The chilling wall of glass that forbade me from my hero remains embedded within me to this day. I yearned to watch that wall collapse into a million jagged edges, just as my heart had. The hero of my dreams was suddenly as helpless as I was, and I could do nothing but stare through the cold-hearted emptiness of the glass barricade between us. It was September 17th, 2007, I was 8 years old. My father had been detained for deportation at a detention center for illegal immigrants, miles away from his family. The rest of us, meanwhile, were detained right at home, discouraged from continuing life as we had known it since my father had come to this country, pockets overflowing with aspirations and hopes of a better life; nothing more. The void he left permeated every aspect of our lives; my baby brother’s incessant weeping echoed the powerlessness my mother endured. With no family to provide emotional support, and no income to provide financial support, my mother was given very little to care for her two babies. She seldom rested at night, praying to God and simply asking what my father had done to deserve the pain he had suddenly been burdened with. She showed a brave face but I could see it in her eyes; my mother, deprived of the love of her life, was broken. Her inability to cope with being alone led me to one solid conclusion: I wanted to be independent, in charge of my future. Watching my mother collapse without the support of my father taught me to look at adversity through a different lens. I never stopped praying for my family and never gave up. I had so much anger inside of me, yet so much hope. I wrote letters to lawyers and talked to my teachers in school to see if they could do anything to help me. I was so young but grew up with important responsibilities that shaped our entire family dynamic. I had to take control for most of the things that my dad wasn’t able to do like help my mom feel better and fill the void he left. My family had me, and I would grow up to support the family in every way I could. Finally, after a year in detention, my father was released from behind that frostbitten wall of glass. But that glass wall would always be in the back of my mind. My father came to America to live the American Dream; sadly, he lives his numbered days with a constant threat looming over his head, reminding him that he doesn’t belong. He is still here, not for himself, but for his family. I spend every day working hard to make my parents proud and show them that their decision to come to America was worth the suffering. I live with the fear that my father can be taken away from me in any second and no matter what happens, I have to be there and be strong for the rest of my family. My father taught me to always respect myself and my family and that made it easy to extend the same care and gratitude towards others. For instance, I would love to pursue my career as a Registered Nurse where I can fulfill that desire to care and help those in need. I can use my experiences to build close relationships with patients who are in need of emotional help. My dream is to be able to help people whether it’s emotionally or physically and my father led me to have this dream. I will live every day, keeping in mind that I am one of the biggest blessings in my father’s life; most of all, I will continue to be the hard-working, compassionate, and supportive being my father had sacrificed so much to see me become. A .J. - Spring 2017 Issue
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