Scared and confused, I pedaled home and confronted Lolo. I recall him sitting in the garage, cutting coupons. I dropped my bike and ran over to him, showing him the card that is green. “Peke ba ito?” I inquired in Tagalog. (“Is this fake?”) My grandparents were naturalized American citizens as a food server — and they had begun supporting my mother and me financially when I was 3, after my father’s wandering eye and inability to properly provide for us led to my parents’ separation— he worked as a security guard, she. Lolo was a proud man, and I also saw the shame on his face as he told me he purchased the card, along with other fake documents, for me personally. “Don’t show it to other people,” he warned.
I made a decision then I was an American that I could never give anyone reason to doubt. I convinced myself that when I achieved enough, I would be rewarded with citizenship if I worked enough. Continue lendo “My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant,by JOSE ANTONIO VARGAS JUNE 22, 2011”