From the Los Angeles Times -
My father came here illegally. But in many ways he was a red-blooded American
By Hector Becerra
My father was like so many immigrants of his generation from Mexico: Coming north, without proper papers, looking for work and a better life for their families. Over the years, my father and people like him were demonized by those who felt they were ruining California and praised by others who believed their work ethic and labor were a boon to the state.
During the tough times, it was easy to feel like an outsider, alienated for not being American. That wasn’t quite my dad.
He had a sixth-grade education, thanks to a Mexico whose stamina for relentlessly poor governance and knack for driving out its citizens was impressive. So he carved out his own learning, going to night school in L.A. to get his high school degree soon after his arrival.
My father read Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Steinbeck and Melville from our childhood porch in Boyle Heights. In spiral notebooks he composed verses to Mexican songs about his hometown in Jalisco state, like the one he first penned as a teenager, just a few years after his father died when he was 12 — and just a few years before he crossed into the U.S. in the trunk of a car.
By 1980, he had become a legal resident, and no longer had to worry about being caught in a work raid.
http://www.latimes.com/local/california/la-me-ln-my-father-20161229-htmlstory.html
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