I was 8 when my mom and dad told me to pick my favorite toys and pack them into one of six suitcases. They didn’t see a future for our family in Venezuela, and they were willing to risk everything to find it in the U.S. — a country full of possibilities.
There was the time shots rang through the air while we were stuck in traffic and my dad had to speed away, and the afternoon we were walking home from school when a guy approached us and pulled out a gun. I’ll never forget my mom reaching back to tell my brother and me to get down on the floor of the car, or the way her voice trembled as she told the mugger to calm down, that she’d give him whatever he wanted, as she pulled out her wallet and stepped in front of us.
But the final straw was ademonstration on April 11, 2002, against the corrupt government that filled the streets of Caracas with protesters armed with nothing but the Venezuelan flag. The day turned violent when the marchers encountered supporters of then-President Hugo Chavez outside the presidential palace, and 19 people were killed in the ensuing conflict.
Ale Russian
Less than three months later, on July 1, 2002, we boarded a plane to Miami.
The situation became more alarming with reports that these confrontations were turning deadly around the country, and someone he knew had even been killed when trying to chase would-be invaders off his land. My dad quickly realized he was in more danger than he initially thought, and he had left the project he was managing and moved us to a different city the year before we decided to move to America.
This meant we had a case for political asylum and applied in September 2006 — starting a nerve-wracking process in which the U.S. government looks into every nook of your life. Our family’s record had to be perfect. Even an unpaid parking ticket was enough to deny the petition and send us back.
After the initial application, my dad had to prove that our life back in our home country would be in danger before it was approved. The official interview took place in Miami, and we made our way down the Florida peninsula on Nov. 6, 2006 — my mom’s birthday. I had just turned 12 and remember sensing how anxious and worried my parents were.
Our request was approved in January 2007 and we were granted a green card and official residency a year later. In August 2013, 11 years after first landing in Miami, we became U.S. citizens.
The process had been scary and stressful and long for my parents — but my brother and I had very little idea of the specifics of what was going on, since my parents protected us from any negative detail. We got to be kids and start our lives in our new country because of their constant and calming presence.
My parents sacrificed everything, and now the four of us are proud American citizens who positively contribute to society and help make our country better. I strongly believe all immigrants deserve that chance, and I’m so grateful the United States gave one to us 11 years ago.
source: people.com
