Your graduation

The story I most want to tell right now is about your graduation. I feel horrible that I'm missing it, and I feel even more horrible that you told me not to come. This must be weird, for you to read, since you're the one asking me the question, but I really have been thinking about how much I want you to walk. Especially with your brother and his situation, and your dad and his situation, and your grandma. I just think it's really important. I know you don't feel very close to Fordham or to the Bronx campus, but I really think you would regret not walking. I for one never had a graduation to walk at, and neither did your father. Even though the plane ticket will probably be expensive I think it'll be worth it. As a parent, this is all I want. Imagine one of your papers or projects, but one that takes 20 years to finish, and in the end, you don't even get to see what grade it got, you don't even get to turn it in. That's exactly how I feel (although I want you to know that you're not being graded). 

Aside from that, I don't have a lot of other stories. That's the thing I'm most thinking about. I know it seems casual for you, it seems expected for you to graduate, but for the rest of your family, that hasn't been a given. I mean, I guess there are other things. Your dad's cancer. Your brother is getting his GED, but you probably already know that by now. Even though it seems small, it's a big deal to me. It's always been a big deal to me. Watching you go out and do things. 
~Katharine

FIU

The story I most want to tell right now is about FIU. 

I was born and raised in Miami. My parents are the particular generation of Cuban that came here and made an excellent life for themselves, not teaching their children Spanish for fear that it might socially or intellectually ostracize them. They were the particular generation of Cuban that didn't save the American dream for their kids, they went out and got it all on their own. I don't think they saved any for me. 

Florida International University is a good school, don't get me wrong, but my parents are both architects. They met in architecture school, and received fellowships to come to America and study here as architects. Both of them are really high achieving, and set really high standards. It's always been hard, because on one hand they are immigrants, and did come here for a better life, but it was never about creating a better life for their children to compensate for something they never had. They were some of the lucky ones in Cuba, so they had everything except for the fellowship. When they came here, it was for the fellowship, it was never for us. I am the child of immigrants, but I don't fit into that mold.

Especially being from Miami, there are so many immigrants here from all over the world, but mostly from the Caribbean and South America. I feel like immigrants from those areas sometimes try and vicariously live through their children, and I know that I don't have the pressure of parents trying to vicariously live through me, but it's still hard. I don't have any standards to live up to, not because they didn't give me any standards, but because my parents were fulfilled to begin with. 

I think my parent viewed me going to FIU as giving up. They would always talk about how getting into architecture school in Cuba was so competitive after the revolution, and about how careful you had to be with the government, but I don't know how much I care. They are my parents, and their past is my past, but they made such a conscious effort to make my brother and I feel so American instead of Cuban, so at this point, I find it hard to care. 

Don't get me wrong, I care about my parents, just not about being Cuban. That was their life, and this is mine. 

~Crista D'az

I've been around Fordham for as long as I can remember

I've been around Fordham for as long as I can remember. My dad emigrated from Ireland in '86 and began working at Fordham in the early 90s and he's been here ever since. I grew up in an Irish neighborhood in Yonkers where the majority of kids I knew were also first generation. When I was little my dad worked an early morning shift and was usually finished by 2pm. But, every now and then he would either work a double or switch a shift and he wouldn't be out until 10pm. On these occurrences, my siblings and I knew exactly what it meant -White Castle. My brother, sister, and I would wait up and hope to hear the phone ring around 9:45. My mom would answer and a few moments later ask us what we wanted our dad to bring us home. I remember eagerly waiting for him to come home with a bag full of greasy goodness. The five of us would sit around our kitchen table and stuff our faces with mini burgers and milkshakes. I thought it was the coolest thing ever that I got to eat fast food late at night while most of my friends were probably asleep. This little family tradition is something that has always stuck with me. I like being able to remember a moment in time when such a simple thing could bring me such joy and happiness.    I'm not sure what the future will hold given our current state of affairs but it is my hope that my generation and those to follow can bring a new sense of compassion and understanding in order to better our society for all. 

~ Anonymous

I am a dual citizen, both Russian and American

I am a dual citizen, both Russian and American. My mother just got her green card and my father has trouble entering the country, which is a shame. I'm protesting because I fight for humanity, I support everybody, which is why I'm against Trump's immigration ban. My dad likes Trump, we used to fight about Trump all the time, but recently my father's agreeing with me.

