Arce - Someone like me: How One Undocumented Girl Fought for Her American Dream

O N THE DAY I TURNED three years old, my mom scrambled to get everything ready so we could go to church for my presentacion de los tres aos. This is the day children are taken to the church to give thanks for their life and receive Gods blessing. I had a lot to be thankful for.

I was born in a bathroom stall, two months before I was supposed to arrive. My uncle Alex had to slide his hands under the bathroom door and hold my head. I almost didnt make it past day one of my life, but I survived. My mom reminded me constantly that I had been so strong. She called me her miracle.

My sister Nay, who is five years older than I am, tells a different version. She said I looked like a little purple rat, and smelled like a toilet.

My dad had hoped for a boy when my oldest sister Aris was born. He had prayed for a boy when my sister Nay arrived. By the time I came into the world, he was desperate to have a son. None of us would be able to grant my dad his wish, but unlike my sisters, I had ruined his chances of ever having a baby boy.

When I was born, I got tangled in the umbilical cord. We were both very sick, and when we were both healthy again, the doctor told me I wouldnt be able to give you a little brother or sister anymore, my mom would say to me.

My dad said he didnt care. I was so happy when you finally came home from the hospital after being in an incubator for more than a month. But I wondered if my dad took me to soccer games, bought me toy cars, and dressed me in overalls because he did wish I had been born a boy.

Now Mom grabbed her purse and a big plastic bag filled with pink balloons, and we made the walk from our second-story apartment up the hill, through the winding cobblestone streets of Taxco, to church. Our parish, Santa Prisca, is a beautiful cathedral made with pink stones on the outside, and gold walls on the inside. My mom was wearing a white jumpsuit and a gold belt, her hair pulled back tightly. My dad wore a guayabera, a casual white linen shirt, that made his dark skin glow.

Aris, my thirteen-year-old sister, held my hand and as we were nearing the church she said, You will be in kindergarten soon. She meant it as a point of excitement.

But as I walked down the aisle of the church in my floor-length puffy pink satin dress, only one thought occupied my mind: I am old enough to be left behind with the nanny.

Every Wednesday, my parents and I left Taxco to travel to the next feria, one of the huge festivals that take place all over Mexico, where my parents rented a booth and sold cantaritos, beverages served in jars made of adobe. Aris and Nay couldnt come because they went to school, so they stayed home with Cande, our nanny. I had thought that being my moms miracle made me special and I could always travel with her. But now that I was three years old, I, too, would be left behind to attend school with my sisters while my parents went to work in cities all over Mexico.

When mass was over, I walked down the aisle with a frown on my face. Despite the flowers that decorated the church, the applause from my family, and the awws from everyone seated in the pews, I was scared.

My mom and dad stood next to each other, waiting at the end of the aisle for me. In her heels my mom was much taller than my dad. When I reached them, Mom said, My little miracle, look how pretty you are.

Why do you look so serious? Smile, my dad added.

I wanted to smile; I was excited about my dress, the presents, and the cake I had picked out. But I kept thinking of what Aris had told me: You will be in kindergarten soon. It wouldnt matter if I was my moms miracle; I would still be left behind, sometimes for weeks at a time.

My mom and dad walked ahead to get everything ready for the party at my maternal grandmother Mama Silvias house. All our birthday parties and holidays were held at her house. Even though my sisters went to an expensive Catholic school and I was having a big birthday party, our own apartment was old and too small for a party.

I walked with Cande and tried to catch up with my mom, but my legs couldnt move fast enough. Taxco is in the mountains of the southern state of Guerrero, and the uphill and downhill cobblestone streets did not make it easy to walk fast.

We are almost there, nenita, Cande said, calling me her little girl. I saw the huge red bougainvillea tree that ran up the three stories outside my grandmothers house and knew we were close. It was impossible to miss Mama Silvias house. In winter or spring, the trees red color popped brightly against the white house. Her home was my favorite place in Taxco. I especially liked that I could flush her toilet by simply pulling a shiny silver handle, a luxury in a small town like Taxco. The single toilet at my apartment needed a bucket of water thrown into it to flush.

The small black gate at the entrance of her house was open and I ran up the few steps made of tiny stones. When I opened the front door, my mom welcomed me with a set of big balloons. Feliz cumpleaos, mijita! I loved it when my mom called me my little daughter.

My mom led me to the big living room, which was filled with thirty to forty extended family members, including my many cousins.