Son of an Immigrant

fullsizerender-1My father was born in the Philippines. When he was a child, my grandfather, my Lolo, brought his wife and six kids to the shores of Southern California. They started out living in a house with another family.
My Lolo worked a variety of jobs; my grandmother, my Lola, raised her children and worked as a nurse. Devout Catholics, all of them.
My father married my mother, a white woman, but herself having European immigrants in her recent ancestry. He worked tirelessly, working jobs he tolerated and others he hated, working overtime, sacrificing of his own comforts so my mother, brother and I could have every opportunity.
I stand on the shoulders of my immigrant ancestors. All my opportunities today are made possible, in significant part, because they took the bold step to relocate and because there was a country waiting to welcome them with open arms.
Let us look kindly on the stranger, the pilgrim, the downtrodden seeking refuge and opportunity. Let us remember that, while we have power now, things may change and we may someday need to rely on the generosity and welcome of our neighbors…


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