My mother was forced into early retirement from her electronics company after 9/11. Her husband, my stepfather, had traveled to the U.S. multiple times both legally and illegally to work in construction. He would often describe the abundance of employment opportunities for women in the hospitality industry and for men in construction. My mother, with nowhere else to turn, packed as much as she could into several suitcases and kissed her house goodbye, one that she had worked diligently to obtain by herself, in Matamoros, Tamaulipas.
Our first stop was Brownsville, TX. I remember being in awe at the sights. I had not traveled outside Tamaulipas before. We spent the day touring Brownsville before arriving at a Greyhound station and making our way to my future hometown, Houston, TX. Words cannot describe the culture shock that I felt seeing the beautiful buildings that lined up Houston as our bus made its way downtown. It was breathtaking. Everything seemed that it would be okay.
The ensuing years were… complicated. My mother did manage to find jobs in local hotels that would pay her minimum wage, if not lower. Slowly, I upgraded to English as a Second Language classes. However, my stepfather, who had a history of drug and alcohol abuse, became more and more violent and erratic. An exhausting routine began to take shape—he would hurt my mother, she would tell my older brother and I to call the cops, she would give a false name, and my stepfather would be out in a day or two to continue the toxic cycle. Because my stepfather paid the majority of the bills and was the only family we had in the U.S., my mother feared that if she gave his real name he would be deported, leaving us without any support.
Since the hospitality industry is incredibly strenuous, particularly for undocumented folks, my mother was unable to work. We were evicted, but before our apartment was shut, we unlocked some windows in order to sneak in and sleep on top of a blanket at night. My mother had applied for a Salvation Army shelter. Unfortunately, it took a few months before they eventually accepted us.
Once I began high school, the reality of being undocumented fully materialized. I began to look at merit-based scholarships that were available for non-citizens. By my senior year of high school, I had secured scholarships to two universities, one of them was private. However, I was reminded that I had financial responsibilities. Balancing the financial responsibilities of a family while attending college was not going to be an easy feat. They suggested that I attend community college instead. I was discouraged since I had worked so hard to enroll in AP and Honors classes.
After my first year of college, I was admitted to the Honors College at Houston Community College (HCC). Part of the honors program is a study abroad opportunity. My class was set to travel to Italy. Unfortunately, my advance parole was delayed and it arrived two days after my colleagues had left. Although I was unable to travel with them, a passion for cultures and politics was founded.
DACA allowed me to continue to work so that I was financially supporting my family while also obtaining a college education. This juggling act was one of the most difficult things that I have done, but also one that I forced myself to not second guess or doubt. I convinced myself to look at my situation as a challenge, rather than a disadvantage. This translated to being a full-time student (sometimes taking 12+ credit hours) while working 30+ hours and staying involved in extracurricular activities. Needless to say, I burned myself out consistently.
Today I find myself studying for the LSAT in order to apply to law school in the fall. I am in awe at the things that my family and I have been able to accomplish. This wouldn’t have been possible without the protections of DACA. This program is nothing short of the embodiment of the American dream. This program has allowed thousands of students to obtain a postsecondary education. It has allowed families to prosper and give back to their communities. More importantly, DACA has allowed many of us to not live in fear of deportation.
There is a saying in Spanish that goes, “Ni de aquí ni de allá,” neither from here nor from there. It is a saying that a lot of DACA recipients and undocumented individuals can relate to. I grew up learning about American history, culture, and eating Texas BBQ. I am, for all intents and purposes, a Mexican-American. Therefore, it should go without saying that DACA recipients need to be provided with a pathway to citizenship.
Josue Rodriguez is a member of Young Invincibles’ National Youth Advisory Board and a graduate of University of St. Thomas in Houston, Texas.