Sidenote: This story is based mostly of fiction and my family's stories of picking the fields in Central California.
My friends spoke about where they were all going this summer. “Bermuda”, “Monaco”, and “Hawaii” were some of the names I heard. Except no one asked me what my plans were. It was the end of May 2016, and at 18 years old, I would be again helping my family pick the fields.
On a normal day of work, my Mom shook me awake at 5:00am. We had to get up early in the morning so we could start picking earlier she always said. Today, after putting on my thick blue jeans and a long sleeve shirt, I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth. From hearing the weather at the 5:30am news, I heard that it would be 105 degrees today. I could already feel the blistering heat on my dark skin and the sweat rolling down my forehead. But hey, at least it's not August yet, where it gets to 110, and we needed the money, so put my complaints to rest. About 15 minutes later at 5:45am sharp, my 3 other siblings, my mother and I waited in the front of our tiny home for the pickup truck to arrive. Once it did, we all got in the back and drove off towards the farms, following the heat wave.
Usually in the Central Valley, especially during the summers, it got easily to over 100 degrees, and would drop down to a cool 90 at night. I always enjoyed picking grapes in the early morning, since it was the coolest, and the heat would start to rise to 100 at 10:30 in the morning. Though the worst part of my day picking grapes was the afternoon between 1 and 4, since the heat would climb to over 110 degrees, and we had to wear long clothing like jeans and long sleeve shirts to protect ourselves from getting burned and scratched. I'm just glad that I don't have to pick cotton, since the thorns on that cut people's hands even with the gloves. Those long afternoons would kill me, and I would always have to the find the motivation to pick during these long summer days. I reminded myself that my family needed the money, and that alone made me work harder.
However, there were some good times in the fields as well. I remember this one time, we were picking grapes in the afternoon when I heard a loud scream. All the workers and I turned around, and found that my sister while picking grapes, she saw a garden snake, and screamed her head off. I'd never laughed so hard in my life. My family and I refuse to let her live that down. And unlike the earlier days, some of the farmers and the pickers got along well! I remember specifically my mother laughing many times with the farmers, giving them burritos and having great conversations with them. These small moments really made working in the smoldering heat worth it.
As the summer ended, and the blistering heat of August turned into September, I went back to school. On the first day, I saw my friends in a group as usual, so I decided to join them. “All of the illegals are taking our jobs”, “They need to go back to Mexico”, and “I bet half of them don’t even speak English” I heard, and was astonished. They said these comments as they ate grapes off their lunch trays.
“How dare you?” I said in anger. “The food you’re eating was picked by those people you call illegals. When I was out there, did I see any of those hardworking Americans that you were talking about? No! I saw generations of immigrants, Mexicans, Filipinos and more. Let me tell you, they worked harder than than any Americans I've seen”. “And you all pray to God around your long hardwood tables, thanking Him for your food. Well let me just say, you’re welcome. And honestly with those phrases I hear coming from you, I find it funny you call yourselves Christians”. I in rage started to walk off when one of them put a hand on my shoulder.
“Mijo, you can’t be getting into fights ” my mother said. “You’re on scholarship and if you do this again, you might get kicked out of that Christian school”. “I’m sorry mom” I said apologetically. “They were making fun of immigrants and us out there in those fields”, “it’s not fair that they get away with it”. “Well, then feel sorry for them” she said. “They will never get to truly know any immigrants. And yes, what they said was pretty horrible. But mijo, you’ve just got to let go of it. There will always be people who say these things, and you have to ignore them. You should be proud to have worked in those fields over the summer, with all of those hardworking people. Because those people are the special ones. They mijo, are the ones who have sacrificed their lives and bodies for their children to go to school, like I have done for you. Yes, I needed you to help pick the field with me this summer because we needed the money. But the thing is, you will have the chance to go to college. I would say barely a quarter of the worker’s kids would even consider it. But you have such a bright future, and I want you to take full advantage of it. Just promise me you'll never forget where you came from. From this, from here. Don’t forget them, the people of the fields. Now do your homework, you have a test tomorrow”.
My mother then stood up from the chair, and walked out of the room. It was the first time I noticed her hunched back, and callused hands. I had tears in my eyes seeing this. I then got up and walked to the window, seeing in the farsight the migrant workers in the fields and the heat wave mixing together, like a mirage. “I will change things, I promise” I whispered, and walked back to the kitchen table to finish my homework.