As a foreigner, entering the United States of America comes with a lot of challenges. Not only do some people wait years to be legalized, but you have to learn how to adapt to its culture. Learning a whole different language is a major issue that some people have to face. It could take years to fully understand the language of English. Changing things such as attire, music genres and food preferences can be difficult for some people. However throughout all these challenges, there is the benefit of having more opportunities in life, being the reason why people come to America in the first place.

My father, born and raised in Dominican Republic, came to the United States of America when he was fifteen years old. Since he was a minor at the time, it took approximately six months for his residency to be approved. His mother stood in the Dominican Republic while he took a plane to New York City with his two siblings. They stood with one of their half-brothers in a small house with his wife and three kids until they were able to get back on their feet. Since there were no more bedrooms available, my father and his two siblings had to sleep in the living room. All three siblings attended high school for about two days and dropped out, because they they had to financially support themselves. My father obtained his first job at the age of fifteen, he worked in a deli that his half-brother owned. The deli was located in East New York, Brooklyn with majority of the neighbor’s population was African American. Working at this deli, he slowly but surely started to understand English from his interactions with his customers.

After a month in the United States, my father and his brother saved up enough money to move out of their half-brother’s house. They rented a room in a two bedroom apartment, having their cousins renting out the other room. Each room had a full size bed shared by two men, a very small bathroom, and a small kitchen. Life for my father and his brother became very complicated. They had the same first and last name, so when they got mail delivered to the house, they would have difficulty trying to figure out who it was for. They never had anyone for guidance, because their father passed away when they were young and their mother was in another country. Luckily, one of my father’s aunts lived in that same building, so she would often stop by and provide them with food. They lived in that condition for about six years, until my father moved out to an apartment in Queens. He worked in grocery stores all his life, until he finally got the opportunity to own one in Brooklyn.

During the interview, I had asked my father if he had anything that may relate to his past and remind him of his background. He pulled out his brown leather wallet and inside his wallet was a small picture of him. The photograph itself was very small and old, with a lot of scratches on it and it seemed to be ripped on the upper corner. The actual picture showed a young skinny boy with curly hair, dressed in a red t-shirt with denim shorts and brown sandals. He was posing in the picture with his arms out, and in the background were many trees and mountains because he was raised in the “campo”. The “campo” is what we call rural areas in America. There are a lot of shacks made out of wood that people live in, with a huge backyard full of pigs, chickens, roosters and even horses. Most of the people who live in the “campo” are poor, and there is hardly any electricity there.

My family’s history is very different than a typical American history. I consider the American history as having parents who were both born and raised in the United States, got an education and work in high facilities. Any foreigner coming into the United States, has to push themselves and work twice as hard for what is needed to survive because they are coming empty handed. Learning how to speak another language to be able to get a job, to then supporting yourself financially in a country that you barely know is overwhelming. However, my father was lucky that he had some of his brothers already living in New York. They helped him tremendously by giving him a temporary place to stay and getting him a job. I don’t think he would’ve survived if he didn’t have some of his family already living here.

Realizing how much my father has been through has made me humble myself as a person. He had a rough upcoming to be the strong adult that he is now. I actually chose my field site based on a street near where he used to work and live. Even though his experience took place decades ago, I wanted to walk the streets of where he first came to America and struggled. It brings me a sense of peace knowing that he sacrificed so much for the future of his kids.