ABSTRACT
Sometimes I find myself daydreaming during freshman U.S. history class. Today I am dreaming of my family’s ranchito in a small rural village of Michoacan, Mexico, with Mamá, four brothers and sisters and other family members who lived with us. For several years, most local farmers’ crops failed and many in the village were poor and hungry. Water for people and crops had been diverted, if not stolen, from Mexico for the U.S. Even as a youngster I was well aware of government corruption and how violence was all too common. When we lived in Mexico we waited anxiously every day for news from Papá who worked legally in the U.S. Papá wanted to bring us across the border to the U.S. legally, though we knew friends and family who crossed without papers in search of a better life. Papá promised the U.S. would provide opportunities for a brighter future. We would have an education beyond the 3rd grade, which is all that he had managed to achieve, and maybe even a career. Last year, after eight long years of waiting, Papá told us that he had enough money and sponsorships to bring us across.
