My father left Amman Jordan in 1971 to pursue a better life. While in Amman, he lived in a small two bedroom home with his mother, father, and ten brothers and sisters. His father owned a small store that barely paid the monthly bills. My father was the second oldest of his brothers and began working at 13, making only sixty dollars a month between the two of them. When he turned sixteen, he couldn’t bare the lifestyle anymore, so he left. When he arrived to Germany, he didn’t speak the language and spent ten days living in the street, until he met a doctor who was also from Amman who took him in. He provided him a job, and a home until he got onto his feet.
My father eventually got his own apartment, but spent six days a week working sixteen hours a day, and sent most of his money back home to his family. Eight years later, my uncle immigrated to America and did everything he could to bring my father with him. When he arrived to America, he significantly struggled. He had a hard time grasping a third language, and finding a job, but eventually got a job as a janitor in a hospital.
Years later, he met my mom and brought her to America as well. My mother described it as the worst experience of her life. She had a hard time leaving her family, and didn’t know one word of English, but her and my father agreed that living in America would be better and have more opportunities for their children . My mother would be scared to answer the door or even the phone because she did not know how to communicate with anybody in the new, foreign country she was in.
I spent my childhood is a small two bedroom apartment in New York with my parents and two brothers. It consisted of translating for my parents(mostly my mom), my father being gone constantly, working, and providing for us any way he could. But as the years went by my mom learned the language, and my uncle was able to provide us a home in Santa Barbara, which is where we are currently living and my dad was able to retire.
My father often brings up his migration from home, and I can’t even imagine how difficult it was for him to leave on his own and leave everything behind. He never complains, but if it was hard for my mother to leave with her husband, I wonder how hard it must have been for him to leave all on his own. But he and my mother always thank god that they were so lucky to come over here to find more opportunities, when many others could only dream of doing so.
My father eventually got his own apartment, but spent six days a week working sixteen hours a day, and sent most of his money back home to his family. Eight years later, my uncle immigrated to America and did everything he could to bring my father with him. When he arrived to America, he significantly struggled. He had a hard time grasping a third language, and finding a job, but eventually got a job as a janitor in a hospital.
Years later, he met my mom and brought her to America as well. My mother described it as the worst experience of her life. She had a hard time leaving her family, and didn’t know one word of English, but her and my father agreed that living in America would be better and have more opportunities for their children . My mother would be scared to answer the door or even the phone because she did not know how to communicate with anybody in the new, foreign country she was in.
I spent my childhood is a small two bedroom apartment in New York with my parents and two brothers. It consisted of translating for my parents(mostly my mom), my father being gone constantly, working, and providing for us any way he could. But as the years went by my mom learned the language, and my uncle was able to provide us a home in Santa Barbara, which is where we are currently living and my dad was able to retire.
My father often brings up his migration from home, and I can’t even imagine how difficult it was for him to leave on his own and leave everything behind. He never complains, but if it was hard for my mother to leave with her husband, I wonder how hard it must have been for him to leave all on his own. But he and my mother always thank god that they were so lucky to come over here to find more opportunities, when many others could only dream of doing so.
RSS Feed