Pilgrim

                We call my mother the “Disneyland Pilgrim.” Born in San Diego and raised to seek solace in Disney movies, my mother would take our modest family of 4 children—while my father taught high school in a tiny town in Idaho—to Disneyland every 2 years or so. Since then, we have taken three families to Disneyland who never had an opportunity until my mother showed them the optimal time and financial way to get it done. Before my two younger siblings were born, my parents didn’t have a lot of money, so my mother had to discover how to make it work.

                Thus I experienced my first culture change before I was 2 years old.

                I remember the first time I acknowledged what was different about California. I was probably 6 or 7 at the time. The women were dressed differently; cigarette smoke flooded my nose; people were loud and tan. For a decade after visiting California, I thought I knew what the world was made of.

                I’ve been learning for the past two years what’s really out there. Sex trafficking, domestic abuse, the plight of refugees, divorce, and severe depression crush the lives of millions. I’m going to continue learning, but a particular issue caught my attention this last week.

                Trump parades the idea of building a wall along the Mexican border to stop the flood of immigrants. Americans protest that Mexicans should stop migrating here; it’s illegal without documents and it’s dangerous for us. Other Americans protest that anyone should have the freedom to arrive here looking for a new opportunity—isn’t that where we came from?

                I hear about all these debates. I’m not very involved in politics; I’m more interested in individuals. But I recently learned that Mexican immigration is not in the hundreds as I imagined: a number of sites say that the number is somewhere in the millions.

                Maybe this still wouldn’t matter to me, or people like me. It’s still a political and economic issue, right? I care about emotional implications and family structure more than major, mathematical consequences.

                I was introduced to an article, “The Costs of Getting Ahead” (Martica Bacallao, Paul R. Smokowski) that analyzed a study of Mexican undocumented immigrant families. Sure: there are economic and political reasons to be on the side of Mexican families or against them. I won’t deny the fact that the consequences of immigration are enormous. This particular article focused instead on the family structure consequences.

                In a highly condensed summary, the article focused on 10 families that they found and heard their stories. 12 teens and 14 parents were interviewed. The immigration process required the father of the family to leave the family for years; he would make money in the States and send it home, waiting for them to come back.

                Many teens reported rifts due to this separation. Mothers and fathers had to readjust to balancing power; teens had to adjust to not being one of the parents in the home. Fathers lost a lot of their emotional connections.

                This was not the only consequence. One daughter, “Nohemi” (name changed by article to protect identity), reported not seeing her father for as long as a three-day period; families were distanced and individuals were isolated even living in the same house. This daughter lamented: “[S]ometimes I don’t see my dad for three days … I go to school, then I go to work and sometimes, I get home late at night, and he’s already sleeping when I come home. And the next day, it’s the same thing.” They became lonely as many Americans now are.

                Having both parents required to work jobs also caused difficulties. One father, “Miguel,” commented on how he used to come home to an energetic and loving family. He said it was easier to recover from the stresses of work when his family was there to love and support him. Now he says his home is “empty and cold” when he comes home; no one is there to welcome him.

                I read this article and thought, “Why move away from a place where you are happy even if you weren’t exactly wealthy?” I sorrowed for them and wished they had been able to find happiness here, since they wanted to leave home.

                Moving to the United States was not exactly motivated by a need to get rich as I expected; the father often abandoned a familiar work environment where he was respected to being thrown to the bottom of the totem pole, trying to understand a language he never had to speak before. This was not because they wanted economic advantage. They revealed that their primary motive was to give their children a better chance for the future.

                I wish I could give all of their personal accounts and express how much I yearn to mend a family, but I can’t. I hope that, whatever your political opinions are, you can walk away knowing better what some of your neighbors come from. Perhaps you will have greater capacity to change a single life.