Burford Michelle - In the country we love my family divided

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To my Papi and Mami

Whether we be near or far,

hand in hand or divided by continents,

may our love remain forever whole.

To Toni Ferrera

Your memory lives on in the

hearts of all those you touched.

To me, your light shines the brightest.

To the left is my fathers little apple ( manzanita ). My parents said I looked like a little apple when I was born. To the right is the nurse, Diana, who helped deliver me.

There are chapters in every life which are seldom read and certainly not aloud.

C AROL S HIELDS , Pulitzer Prizewinning novelist

One momentthats all it takes for your entire world to split apart. For me, that moment came when I was fourteen. I returned home from school to discover that my hardworking immigrant parents had been taken away. In one irreversible instantin the space of a single breathlife as Id known it was forever altered. Thats the part of my story Ive shared. This book is the rest of it.

Deported . Long before I fully understood what that word meant, Id learned to dread it. With every ring of my familys doorbell, with every police car passing on the street, a horrifying possibility hung in the air: My parents might one day be sent back to Colombia. That fear permeated every part of my childhood. Day after day, year after year, my mom and dad tried desperately to become American citizens and keep our family together. They pleaded. They planned. They prayed. They turned to others for help. And in the end, none of their efforts were enough to keep them here in the country we love.

My story is heartbreakingly common. There are more than eleven million undocumented immigrants in America, and every day an average of seventeen children are placed in state care after their parents are detained and deported, according to US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Those numbers dont take into account the scores of others who, like me, simply fell through the bureaucratic cracks. After my parents were snatched away, no government official checked up on me. No one seemed to care or even notice that I was on my own.

Its not easy for me to be so open about what happened in my family, especially after spending so many years hiding in the shadows. Ive really struggled with putting my business out there. So why am I choosing to reveal so much now? Because on that afternoon when I came home to an empty house, I felt like the only child whod ever dealt with something so overwhelming. And in the agonizing years that followed, it wouldve meant everything for me to know that someone, somewhere had survived what I was going through. For the thousands of nameless children who feel as forgotten as I didthis memoir is my gift to you. Its as much for your healing as it is for my own.

Just as one moment can bring despair, it can also lead to a powerful new beginning. A different life. A dream for moving onward and upward rather than backward. What youll read in these pages is ultimately about that hopethe same desire that once led my family to this nation. That hope is the only thing that has sustained me through this frightening ordeal.

These days, were surrounded by a lot of talk about immigration reform. Border security. A path to citizenship for the millions of undocumented workers who live among us. Behind every one of the headlines, there is a family. A mother and father. An innocent child. A real-life story thats both deeply painful and rarely told. At last, Ive found the courage to tell you mine.

Real fresh as a freshman in high school.

Every doorway, every intersection has a story.

K ATHERINE D UNN , novelist

Spring 2001in the Roxbury section of Boston

My mom was making me lateand I hated to be late. Especially for a school I loved. And most especially when I was preparing for my first solo. It was a big deal for a freshman to land a solo. Huge, actually. In fact, even getting into Boston Arts Academy had been a miracle. It was my ticket out of the hood.

Diane, come eat your breakfast, my mother called from the kitchen.

I gotta go! I yelled, becauselets face itlike many fourteen-year-olds, I had tude.

Youve got another second, my mother said, following me down the hall. You need to eat something.

No, I dont have another second, I snapped. Why do you always do this to me? Then, before she could say another word or even hug me good-bye slam! I stormed out the door and off to the train.

It was nice out, around seventy degrees. After a freezing winter, the weather was finally improvingand so, it seemed, was my familys luck. The day before, my dad had won the lotto. Not a crazy amount of money, mind youa few thousand bucksbut for us, it was the jackpot. And on top of that, the love was flowing again in our house. My four-year-old niece, whod been away from our family since my older brother, Eric, and his wife had separated, was back to spending time at our place. I saw it as a sign that things were looking up. That better times were coming.

As I dashed onto campus, I looked at my watch. Three minutes until the bell . Even before eight a.m., the place was buzzing. Do you remember Fame , that eighties TV series about a performing arts high school in New York City? Well, going to BAA felt like stepping onto the set of that show. In one room, thered be all these kids dancing around and going berserk. Next door, another group would be belting out songs or creating art on the walls. The energy was insane, particularly right before Springfestthe one night our parents got to see us perform. It was one of the most special nights of the year. And my numbera love song duet called The Last Night of the World from Miss Saigon was part of the finale.

Right on time but a bit out of breath, I rounded the corner into humanities class. Thats how our day was set up: First, we had our academic subjects like math and science, and then came the afternoon courses I lived fortheater, art, music. And because Springfest was only three weeks away, Id also started staying late to squeeze in some extra practice time. I didnt want my solo just to be good. I wanted it to be absolutely perfect.

The morning dragged by. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Noon. And with each hour that passed, I felt more and more weird. Not Twilight Zone weird, but more like that pit in the stomach you get when something is unsettled. I figured it was because of how Id treated my mom; I knew I needed to apologize. Then again, I wouldnt actually say I was sorry. To avoid that awkwardness, Id cry a little to show her how much I loved her and hadnt meant to be such a dick.

At last, the school day was overwhich meant rehearsal time. When I got to the music room, a big studio, my teacher, Mr. Stewart, was already there. So was Damienthe sweet black kid with a fro and glasses who was the other half of my duet.