This One’s for You, Mom and Dad

My upbringing was quite pleasant. I had a happy family. It was just the three of us: my mom, my dad, and I. We had a close relationship with each other. We would have lots of adventures together. When I was younger, we would go on tiring hiking trips to the greenest places full of vegetation.

My mom was always loving yet she would worry about the simplest of things.

She would watch my soccer games, from the stands, and whenever anybody would slide and bring me down, at the end of each game she would rush to me. She would be yelling at me from afar, in her thickest Mexican accent “Carlos come here. Are you okay? Here let me check you.” Sometimes it would just be the smallest cut and she would worry. It was always embarrassing but I guess it did show she cared about, so it was fine.

My Dad was more of an adventurous and free-spirited person. He was the one that would let me explore life more. He enjoyed seeing me, his son at a young age, develop characteristics similar to his own.

Even though my mom and Dad were almost opposites, they were the best of friends and lovers, always together and inseparable. My dad was tall, slim, with black curled hair and green deep eyes. My mom was short, tan skin, long black luscious hair. They were good for each other.

I remember she would always look nice for him. She would curl her hair, get a nice light red color lipstick on and get into her nicest outfits. My dad would enjoy seeing her when he would get home from work, the work that always left his hands dry, hardened or bruised. They had such a dynamic together, it was nice to see. I remember seeing them and hoped that was what my future relationships would be. We would go out together, the three of us; we would have fun and enjoy ourselves.

My mother was a good mother showing me rights from wrongs and showing me everything I needed to know in life. She always showed me what life was truly is about. My father showed me courage, character and how gentlemen were supposed to act. This of course was during the early stages of my life.

As a teenager, I was sometimes a rebellious one, but I always, somehow, managed to keep that solid relationship with them. They were really understanding, because they saw hope in me. They saw my ‘outstanding’ performance in school. They saw the effort I would put in; they were proud of me. I remember whenever I would receive awards, even though they were just middle school and high school awards, my mom and dad would always go see me. My mom would tear up from joy, which I thought was a little extra at the time, and my dad would just give me a strong solid pat on the back. They would tell me that they knew that crossing over the border, going through the hot sweltering desert, to come to the United States was going to be the best thing for me. They knew it was going to be a perfect place for me to have more opportunities.

This peaceful lifestyle lasted until about a couple of months into my second semester of freshman year in high school. When I got home from school I saw my mom in tears, alone. At first, I thought something might’ve happened to my dad. I dropped my backpack on the floor with a solid thud and I rushed to her side and asked what was wrong.

“Your Grandmother has passed away”, she said with tears streaming down her cheeks after every word.

I wasn’t close to my grandmother, I hardly knew her, so I didn’t cry, but I felt for my mom. She would tell me stories about how she would spend time with her. They had the same relationship that she and I shared, so I understood. I would’ve also been in tears and in shreds, if my mom had passed.

My mom told me my dad had left to go put gas on the car so that they could to cross back over. They were going to Mexico to burry my grandmother. I would’ve tagged along if it wouldn’t have been for school. I was still midsemester and I had multiple exams coming up.

At that moment my best wishes had been bestowed upon them. They left the next day after I had got home from school. My mom had left me stuff for me to cook myself, even though I didn’t know how to do much. My dad told me they would only be gone for two weeks. It was fine with me, I told them to take as much time as they needed. “Losing a mom must be really tough on a person”, I thought, so told them to take as long of a time as they wanted.

I helped them carry their heavy bulky baggage to the car. My mom was still in tears. My dad gave me a big solid hug and told me to take care.

“Don’t burn down the house while we are gone. Better to do it when we are here so we can yell at you in person”, he said with a slight smile. My mom sort of laughed still saddened.

She gave me the tightest warmest hug she had ever given me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, as she got into the car. My dad gave me a strong tightened side hug and told me he was going to call me every other day, just to see how things were going. They waved as they drove off.

My dad called me occasionally, in the afternoon with a slight saddened voice. He didn’t like seeing my mom cry. We had short conversations. I would tell him I needed to get back to studying so we would both say bye and hang up.

A day before they were going to arrive my dad called me and told me that they’d be home soon. I stood up that night, waiting for them to arrive, to hear the muffling noise of the car park outside. Nothing. I didn’t hear anything all night. I went to school worried that my parents didn’t arrive.

They called me the day after. Saying they had both been detained at the border. They were in the immigration detention center. Due to all the chaos that was happening before they didn’t remember they didn’t have any papers. However, not much could’ve been done the were ready to be deported back. My heart sank almost immediately. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to go down there. But my dad told me to stay home. He had contacted my aunt and she was going to take care of me while they were on the other side.

My mom used to say, “things happen because that’s how God intended them to be. They all have a purpose.” However, at that moment I blamed god and the system this stupid government, I lived in. This stupid country that was supposed to be giving people another shot at life, not taking it back away from them. I hated this system. I hated all these people that implemented the rules. I hated it all.

Days were lonely when I would get home. My aunt worked the night shift so I would only see for about an hour, and very little communication was made. I got to hear less and less from my parents. The place where they lived was secluded and it was hard to get ahold of a telephone line. They had to travel far to talk. So, I had very limited communication.

They tried to come over, they tried to sneak their way into the country, but for the second time they were found, detained, and sent back. I would always be insisting that I would go see them instead. However, they disagreed with, they knew that I didn’t have papers, they knew my fate would be like theirs.

Times were tough I’m not going to lie. Although, I do appreciate my aunt, she would only stop by my house and help occasionally. I had to take responsibility for myself. I started working at a clothing outlet. Trying to balance school and work was tough. Especially when it came to senior year were, I had to start applying to colleges. I thought college wasn’t for me. It was tough to work and go school. I had barely maintained a 3.0 GPA. However, the more I thought about it, the more I knew my parents would’ve wanted to see me go to college. They wanted to see have a successful life and college was an option; after all that’s the reason, they had arrived in the U.S. So, I decided to give it a shot. I made the effort and I made into a college I got accepted into the school I wanted to go to.

When I got home my phone started vibrating, it was my parents. I was excited to tell them I had made it. I was taking a step into the direction they wanted me to go in.

I remember telling them and they both screamed with joy and congratulated me.

My dad told me, “See I told you! You’re my son. My son is a fighter. I’m so proud of you.”

My mom told me, “I’m so proud of you. You are the greatest thi….”

I heard her voice begin to break. My eyes got watery and a tear rolled down my cheek. I don’t remember the rest of the conversation, but I remember feeling like a champion. They said the moment they could come over they would but until then I would have to wait.

Now every little moment, every single victory, I have whether over exams or over scholarships or internships or interviews, I dedicate it to them. I say, “This one’s for you mom and Dad.”