~Rodion

I am an immigrant, so are my parents

I am an immigrant, so are my parents. My father came here on the H1-B Visa (or whatever visa they gave for work) and then my mother and I followed. I grew up in Delaware after coming from the Hunan province in China. I had a good life there and here... I went to college at MIT and now I'm working as a software engineer. I still have a green card, but I don't want to become a citizen. I don't expect that the process will become harder under Trump, of all the countries I've visited, I still think that America is a good place. There is a lot of interest from Chinese people in traveling here, back and forth because they like it here. 
When I was growing up, we knew that we couldn't go back [to China]. That didn't affect me because I was a kid, I could make friends, but my mother would fight with my dad because she couldn't go back to see her family or friends. I didn't get to meet my grandparents until seven years ago. 

~Ray

I'm an Indian from Mumbai

I'm an Indian from Mumbai, which was formerly known as Bombay. I'm 39 years old and my father left for the states when I was 1 and I was Naturalized when I was 6. My father came to America in the 80's to Post-Vietnam America as an engineer looking for opportunity. He came as an educated person to an open community, even though he knew that there would be difficulties in Ohio then, I don't think that he would come here [to the US] now.

~Kushal

My grandmother was not born in this country

My grandmother was not born in this country. She was born in Italy and then immigrated to Argentina to eventually come to America in her early twenties. Now I am the same age that my grandmother would have been when she came to this country many years ago. Given the current status of the world it forces me to recognize, as I have many times before, this is a country of immigrants. None of us, technically, belong here. Her story of coming to America and only knowing two people and not being able to speak English put her at a great disadvantage. She managed to make a stable life for herself, but it was a life that was not made easier by American society. And now, hearing the stories of people's journey immigrating into America and the struggles they face, makes me wonder was it easier for my grandmother to come into this country and make a life for herself then it is now? Have the systems in place only forced people into deeper levels of poverty with fewer opportunities to escape? Upon reflection the answers seems to be a resounding yes. 

~Anonymous

This Christmas I asked for several books

This Christmas I asked for several books and got most of them. One of them was Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine. Funnily enough, I "read" this book in my sophomore year of college in my English class: Writing New York. Ironically, I actually didn't read the book - I should have, but I didn't. Anyway, fast forward, this year I read Rankine's book Citizen and went to a talk about it with Claudia herself. It made me want to go back and read the book I never read. So, I got the book and read it. One page stuck out to me particularly. It was harrowing to think about it in the face of this election (image of said page is attached) and really made me think about the importance knowledge and awareness is. 
Something that really stuck out to me was the line "you don't remember because you don't care." This is something that my Mother also used to say to me. She would always tell me that it was no excuse to "forget" someone's name because if you really cared to remember it you would. This has always stayed with me and I have always taken the time to remember people's names and what they tell me. To me, it is imperative to do this because doing this shows people that you are listening to them and furthermore, care about what they are saying.
When Rankine says: "in Bush's case I find myself talking to the television: you don't know because you don't care" I hear my mother's voice. The President "forgetting" whether or not it was two or three people that drug a black man to death in Texas is extremely symbolic and representative of what I feel our country currently represents. "They don't know because they don't care" In the face of the Black Lives Matter movement it is extremely difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that it solely exists on the basis that people just don't care about black lives. They' don't know because they don't care. How do we get people to care? We know that black lives don't matter in this society, but how do we change that? How do we change a culture that invalidates and ignores a whole population's basest identity? 

