My story is America’s story.
One of a father born and raised in a small pueblo in Chihuahua, Mexico who grew up poor, yet extremely content with the love that he received from his family.
A story where his father, my grandfather, immigrated to California during a time where the U.S. Government actively sought out people like my abuelo who were willing to break their backs in the fields of America.
But my grandfather, like so many before and after him, had larger dreams for his family.
Dreams of providing an education and opportunities for his two sons and daughter.
Dreams that one day his children would be able to own a home and raise a family in a magical place known as America.
Years later, my father met my mother who was born in northern California, the daughter of a fellow farm worker who also struggled in the fields while being a single mother raising nine children all by herself.
A humble woman whose middle name was sacrifice and who gave every ounce of her being to make sure that every one of her children was raised with love and affection.
And it is that story of hard work and perseverance that motivates me to continue in spite of any obstacles that may come my way.