Garcia

 

I didn’t know I was Undocumented until I was 15 years old. The year all my friends were getting permits and I couldn’t because I had no “papers.”
This story begins in Jan. 1990 when my parents decided to go to El Norte.
Two young parents with a new born. My mother worked in retail and my father worked as a taxi driver in Acapulco, Mexico.  One day, my mother came home from a long day of work, my mother never once cared about being poor, until she saw me playing in the dirt that day and said, “ No. This is not what I want for my daughter.” Next day, my parents said goodbye to their loved ones and took a bus to go up to Tijuana.
My parents are from a tropical region and it was cold in Tijuana. To them the climate change wasn’t in their favor. My parents never owned a jacket in their life.  They were in Tijuana for one week and they stood out as foreigners. They entered a church and prayed for La Virgin de Guadalupe to keep them safe.
They waited for el Coyote to come get them to take them on what they were told was easy and in 15 minutes you would cross over to America.  The price in 1990 was $1,500
Keep in mind this was 1990 and there was no wall, just a canal that separated America and Mexico.
Those 15 minutes were the longest 15 minutes of their life.
As they watched groups of people cross over. Saw dogs, police and vans that would catch those who passed. My parents were afraid and wanted to turn around, but they did it for me. For my best chance at life.