~Lienne Harrington

My mother's cousin

My mother's cousin, when we visited him pre-inauguration, was a very well-intentioned Trump supporter-a foster parent devoted to carefully articulated sarcasm and Sunday potlucks. His son shared his passionate support of Florida sports teams and the elected president. We did not talk about politics, the divisive subject misplaced in dialogue between family that had spent years apart. The sports rivalry was more pertinent, less transient, a staple of our reunions. Shielding fragile conversation, we don't prod for the information that shapes his viewpoints. 
We may have even naively assumed our raw source material was the same, concluding that we had just resonated with different solutions. 
Now, as the president and his administration dictate coverage of pretend events and analyze fabricated statistics to massive audiences, we must all engage diligently with well-researched reporting. We must also hope that the public does the same, but the campaign culture that has transcended its temporality makes blind allegiance, by some, to the word of the president seem possible, if not probable. The president advocates for a distrust of the media, working to destroy its credibility amongst certain sects of the public. An informed skepticism of the media replaced by blasts of its absurdity. 
Investigative and honest insight into the government is imperative to an accountable democracy. Transparency of executive action will come from adversary media, which we cannot guarantee to be taken seriously anyone who might be trusting only Trump-approved sources. Information, today, acts as currency, and withholding it allows the proprietor dangerous amounts of freedom from public accountability.
Haphazard deception from such powerful figures creates a disillusionment with the truth that makes subjectivity and objectivity harder to discern from one another. Critique of information sources will be a vital form of citizenship in the coming years, independent of what you believe and what you believe in. 

~Anonymous

人们需要重新思考子女与父母的关系。

在传统的概念中父与子母与女的关系中父母说话是至高无上不许不听，父母到老了，要儿女尽善也是天经地义，他们不会考虑自己有养老金，尽可能的自己想办法解决问题，他们不会考虑儿女是在异地并儿女自己也还要有种种困难不能前往，他们一概不听，准备通过法律程序要儿女看护。人们需要重新思考子女与父母的关系。

~漾洋

我认为在现行的社会政治环境中人与人之间的关系是怎样的？

我认为在现行的社会政治环境中人与人之间的关系是怎样的？

在目前，因为每个人都在为生存而忙碌着，
人的关系可能会更加疏远，
关系会更加淡漠，
但是人的亲情和血缘是个不断的。

可是有些兄弟姐妹可以一年只有在春节通一次话，因为这是中国人的必要的礼节。
反之他们有事情要你帮忙就会在电话与你讲1-2小时，
如果你没有答应就再也不理你了。

真正的人情薄如纸。

看你是否会呵护？

~ 良沁

With all the talk about immigrants and the work force

With all the talk about immigrants and the work force my grandkids asked me if they would have to do the jobs that no one else wanted to do just because they were Hispanic. Even though my wife and I are not, we have helped our son and their mother raise their children quite a bit and a lot of times their questions come back to me. I explained to my grandkids that even though they were of Hispanic descent that didn't mean they had to do the jobs nobody else wanted to do. I told them to keep their grades up and pay attention to what was happening in our world. If they did well in school and then wanted to go to college they could or they could learn a trade and become a skilled tradesman, that way they wouldn't have to work in the fields or wash dishes or work a minimum wage job that they hated. Just because they were not white didn't mean they were destined to work in a job that no white person wanted to do. All my grandkids had to do was learn and follow their interest and then they could find a job they liked or even start their own business and be their own boss. (pictured with his son, Eric, who's 3 children are the aforementioned "grandkids")

