I am an immigrant.
November 16th, 2016Last night I introduced by children to this statement. Because it describes who I am. Don’t even remember how we came to this topic of conversation, but it felt like an opportune time to tie a term they are hearing on the radio, TV and around to their daily lives.
I want them to know that “immigrant” has a face. Mine. Their grandma’s; their grandpa’s; their aunt’s; their uncle’s. I want them to know that when they hear that term, people are grouping me and their relatives in what they say next. I want them to filter everything they hear about that term through the lens of what they know about us.
I don’t label myself usually. I never felt like I had to be explicit about the non-visible labels. But now I feel that I have to, not because I want to be different, but because I want to stand in solidarity with others in that label… and so that our sons can see that the family and friends they care about ARE who is being talked about.
If you have a label you want to embrace so that my children put more faces to terms, let me know.
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