Waking Up American

Waking up American

Everything had changed. He still haunts me, dressed in half ripped clothes, sitting on a cardboard, holding on tight to his empty begging cup and weeping for his mother, but she was no where to be found. His pitiful cries moved me to want to scoop him up, comfort him and give him a home, but I didn't. No one paid attention to him. I stood there attempting to figure out if this is the place I had called home for over nine years. Than, I shamefully walked away as the wails echoed in my head. As the sun went down tranquility fell upon the city as the people of Korca strolled down Parku Rinia (The Park of Young People) to meet their friends and enjoy a refreshing drink. I felt deeply moved by their lives that were characterized by corruption and leisure time. I was glad I did not live there.

It had been five years since I returned back to Albania, and everything I had ever known had changed. I could not see myself fitting in with their lifestyle. I looked down upon their cultural rituals, their music, and their life style as a whole. "Where is it better," they would ask me, "here or America?" My initial reaction was, what's better than America however, I did not want to give a sense of negligence, as if I had forgotten my roots so I replied "America is where the money is, but I do love my country, as bad as it is, this is where I grew up."

I had an accent when I spoke Albanian and this was very noticeable. You're not Albanian anymore, said one of my friends. I felt ashamed, even though I did not care about their life style.

I realized that I was the "immigrant child," a certain type of an immigrant child. I had become the type that had completely assimilated to the American culture and had lost her sense of identity. I had lost the one precious thing that my parents and my country had given me--my Albanian culture. It took me five years to come to peace with this. I also realized the great sacrifices that my parents made to move to a new country so I can have a prosperous career. Nonetheless I still felt out of place in my own home. My Albanian home...

I

Prior to the new, established democracy, Albania experienced an economic crash, which caused a large-scale job shortage. My father lost his job. After that it became very difficult for him to find another job. My father took advantage of the DV lottery, which gave us the opportunity to emigrate to America. The lottery is established by the U.S Department of State for the purpose of granting foreigners American citizenship.

Despite the fact that we had no family waiting for us in America, my parents decided to migrate here in hopes of giving my sister and me a better education and a prospective career that follows it. Looking into the eyes of my parents I realized now that I am fully emerged within the American culture, how much I have changed in eight years. As I flip through Marcelo Orozco's Children of Immigration, I am better equipped to lens my story through the eyes of many immigrant children like myself. I realize now that living in a structured government I am able to pursue my dreams, however, the sacrifice of my parents has lead to the disappearance of my cultural background. Like all things in life when there is a gain there is a loss, my gain is a better life, and now that I am in college I am able to measure my loss, the loss of my culture within.

Orozco's description of immigration is descriptive and vivid. The immigrant child has to live up to her expectations. Education is key factor. She has to work hard in school, and have more positive social attitudes than her nonimmigrant peers. She is expected to be the high school valedictorian and receive more than her share in the most prestigious awards. She is expected to be free of risky behavior such as substance abuse, unprotected sex, and delinquency.

It gives an understanding of why immigrant parents are determined to migrate to a different country with greater opportunities not for themselves but for their children.

Immigrant parents share with other parents back home attitudes about the opportunities available to the next generation in the new country. Immigrant parents often reported that a primary motivation for leaving was to pursue better opportunities for their children in the new country. These attitudes seem to change and intensify after parents settle in the new country and begin to have a better sense of the formidable task ahead. Old skills and degrees do not easily translate into good jobs in the new country. 1

As I got older I began to realize how much of a sacrifice my parents had made to come here, and their reasons for doing so. Before my parents decided to migrate to America, my dad was a doctor, however his education does not translate into this country therefore he acquired a job at a local body shop fixing cars that were smashed in accidents. We did not have much in the beginning. Over time, as my parents became keen observers of the new homeland, they begin to "focus sharply on their children's education and schooling as the key to a better tomorrow." I believe that my educational success makes my parents sacrifices worthwhile.

My enthusiasm for school was not great. I received decent grades, but never good enough to please my father. I did my best at everything, but I was never able to get straight A's like I was "supposed" to. Unlike my sister (which was the ideal daughter) I hated studying for tests, doing homework or reading for my English class. I was compared to my prestigious sister throughout most of my school years (she was always better than me in her academic career.) With tears rolling down my cheek, I tried to explain to my father that I was doing my best but of course he did not believe me. "What does your sister have that you don't," he questioned as he tried to reason with me. The usual lectures were, "We had to walk 8 miles in 5 feet of snow barefoot, up hills and mountains just to get to school, you have it easy, the bus picks you up at your front door, your school subjects are too easy and u have everything you need, therefore there is no reason why you should be getting less than an A." I was supposed to be the immigrant girl who was perfect at everything, but I was less than that.

School is tough enough for an average student, but it is even twice as hard for students who have immigrant parents. My parents have difficulty with the English language therefore me and my sister had to serve as translators, interpreters and many times take on the responsibility of the parent. I often need to translate and explain to my parents what needs to be

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