~Steve Wardlaw

I want our nation to continue to welcome, but wisely

During the course of our marriage, my wife and I have had close to 30 people live with us at various times in our home as guests. We see hospitality as a gift that we can offer to others. In 2002 we purchased a home with extra room for the express purpose of having two to four university students live with us in an intentional Christian discipleship community. This idea never came together, but with the added space, other people continued to live with us. In the spring of 2004 a friend contacted me about a co-worker who had an urgent housing need. I will call his co-worker "John." We met. He had his idiosyncrasies - he described himself as a poster child for ADHD. John gave me the name of a reference in his home state that by and large vouched for him. I decided to allow John to live with us in a room off of our carport, a room John was glad to call his. He stayed through the summer and into the fall. He was laid off his job, but picked up odd jobs detailing vehicles. He enrolled in a local community college with the goal of pursuing a nursing degree. Over time it became apparent that John was dealing with more than ADHD - that he had some type of mental health problems. Being untrained, however, it was difficult for me to put my finger on what wasn't right. During this period of time we also had another person staying with us as well - "Sally." Conflict between John and Sally developed and in January 2005, I asked John to move out within the next 30 days. He refused. He became verbally belligerent insisting that Sally move out and not he. He started regularly drinking in excess. Sally temporarily moved out. Because he had lived with us for several months in exchange for some occasional work, the police could not remove him from the property as a trespasser. The police advised that he could not be placed on a mental hold unless he was a danger to himself or others. I gave him a 30 day written notice to move out. In mid-February he became so belligerent that my wife and children moved out of the house and my brother-in-law and nephew moved in the house to secure it while I was at work. One night, John went on a rampage and began destroying his own property in our drive way. Another night he had a panic attack and the police and paramedics were called around midnight. He was hospitalized, but released early the next morning and returned to the house. Finally, John agreed to move out. The month long ordeal was finally over. The next day my wife and children moved back home. Two days later, after the children had gone to school, and I was preparing to leave for work, John drove up and asked to get some belongings he had left behind in his room. I unlocked the room and went back into the house to finish getting dressed. There was a commotion in the hall. John was attacking my wife with a baseball bat hitting her on her head and shoulders. I wrestled him into our children's room yelling for my wife to call the police. John and I disengaged. He walked out of the room. I thought we had reached a truce of sorts. As I walked into the living room I saw him again attacking my wife on the back porch. He was attempting to strike her with a splitting maul and she was grabbing the maul handle close to the head. I tackled him again and we rolled out into the back yard. Again we disengaged and I ran away into street finding my wife. The police came. We were taken to the hospital. My wife, covered in blood, had lacerations to her scalp and chest and a contusion on her back, but no permanent injuries. At the hospital we learned that John had set fire to our home. These events occurred almost 12 years ago, but they are still tender wounds. It was a time of upheaval in our home. The events connected with the election of Mr. Trump point to a time of upheaval in our nation as well. This upheaval has many strands, but one is the balance between being welcoming and being wise. How can we as a nation be a welcoming nation? But in our welcoming, what does it mean to be wise? At the time I invited John to stay with us I thought I was being wise. In hindsight I see that my "vetting" process was very inadequate. We need to make sure our refugee vetting procedures are up to snuff. John, as subsequent court proceedings established, had significant mental health issues - issues not appropriately addressed in a family's home. How do we best help the refugee and the immigrant? Is the uprooting from one hemisphere to another with significantly different cultures, the best solution for the refugee? Once the welcome had been extended to John, it was difficult to end his stay. This reality underscores the need to make good decisions upfront. With the passage of time, my wife and I started having people stay with us again, but much more selectively. At first only family members, but then people referred by friends who knew us well. I want to continue to welcome ---but wisely. I want our nation to continue to welcome, but wisely.

~Michael Duggan

It was supposed to be funny, you know?

It was supposed to be funny, you know? There was this old looking house in our neighborhood that we would joke about being haunted. We knew there was someone living there but we were kids, so we liked to imagine things. Well, anyway, one day when my younger brother and I were playing with a girl from our neighborhood we decided to 'check out' that house's yard. I was about eleven years old at the time and my brother was about eight-ish. I was the oldest out of all three of us. Anyway, I hopped over the fence into the backyard first. There were these big bags of soil that we used as steps, but when I hopped over I realized that I couldn't leave the way I came. There was nothing stacked against the other side of the fence for me to step on. I told my brother and of course he jumped right on over to help me. But then we were both stuck. The neighbor girl that was with us thought that if she jumped over the fence we could figure out something together, I'm sure you can guess that we didn't magically figure it out with her on our side of the fence. If anything, we panicked more. We couldn't go around the front because then we might get caught by the person living in the house. (We later found out they were on vacation and weren't even home.) I could hear my dad calling my brother and I because I had soccer practice soon. The neighbor girl started crying and saying we were going to make the ghosts in the house mad and then my brother started crying and then I started crying. We cried for a good ten minutes until my brother kicked a rock in frustration and it hit these crate boxes. I swear I probably screamed something like, "We're saved!". Long story short, we dragged those stupid things over to the fence and made some stairs and climbed out of there. It was probably one of the most stressful thirty minutes of my childhood and I guess the moral is 'make sure you can get out before you go in', or something stupid like that. I didn't go to soccer practice that day, by the way. And my brother didn't come out of his room for a good five hours.

