Dreams of the North

By Anonymous / Spring 2022

Coming from a rural life of farming in the hills of Durango, Mexico, and, despite their poor upbringing and a sixth-grade education, my parents sought a new life with the hopes of reaching that elusive American Dream. I remember always being fascinated by their stories as a child and still am today. I love hearing about their daring treks into the wilderness to seed the lands of their fathers, cleanse the fields of weeds, and bring home the cattle for milking all to secure food for the family. As a side note, both my parents originate from huge families as this was the norm in order to have more hands to nurture the fields, feed the livestock, and clean the home. My father has twelve brothers and sisters including himself, and my mother has sixteen siblings alongside herself. Despite their huge family, my father was the poorer of the two. He would stare off as he shared his youth with me and the hungers he would face. How his mother would have to ration out the tortillas. How they could only drool and be enveloped in the aroma of freshly cooked chorizo through the streets of Santiago Papasquiaro when they would go out to buy essentials. Because of this frugal childhood, he sought the majestic North, the United States, where one's hard work would bear enough fruit to fill the bellies of themselves and their family for generations to come. Where money would grow on trees, and any hard worker can come back with a gold shovel. These were the stories he heard as a child from his older brothers, neighbors, and friends alike.

Like a caged bird, my father could only dream of the North while referencing the riches he heard of. Naturally, any hunger-stricken child would crave the sweet fruit of the North, and at the fragile age of fourteen, he was freed from his cage. His brothers who were already in the North gathered enough funds to cover the coyote who would guide my father towards the profane North and the riches that await him. One story I loved as a child was when he crossed into San Diego and slept inside a cramped room full of hopeful immigrants. The following day he was told to wait inside the San Diego Airport with an unfitted suit and a newspaper to fit in while he waited for his flight to Chicago. Although, he did the exact opposite of looking natural since he was attempting to read the newspaper upside down. Thankfully, he was able to make it to Chicago and began working immediately. His boss at the marshmallow factory taught him English, and he would spend his time working to help support those eagerly waiting for him at home. Eventually, he married my mother in 1986, and they continued working towards that mystical golden shovel he was promised all those years ago. Unfortunately, the blissful veil that covered their hopeful eyes who were driven by the American Dream would be shattered as time marched on.

The marriage of my parents brought three new lives into this world. My older brothers in 1987 and 1989 and myself nine years later in 1998. During their early years of marriage, my parents constantly struggled to stay afloat. The long days spent at work left little time for my brothers. Although my parents came to the North looking for freedom from the cage of poverty and hunger, they found a new manifestation of this cage that originated in the guise of the American Dream. Bills were the new shackles, and the Warden was a fierce one. A lack of attention due to the worries of paying bills left my brothers to their own intuition. My brothers were the “cool kids’ growing up. They partied like a typical teenager and disregarded their education. I witnessed their actions, and I grew up witnessing the struggle of my parents and now my brothers are facing the same hardships. I feel the pressure to help support my parents and to not squander the opportunity my parents gave us. After all this time, through a lack of luck, plenty of hard work, and the shattering of their Matrix, my parents realized the American Dream was nothing but a dream. It's a prayer for a better tomorrow, and their struggle is why I feel an immense pressure to carry the torch for them. To find the proverbial golden shovel for my parents is why I am attending UCSD today.