Another Immigrant Story

October is my favorite month for many reasons. My birthday is this month and the weather usually gets a little less muggy in sunny Florida. It’s also the time when Latinos come out of the woodwork and galas and contests about being Hispanic abound on all school along with posts on social media. I recently listened to one such post: Jose Valiente’s acceptance speech as the recipient of the Donald A. Gifford Service Award from USF. His daughter posted it on FB and I was inspired (#inspired, #USFBulls). It made me think about my own immigrant story – how my family (mother, father, two sisters and I) ended up in the land of plenty. We arrived in October, like Mr. Valiente, but towards the end of the month – the first time to a snow covered Connecticut in 1977, the second time to the New Orleans international airport in 1978.

It was hard for my mom and dad. I know that now. They went from being white collar middle class to blue collar working class. We arrived with five suitcases and two dolls Both he and my mother worked in a belt making factory in Norwalk, CT. He brought enough money to buy a car and help my uncle with bills, but they didn’t own their own house again until the new millennium. In November, all six adults who lived in the house each got a turkey from the factory they all worked at. We ate turkey for four months every day. It would be years before I could look at turkey in the face and not gag.

But I digress. Now October has been absconded by Cancer Awareness and pink shoes on football players. There is Christmas crap already up at Home Depot and Lowes, and Halloween is not even here yet (#toosoonpeople). Most annoying is that half the month is supposed to be Hispanic Heritage Month. I get the logic, it ends on “Columbus Day” or “The Day of the Americas” or “Native People’s Day” or “Dia de la Raza” – since Mr. Colón is no longer seen as a hero by most educated people (#LeifEricsonwasherefirst). Maybe it should be called “Immigration Day”, but then again, that would include the majority of the population, except the Native Americans (#firstnationpeople), since we are all either immigrants or descendants of immigrants. Maybe “Latino Immigrant Day” or “Hispanic Immigrant Day”.

But I digressed again! My family, you could say, is here because of Pablo Escobar (#cocaine, #colombian, #narcos, #netflix). Not directly, of course, but my dad was a smart man and while Pablo was on his way to becoming a billionaire on the Forbe’s list, my dad took us out of Medellin – Pablo’s and my birth city. The odds were not in our favor if we stayed – and the proof is in the violence that gripped the city and the country for almost all of the 1980’s and part of the 1990’s. I actually just found out from my mom that her youngest sister’s husband’s brother (my mother’s brother in law) was on the Avianca plane that Pablo allegedly blew up. So the uncle of three of my cousins was murdered, along with hundreds of others, by Pablo Escobar (#connection). Those same cousins, along with others, have never left Colombia.

For the record, though, I’ve never been one of those “Well, in my country we do this…” type of person – because the United States IS my country. Yes, I was born in Colombia. Yes, I speak two languages. Yes, I could eat beans and rice every day. Yes, I put queso in my coffee (#don’tknockittilyoutryit), but I am here. I live here. My family (my husband and daughters) are here. I am a Latina, but mostly I am an American; and so whatever this day is called, this day is my own personal thanksgiving day (Hold the turkey and serve the beans!) I remember during this month and this day how grateful I am to this country for so many things (yes, even turkey). As much as there is wrong with this country (#hillary, #trump, #really?), there are a lot of things right with this country. And that was the overall message in Mr. Valiente’s speech – to have everyday gratitude. Like him, I too am grateful and I too put my hand over heart every time I say the Pledge of Allegiance and listen to the National Anthem. I say the pledge not just with pride, but with gratitude.