~Anonymous

Your daddy and I are twenty years apart

Your daddy and I are twenty years apart - have I told you that? I had him when I was twenty. Sometimes, I think I was too young to have a baby then. Oh, God, he was so small! I remember I would stare at him sometimes, when he was that small, and think 'is this a real baby?' 'is it real?' and I would move him, just a bit, so he would start to fidget and then I would say, 'yeah, he's real'. Your grandfather worked construction and had to stay overnight most weeks, so I would be alone with your father 'cause I didn't work when the kids were little. Just me and him. I was so young! I used to dress him up in little outfits because he was like my own little baby doll. I loved it. He was a calm baby and let my put little shoes and hats and mittens on him without much of a fuss. I treated him like a little doll for a long time - until I had your aunt eight years later. I was more mature when I had her, I like to think. Your first baby is so exciting, you just get caught up in it! But, with your aunt, I was a little more reserved, and your daddy was older. I'm glad neither you or your brother have had kids yet. You shouldn't have them so young. You don't think they're real when you're that young. I wasn't ready for him. I wasn't ready. But he was so sweet, and he turned out okay. I think that's all that matters.

~Anonymous

In August of 2015

In August of 2015 I took a week-long vacation to Cuba with my family. I was so excited for the trip, Cuba has for years fascinated me, from the polarizing figure of Fidel Castro to the stories of my relatives leaving Cuba to escape the upheaval of the Revolution of 1959 to start a new, better life in the United States. During that time my views of Castro and his regime has been similar to other Americans, in that he was a dictator who made Cuba into a police state. Yet the story is much more complicated than that, and my trip showed me that Cuba's story isn't so black and white as it has made out to be.

My Mother booked a "Cultural Tour", through a tourist agency which is why we were even able to go, since the United States does not allow travel to Cuba freely. We were going to Cuba during a very exciting time, that week The U.S. embassy was reopening for the first time since 1961 when diplomatic ties severed between the two nations, we were about to witness history. The flight we took from JFK went straight to Havana, something that had started only a month before. The check in point was near baggage claim in a small area of the airport. On line with us were mostly all Cuban families with TVs, furniture, play stations and other goods wrapped up in blue plastic. Right then I realized this wasn't going to be a normal summer vacation to a tropical island. We arrived at Jose Marti Airport in Havana Cuba on a Friday afternoon. The airport is very small and split into two sides, arrival and departure. When walking into customs you are transported back to 1950. The room is filled with private booths with a door with blurred windows so it's impossible to see the person who goes in. After getting through customs and waiting almost two hours to get our luggage. We finally met up with our driver. That's when our experience began. As we were driving to downtown Havana, you could smell the fumes in the air, old fashioned Fords, Buicks and Chevrolets lined the streets; all in funky colors of baby blue, red and yellow, along with people riding horse buggies. Me, my Mom and Brother looked at each other with amazement.
I remember when we were driving through the city thinking, "This is how people live?". The buildings were deteriorating, some had collapsed, there weren't any windows in apartments. Clothes and linens hung all over outside, kids were playing outside with little pieces of things that once looked like parts of toys. There were no supermarkets, department stores or pharmacies in sight. When we got to the hotel. It felt like all the people hanging out outside were looking at us like we were aliens. Before we came to Cuba I thought that I was going to see a bunch of very sad people living in poverty. Instead what I saw were people partying, laughing and dancing. They seemed to be the happiest people in the world despite having very little materialistic things. Across from my hotel room was a big family that lived on the top floor of a building that had a makeshift roof. I watched them like hawks since there was no internet or T.V. to entertain me in the time I was in the Hotel. However, from the time that I watched them I realized how much Cubans value family. The grandparents would be playing with the grand kids. The father would come out on the roof and be playing with the children and the family dogs every evening. The wife would be making dinner for what looked like twenty people. These people would be crowded around one Television at night and laughing all hours of the night. To me, they seemed to have nothing, but to them, they had everything they wanted.

