Every year, a few more show up.
When they come to my 5th grade classroom mid-year, they often have a stunned look. They’re dazed, they’re reeling. “Welcome to the class. I know it’s difficult being a new student, but we’re very nice, and you’ll adapt quickly. What brings you here?”
“My dad got deported.”
“My mom got deported.”
It’s hard enough to be the new kid in the class, but harder still when you’ve ended up in a border town trying to stay as close as possible to a recently deported parent. It’s difficult to remain focused on classwork when your family is divided, when you’ve lost half or all of the income that kept your family afloat. It’s nearly impossible to stay awake in class when you cross the border at dawn, trying to continue your US education while living with your deported parent in Tijuana.
How can I punish Paola for arriving late daily, when I know she faces the Herculean task of wrestling her sisters’ curly hair into ponytails and coaxing little brothers to brush their teeth and wash their faces before school? In the absence of her deported mother, she’s doing the best a 12-year-old can to take care of her siblings while her father works.
Her homework is often unfinished, and occasionally her curly hair is unkempt, but her brothers and sisters are always tidy and prepared for school.
How do I scold Andres for not reading at grade level when I know he spent a year in the south of Mexico, losing an entire school year as his family followed his deported father? He entered school in Mexico but left after two weeks, weeks during which he cried because he did not understand a word of Spanish and because students laughed at his blue eyes, blond hair, and soft southern drawl. He knows Spanish now, of a spicy playground sort, but missing second grade puts him at a perpetual disadvantage.
What do I say to Luis, who’s always cold and hungry? The deportation of his father plunged the family into deep poverty, leaving them teetering on the edge of homelessness. He has trouble adjusting to life in a border town, keeps to himself, gets in fights. I bring him jackets from my son’s closet, hug him when he lets me, and slip him granola bars at recess.
How can I reprimand Diego for falling asleep in class? His family’s fortune, tenuous at best, fell farther when his father was deported. I suspect he lives in Tijuana, and based on the scent of dirt and cooking fire that permeates his clothing, I suspect he lives in a primitive situation not much better than camping. He arrives at school unimaginably early each morning, beating the rush of border-crossers. When he falls asleep in class, I nudge him gently, but say nothing more than, “Andale. A trabajar. Get to work.”
It’s easy to slide into judgment, into sweeping condemnations of “these people.” Why do these people put their children in this situation? Why can’t these people wait in line to enter the country, like their law-abiding legal counterparts? It’s hard some days to be compassionate toward parents whose choices have led their children to this crossroads. I prod myself to remember that the intentions of most parents are good; most want nothing more than to give their children a better life. I recognize that President Obama spoke truth in last week’s speech on immigration reform as he said, “After all, most of these immigrants have been here a long time. They work hard, often in tough, low paying jobs. They support their families. They worship at our churches. Many of the kids are American born or spent most of their lives here. And their hopes, dreams, and patriotism are just like ours.” I see this in my students and I see it in their parents.
More importantly, I remember that in less than 10 years, these students will be my adult neighbors, and then it becomes urgent to help them move forward. The decisions we make today about their future will determine the sort of neighbors they become – a benefit or a burden. I know it is a poet’s dream rather than a politician’s that exhorts us to lift our lamp beside the golden door. Perhaps it is an impractical dream. Nonetheless, my heart soared when President Obama offered a chance for so many families with children to “…come out of the shadows and get right with the law.” I have never seen a family profit from being divided, nor a child benefit from losing a parent to deportation.
My job is made easier and all of us are well-served when children live stable lives. Perhaps it is too late to reunite the families of Luis, Paola, Diego, or Andres, but our immigration policy must endeavor to keep families unified and lessen the turmoil in the lives of children. It behooves all of us in the long run to help the hard-working families currently living in the shadows be able to grow into the neighbors we wish to have.
Alvarado is a teacher in the San Ysidro School District.
