The San Antonio Trips

I think the biggest stress causing ordeal award goes to our multiple trips to the immigration office in San Antonio.  While young, we had no idea why this was such a big deal, but knew it had something to do with staying here.  We would all load up from Austin after dad spent like two weeks preparing paperwork, stressing to the point no one dared come near him. We would get up early and get all dressed up and take what seemed to be a very, very long drive to San Antonio. My parents fought a lot during the drive and my sister and I tried to think positive.  If things went well, as my sister remembers correctly, we went out to eat after the meeting: Olive Garden on the Riverwalk. But, if they denied us again or whatever negative conclusion occurred, a horrible and immediate drive home followed.  And my dad was so angry that as a child I wanted to do something to make it better. I wanted to fix the relationship between he and my mom. I wanted to protect my sister. I was angry at America for making my family sad.  I hated whatever "immigration" was because it made my dad so angry. I made inner vows and judgments then that I would be strong for everyone.

I hated talking about San Antonio.  San Antonio was the headquarters for immigration, a place where the rejection was set in stone and written in some legal paperwork.  Even at school in Texas History when the town was mentioned it made me cringe.  It held awful memories for me and my family.  When I visited with Dan, I tried so hard to mask my feelings, and I bet we probably fought every time. I remember at least that I drank myself to oblivion once while there, probably trying to escape the pain subconsciously.

I cannot seem to stress enough how bazaar this is on the mind of a young child. Imagine your kids, if you have any, between 6 and 14 and trying to explain to them the judicial system, how the immigration process works and what that all means.  I don't think the immigration employees even know!  The bottom line that is taken is that we started to believe lies about ourselves.  We thought we did something wrong; we could not understand how someone could tell you that you cannot live somewhere.  Are we not all people on this only one planet with life on it?  Should we not stick together?  Can't we live wherever we find room?  Why can someone tell you that you have to leave if you want to stay?  If nothing criminal and illegal was done - why do they want me to leave?  What if I did good and volunteered and did things right? Could I stay? No.

Then I will do the opposite. If they treat me like a criminal and unworthy, maybe I can just misbehave a little...