On our trip we got the real experience, we drank and ate with the locals. We visited sites and monuments to the Revolution, even rode a soviet truck up the Sierra Maestra Mountains where Castro and his rebels waged guerrilla warfare. We also learned about Cuban art and visited Ernest Hemingway's house. Everywhere we went, all I saw were people literally dancing or singing. Even workers working, I also saw that Cubans are rainbow people, coming in all different shapes and sizes. I didn't feel out of place being a tall white boy. My trip showed me that the Cubans are the backbone of Cuba. Their dream in achieving freedom haven't faltered, even when living in a world with limited freedom. I was surprised to learn that Cubans have access to healthcare, education and that there's virtually no racism, crime or prostitution. However, despite this, several Cubans I asked, did express their displeasure with the government. Saying that getting jobs is hard and that they hope the new relations with the U.S would open the door for the embargo to end. It seemed to me, that Cubans have a firm belief that the embargo is the one thing holding them back, and that the ending of it will finally see Cuba return back to prosperity. If that is actually true remains to be seen, as personally, I believe that the government moving to a more democratic form of government will truly see Cuba become a more modern, unified nation.
Lastly I found myself questioning my opinions about Castro. When driving around Cuba, you see bill boards and monuments. All to the July 26th movement. Yet what you don't see is anything made for him. All the monuments are of other Cuban revolutionaries, the likes of Che Guevara, Camilo Cienfuegos, JosŽ Mart’ and Frank Pais. Our guides told us he did this to not create a cult of worship around himself. Perhaps he did it for propaganda purposes, or maybe he did because he really did want the revolution to be about the people and not himself. It's hard to really say, because he's so charismatic that you almost forget he's the guy who has committed human right violations on his own people.

My trip only lasted a week, yet in that short amount of time. Being without internet, phone and T.V. really helped make my experience more memorable. It allowed me to get to know new people from a place that is entirely different than mine, I was able to able to see how grateful I am for my family and friends. It also made me realize that no matter how hard I think my life is, the Cuban people have it ten times worse than I do and are still able to have a good time. Lastly, the new connection that I made with my heritage will forever make me feel proud to be a Cuban American and not the other way around.

~ Alex Gisondi

When I was a kid I was obsessed

When I was a kid I was obsessed with being cool. I always wanted to have the in clothes, the in shoes, and whatever all of the other kids had. But I wanted to go one step further, I wanted to have the things they didn't have yet - the latest upcoming trends. I wanted to be a trendsetter. So, I was really excited when I got an email - in sixth grade - from this company that said they would send me these free clothes, and I can't remember exactly what it said, but it was going to be the new trend, and nobody else would have these clothes yet. I was really excited about it. I responded, told them how excited I was - I gave them my home address, which might have been a mistake, but anyway... I got these clothes in the mail, which is a miracle that this wasn't actually a scam. I tried on the clothes and I was so excited because they seemed so different from what everyone else in my class was wearing. I don't remember exactly what made it different - but it made me feel more adult. I had broken my arm at the time, so my mom had to help me with getting dressed every morning. I showed her the clothes and even she was excited, she thought the outfits were really cute, and somehow I managed to get away with not telling her I'd give a strange company my address. I went to school, and all of my friends seemed really excited about this outfit too... but then I was sent to the principals office. I couldn't figure out why, I'd only been at school for a couple of minutes.

The principal told me I had to be sent home because my outfit had broken our school dress code and was too 'provocative.' I couldn't understand what he meant. I didn't see anything wrong with my outfit - it was really just jeans and a loose, patterned shirt. The jeans weren't even ripped, something that kids had gotten reprimanded for but never sent home over. I asked him what it was about my outfit that was too provocative, but he wouldn't answer and my mom was called to come and pick me up. When my principal filled her in she was livid. She couldn't understand why my outfit was coming under fire when no part of me was exposed. The principal, after much berating, finally told her that my shirt had exposed too much of my shoulder, in a way that could be considered inappropriate. I don't know why, but I can't remember what happened after this point in the conversation. I went home, changed, and came back to school, but I don't remember telling my friends about what had happened, or wearing the rest of my new trendy clothing. I was too embarrassed. To this day I spend a lot of time picking out my outfits. I worry more about my outfits now, but I think I'm worried for the wrong reasons.

~Anonymous

In all of my 50 years of life

In all of my 50 years of life, I have no memory of the people of my country reacting to a presidency as they are doing now. What I have been thinking about mostly in recent months is the controversy over Trump's policy on illegal immigration. I wonder what is going through people's minds. Why do they want to come here? Freedom? Job opportunities? Reuniting with family? To escape from violence? What do they expect when they get here? What will they contribute to our society? What do they expect our country to offer them? All of these questions lead me to think about the story of my parents, immigrants from Italy in 1961, and it reminds me of lessons I learned from them as I grew up as a first generation American.

