalang.We were a big family.We had a hard time making a living because my dad came to Malaysia already.It was only my mom who served us.She will pickyback my little brother while she crop.I was around 13 or 14.I always followed my mom.I would watch her crop.I couldn’t go to school because we couldn’t afford to buy school uniforms.Everyday whenever we go to the farm and she will crop and I saw her sweating come out of her body.I wanted to whipe it for her,but she wouldn’t let me.She thought I might get hurt if I get too close to her.I would go and sit by the tree.I would cry and when ever my mom call me.I would whipe my tear quickly as fast as I could and go to her.One day I was sitting and I