America the Beautiful

One thing you will always find at my parent’s home is the American flag, flown proudly. My father will never denounce his Mexican heritage, but with great pride he will exclaim why he loves America so much. Some people die for this country, others almost die trying to get here.

Standing in Matamoros, Mexico, looking toward the U.S., he knew that evening he would cross the Rio Grande. So much was at stake. My father knew he would cross the river alone. He knew the risk would be too great if he had others with him. Others could slow him down or worse. Night fell and as he stood at the bank of the river he undressed, placing his pants and shirt on top of his head and tying his shoe laces together, draping them over his neck. He would have to swim in his underwear.

He entered the chilly water, swimming cautiously despite the adrenaline rush of what he was doing. A little more than half way across he became caught in a whirlpool, desperately trying to get out of the pull. He fought hard to swim with one arm while holding his clothes on top of his head with the other. The river won. Through sheer grit, exhausted, he made his way to American soil. Harlingen Texas to be exact. Sitting on the bank of the Rio Grande, looking towards Mexico, he watches his clothes drift away.

It was late. Weakened, wet and virtually naked, he stood up. What next? Go back? No. Walk. Walk as far as you can into the United States, he told himself, until you feel safe. “How did you know which direction to go?” my mom would ask. “I could sense it. I just had a feeling I was heading in the right direction.” he recounts.

Minutes turned into hours, guided only by moonlight. Every few steps, he would wrench in pain as it was the time of the year where grass burrs were rampant. He walked until he could not take it any longer and decided he needed to figure out a way to protect his feet. He found a plant with large leaves and some vines. He pulled several leaves, stepping on them, placing the vines around his feet and ankles to create shoes. It worked! Finally, a bit of relief. He continued to walk, guided only by his intuition and that beautiful bright moon.

He does not recall what hour it might have been, all he knew is he had been walking for hours, with makeshift shoes on, clothed in only a pair of underwear. He came upon a grapefruit grove. There, he took shelter under a tree. He closed his eyes and dozed off.

The sun was rising and he awoke to the sound of a tractor approaching him. Disoriented and hungry, he likely didn’t have the energy to run and hide. The driver saw him and stopped next to my dad. “What are you doing here?” the man on the tractor asked my father in Spanish. “I crossed the Rio last night and I lost all my clothes.” my father replied. “There is no way you can stay here.” the tractor driver said, “Border Patrol is heavy, they will find you and send you back. I advise you to go back to Mexico.” My father, fearful of what this man was telling him, he then said to the driver, “You are right sir, I should go back.” But in his mind he was saying, no way! I almost died to get here. If they catch me I will go back, but I’m not going back on my own.

The man told my father to get on the tractor. They headed to the mans house where he gave my dad a shirt, pants and a pair of shoes, albeit too small. The man’s wife gave my father a meal to eat, a bowl of beans and a few tortillas. My father thanked the couple for their generosity. He exited their house, walking and gazing north. This was one of many crossings my father took as a mojado (wetback). I’ve often asked him, how many times did you cross? “Too many to count,” he’d reply.

I find that story fascinating for several reasons. The idea of swimming and feeling like you would drown in a river, losing your clothing, walking into a foreign country with nothing. No money, not knowing a soul or how to speak their language, all in search of a better life. I asked my father one simple question a few days ago, what does it mean to you to be a citizen of the United States of America. He replied; “I’m proud. I’m proud of what I have built and accomplished. It might not be much to other people but it means the world to me. In my time in Mexico, there were no jobs. I came to this country for a better life, to work hard. I’m enjoying the last days of my life here. This country gave me the opportunity my homeland could not do for me.”