As a Mexican girl in elementary school, my personality was very much reserved, as it continues to be to this day.  My mother was once an illegal in this country and as a single mother of three, I saw her struggles at an early age.  I remember her talking to my sister, who is only a year older than me, about how she felt emotionally.  Realizing that my mother had no one to talk to but a young child made me very reserved with my own emotions and troubles.  I felt as if I were the illegal alien in this country, one who does not know her rights so decides to keep her mouth shut before blowing up our cover. Losing my mother was the last thing I wanted.

I remember my mother crying at night, I remember how she use to get into it with my brother.  That used to provoke him to run away from home.  My mother would then cry and we would have to search the streets for him at early hours of the morning like the Llorona. I remember when my brother said he was going to tell immigration services on the day my mother had her interview for residency, that he no longer wanted to live with us.  That made my mother cry so much, but who could blame him? I felt torn.  I was too young to be interviewed, so I was spared of the humiliation.

Being the daughter of an immigrant mother was very difficult, I know it was difficult for my siblings as well.  Everyone has different coming of age moments in our lives and this was one of mine. If I would have had a teacher like Alice Bag when I was in school, I know that she would have taught me many ways of dealing with my life troubles as she made her student feel safe with her.  We need more people in our communities to uplift each other in time of need.