I was born by a river... I've established that. My brown skin, my last name, and the Spanish words my grandmother coddled me with as a child tell you the story of a time when the river was not crossed as a fight for survival. It tells you of a time when my ancestors’ allegiance lay with a different government, all without moving their feet. By chance I came into this world after the Rio Grande was chosen to do more than feed thirsty crops. My social security number did not come with a test on American history, did not require a hearty sum of currency from my parents, did not push me into the hands of an untrustworthy coyote. It was handed to me, an innocent babe with no concept of freedom or fortune, because my umbilical cord was cut north of a stream of water, just like my mother’s and father’s. I did things the right way.
As a child, I stood up every weekday morning and recited the pledge of allegiance to the American flag before starting my day. In my spare time, I devoured every piece of literature I could get my hands on because I could. I learned to read and write my English words on thickly lined paper and passed my state assessments with commendable scores. On weekends, I took the PSATs and went to UIL meets because I wanted to better myself. In high school, I cared about my GPA because I wanted to be the first in my family to go to college. I wanted a higher education because my parents’ hard work didn’t deserve to go unnoticed.
Today I sit in a lecture hall as the professor in front of me discusses the concept of free will to a sea of half-attentive undergrads. Meanwhile only a few miles away, immigrant college students and graduates stand together in front of a federal building with picket signs and hope in their hearts.
The undergrad seated beside me was also born by the Rio Grande. In order to receive her nine digits as an infant, she had to be baptized by the river that I held the privilege to always see, but never touch. As an innocent babe, she symbolized the eternal debate over who held the right to own freedom and fortune. In the eyes of her critics, she arrived in this country without the hard work and righteousness that it took to become an American citizen. She came into existence the wrong way.
This girl struggles to roll her R's when she speaks on the phone to her father, and despite their uncanny resemblance, her cousins differentiate her as "la americana" when she visits Mexico on the holidays.
Much like me, she lay on park grass to watch fireworks every Fourth of July and hit the piñatas that hung off of an uncle's roof at birthday parties. She traced her ABC's with the same large pencils held by every kindergartner's tiny hands at the age of five and grinned widely at the camera when her name was called at graduation. Despite the world that was currently crumbling outside of those lecture hall doors, she sat beside me because she was the first too. She stayed because her parents' hard work didn't deserve to go unnoticed.
Today I think of law and order, and the people that are given the power to choose what that looks like; individuals that are given the responsibility to decide which lives should be considered more valuable. I can't help but wonder what makes any person so special.