I was a Dreamer for many years, and this month marks the 11th anniversary of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. I want to honor all of the young people like me who were given the opportunity to pursue their dreams thanks to this program and assure you that Democrats will continue to fight for you, for us, so that we can continue dreaming.
When I was 2 years old, my parents left their home in Guadalajara, Mexico, in pursuit of work and a brighter future for our little family in America. We moved to Chicago in November 1995. It was a brutal winter with unprecedented amounts of snow, but each day, we would walk to catch the early morning bus, with me bundled up inside my dad’s coat, so my parents could make it to work and save enough money to buy a car.
Pretty quickly, my parents realized they weren’t going to make it in America without someone who could care for me while they were at work. Child care costs weren’t something they could afford as new immigrants, but working less wasn’t an option either. So, three months into our new adventure, my abuelita Martha, my maternal grandmother, uprooted her life and joined us in Chicago. My abuelita filled my life with joy — and stability. We would stay tucked in bed watching “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” as my parents left for work every day. She made my lunch, did my hair, walked me to school and made a home-cooked dinner from scratch every night.
