530 Days of Lessons
It’s 2:30 P.M on a stormy, thunderous, rainy day. I get off the bus with my black muddy skateboard sneakers. I am running to my house, ruining my cuffed jeans because of the dirty puddles. I take out my computer to start my physics essay, and let my dog Jordy out. I put kibble in his bowl and feed my parakeets. I have exactly 19 minutes to do as much homework as I can before I have to pick up my six-year-old brother from his bus stop, bring him to my father’s church and get to work before 4:00. As I do my essay, I quickly boil a hotdog for my brother, since that was his requested snack. While he’s eating, I stare at my computer; my mind is ready to explode from all the information I am trying to take in.
Calling an Uber, I rush to get my brother changed out of his uniform into his favorite T-Rex shirt and black sweats. It is already 3:20. Scrambling to put my work uniform on, I usher my brother out of the house. As we head to the church, I think, Why am I doing all of this? Simply put, for the last 530 days, my dad has been living in sanctuary to escape a deportation order from 1994. You may wonder what is sanctuary? Sanctuary is a place of “safety or refugee.” Due to the chaos of immigration paperwork, he is wanted out of the United States. He’s been trapped inside a dull, chilly, 12 x 12 room at the First and Summerfield Church. Every night, the echoes of my brother’s cry bounce off every thin wall. I tend to look away as my eyes water. He wants his dad, but he’s unable to come home to his family, unable to provide for us, unable to just simply watch a movie with his family in his own living room.
Walking outside, an old woman looks at me and asks, “Is that your child? He’s so cute!” I do not take offense to her comment. Instead I feel proud, because in a way, I am like his second mother. Looking at my father, I can barely maintain eye-contact. All I can see is his pain, and his guilt. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I head to work. My father’s words echo in my head: “Do not let my taking sanctuary get in between school or your future. I want you to become the registered nurse you dreamed of being.” Tears fill my eyes.
My phone vibrates, and a notification from PowerSchool reveals a B+, C+ and a B. I feel my heart drop, and I cannot help but think that I have disappointed my father. It is senior year, and these grades are less than expected from me. A text comes in from my parents. They are not happy. After my very exhausting five-and-a-half hour shift at McDonald’s, I gaze at my homework. My brain is on five percent battery, but I must continue. I have worked so hard, and I refuse to give up now.
I have been going to therapy, and my sister laughs at me for it. But truthfully, she is in denial, while I have already accepted our reality. After my last session, I felt nothing but peace of mind and clarity. People assume that my situation makes me stressed and disheartened. Honestly, everything that has been happening motivates me to work harder, and make my father proud. I’ve become accustomed to this new lifestyle that has taught me how to prepare myself for adulthood. Although it wasn’t the lifestyle I chose, it has taught me how to live reality. Perhaps I could say it gave me much more ambition. Regardless of what’s going on in my life, I will become a registered nurse.
It’s 2:30 P.M on a stormy, thunderous, rainy day. I get off the bus with my black muddy skateboard sneakers. I am running to my house, ruining my cuffed jeans because of the dirty puddles. I take out my computer to start my physics essay, and let my dog Jordy out. I put kibble in his bowl and feed my parakeets. I have exactly 19 minutes to do as much homework as I can before I have to pick up my six-year-old brother from his bus stop, bring him to my father’s church and get to work before 4:00. As I do my essay, I quickly boil a hotdog for my brother, since that was his requested snack. While he’s eating, I stare at my computer; my mind is ready to explode from all the information I am trying to take in.
Calling an Uber, I rush to get my brother changed out of his uniform into his favorite T-Rex shirt and black sweats. It is already 3:20. Scrambling to put my work uniform on, I usher my brother out of the house. As we head to the church, I think, Why am I doing all of this? Simply put, for the last 530 days, my dad has been living in sanctuary to escape a deportation order from 1994. You may wonder what is sanctuary? Sanctuary is a place of “safety or refugee.” Due to the chaos of immigration paperwork, he is wanted out of the United States. He’s been trapped inside a dull, chilly, 12 x 12 room at the First and Summerfield Church. Every night, the echoes of my brother’s cry bounce off every thin wall. I tend to look away as my eyes water. He wants his dad, but he’s unable to come home to his family, unable to provide for us, unable to just simply watch a movie with his family in his own living room.
Walking outside, an old woman looks at me and asks, “Is that your child? He’s so cute!” I do not take offense to her comment. Instead I feel proud, because in a way, I am like his second mother. Looking at my father, I can barely maintain eye-contact. All I can see is his pain, and his guilt. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I head to work. My father’s words echo in my head: “Do not let my taking sanctuary get in between school or your future. I want you to become the registered nurse you dreamed of being.” Tears fill my eyes.
My phone vibrates, and a notification from PowerSchool reveals a B+, C+ and a B. I feel my heart drop, and I cannot help but think that I have disappointed my father. It is senior year, and these grades are less than expected from me. A text comes in from my parents. They are not happy. After my very exhausting five-and-a-half hour shift at McDonald’s, I gaze at my homework. My brain is on five percent battery, but I must continue. I have worked so hard, and I refuse to give up now.
I have been going to therapy, and my sister laughs at me for it. But truthfully, she is in denial, while I have already accepted our reality. After my last session, I felt nothing but peace of mind and clarity. People assume that my situation makes me stressed and disheartened. Honestly, everything that has been happening motivates me to work harder, and make my father proud. I’ve become accustomed to this new lifestyle that has taught me how to prepare myself for adulthood. Although it wasn’t the lifestyle I chose, it has taught me how to live reality. Perhaps I could say it gave me much more ambition. Regardless of what’s going on in my life, I will become a registered nurse.
