In the country we love : my family divided

261 Pages·2016·3.55 MB·English

by  Guerrero

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Table of Contents
About the Authors
Copyright Page

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To my Papi and Mami—
Whether we be near or far,
hand in hand or divided by continents,
may our love remain forever whole.
To Toni Ferrera—
Your memory lives on in the
hearts of all those you touched.
To me, your light shines the brightest.
To the left is my father’s little apple (manzanita). My parents said I looked like a little apple when I was
born. To the right is the nurse, Diana, who helped deliver me.
Introduction
There are chapters in every life which are seldom read and
certainly not aloud.
—CAROL SHIELDS, Pulitzer Prize–winning novelist
One moment—that’s all it takes for your entire world to split apart. For me, that
moment came when I was fourteen. I returned home from school to discover that
my hardworking immigrant parents had been taken away. In one irreversible
instant—in the space of a single breath—life as I’d known it was forever altered.
That’s the part of my story I’ve shared. This book is the rest of it.
Deported. Long before I fully understood what that word meant, I’d learned
to dread it. With every ring of my family’s doorbell, with every police car
passing on the street, a horrifying possibility hung in the air: My parents might
one day be sent back to Colombia. That fear permeated every part of my
childhood. Day after day, year after year, my mom and dad tried desperately to
become American citizens and keep our family together. They pleaded. They
planned. They prayed. They turned to others for help. And in the end, none of
their efforts were enough to keep them here in the country we love.
My story is heartbreakingly common. There are more than eleven million
undocumented immigrants in America, and every day an average of seventeen
children are placed in state care after their parents are detained and deported,
according to US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Those numbers
don’t take into account the scores of others who, like me, simply fell through the
bureaucratic cracks. After my parents were snatched away, no government
official checked up on me. No one seemed to care or even notice that I was on
my own.
It’s not easy for me to be so open about what happened in my family,
especially after spending so many years hiding in the shadows. I’ve really
struggled with putting my business out there. So why am I choosing to reveal so
much now? Because on that afternoon when I came home to an empty house, I
felt like the only child who’d ever dealt with something so overwhelming. And
in the agonizing years that followed, it would’ve meant everything for me to
know that someone, somewhere had survived what I was going through. For the
thousands of nameless children who feel as forgotten as I did—this memoir is
my gift to you. It’s as much for your healing as it is for my own.
Just as one moment can bring despair, it can also lead to a powerful new
beginning. A different life. A dream for moving onward and upward rather than
backward. What you’ll read in these pages is ultimately about that hope—the
same desire that once led my family to this nation. That hope is the only thing
that has sustained me through this frightening ordeal.
These days, we’re surrounded by a lot of talk about immigration reform.
Border security. A path to citizenship for the millions of undocumented workers
who live among us. Behind every one of the headlines, there is a family. A
mother and father. An innocent child. A real-life story that’s both deeply painful
and rarely told. At last, I’ve found the courage to tell you mine.
Real fresh as a freshman in high school.
CHAPTER 1
The Silver Key
Every doorway, every intersection has a story.
—KATHERINE DUNN, novelist
Spring 2001—in the Roxbury section of Boston
My mom was making me late—and I hated to be late. Especially for a school I
loved. And most especially when I was preparing for my first solo. It was a big
deal for a freshman to land a solo. Huge, actually. In fact, even getting into
Boston Arts Academy had been a miracle. It was my ticket out of the hood.
“Diane, come eat your breakfast,” my mother called from the kitchen.
“I gotta go!” I yelled, because—let’s face it—like many fourteen-year-olds, I
had ’tude.
“You’ve got another second,” my mother said, following me down the hall.
“You need to eat something.”
“No, I don’t have another second,” I snapped. “Why do you always do this to
me?” Then, before she could say another word or even hug me good-bye—slam!
—I stormed out the door and off to the train.
It was nice out, around seventy degrees. After a freezing winter, the weather
was finally improving—and so, it seemed, was my family’s luck. The day