My parents came here for a better life. They wanted to raise their children in a place that was full of opportunities. My mother grew up on a farm in Palata, Campobasso. My father became a man at age 11 when his father died of bronchitis in the same small town. He took over his father's job as the town mailman, and he practically raised his 3 younger brothers. After getting married and having their first child in Italy, they decided they wanted something better. America was the obvious choice to them. They came her LEGALLY, and took no short cuts. They took a very difficult journey over the Atlantic Ocean by boat, my mother being quarantined because she got sick. It took some time, but once they got here, my father found a job as a tailor, and eventually my mother used her sewing skills to get a job in the Garment District of NYC. They both learned English because they felt it was the right thing to do. My parents both became American citizens after a few years.

My parents taught us that THIS was our country. America. We were told that our allegiance was to the country that we lived and worked in. We also learned to appreciate and be proud of our Italian culture. That, of course, should never be forgotten. When Columbus Day came, our Italian flag went up, but right above it was our American flag. It wasn't always easy. My father got very ill, we faced racism on Belmont Avenue in the Bronx when the black kids used to beat us up, money was often very tight, and my mother had no family here to rely on. But my parents never gave up.

I think that people should be welcome here, as long as they come here legally as my parents did. We live in dangerous times, yes. So they might have to be inconvenienced and patient. But once they do find their way here, they should call this their country, feeling free to share their culture with their children, their friends, their neighborhood, their new country. That's all America wants from them.

~ Julia Giaccio

I don't necessarily regret anything

I don't necessarily regret anything because I have a beautiful daughter. She's going to be three in a few days, can you believe it? Three! I remember going into labor with her and then in the blink of an eye she was there. She was so pale, I looked at my mom and said, 'Are you sure this is my baby? Did you follow the right nurse? She's white!' I still had the epidural in and I wasn't feeling too bad. I didn't even feel a thing when I pushed her out, I didn't even feel any pressure. The hospital took all these nice pictures of her but they were expensive. We only kept a couple. You saw them right? They were so dope! But anyway, if I did have a regret, and I know this wasn't really the question, but I wish I paid more attention in high school. I was too busy being chased by boys and getting in fights to really crack down on school. I wish I stuck to community college more than I did. Like I said, I don't necessarily regret it because I have a little princess now, but I wish I had been a little smarter about it all.

~Anonymous

This might be a little cliché

This might be a little cliché but when Nickie came into my life I thought, 'Yeah, this is good'. It happened by accident. My son had just turned four and my husband was saying we should get a dog. I thought he was kidding. A puppy and a toddler? 'He's nuts', I thought. But then my mom got wind of it and she said we didn't have to get a puppy-puppy. We could get one of those dogs that failed the guide dog tests because they need homes too. They're trained and house broken and polite. That's what I wanted if I was going to get a dog. A polite one. I swear I must have researched it for weeks. My husband had forgot all about getting a dog, he never mentioned it after that first time. Problem solved right? Wrong! Now I was the one craving a dog! When I finally found a program that I liked and thought was reasonable, I sat my husband down and starting saying things like, 'You know, Jim, I've been thinking about expanding our family some more and I really think blah blah blah, womp womp,' just to get a rise out of him. You should have seen the color drain out of his face! He thought I was pregnant and turned white as a sheet! I pulled out some print outs I made from the guide dog program and went, 'SIKE, LET'S GET A DOG!' He didn't think it was very funny but I laughed about it for days. The place we got her from was all the way in Tennessee and when we brought her home, our son went ballistic. He was bouncing off the walls yelling about the new puppy and there was our little Nickie, just quiet as can be. She was trained not to bark with a bark collar, but my husband and I could tell she wanted to yell right back at the little human in her face. But she never did. She was so polite. I've only heard her bark about a handful of times, and that's only when she thought we were in danger. She was a good dog. I wish we had more time with her. She passed away a few months ago. She had stomach cancer and we put her down. She gave us ten good years. I can't be mad at the ol' girl. Never at my polite little Nickie.

~Anonymous