My Developmental Experience

Every morning, it was the same routine. My five-year-old self woke up at three in the morning to my dad gently shaking me. My 25-year-old mother would sit me up and dress me in my school clothes while I tried my best to hold my head up. At 3:30 a.m., we had to be in the car, and at that same time, my mother would whisper “Lo siento, princesita.” (I’m sorry, princess). It would be the last thing I heard from the back seat of the car as I slowly drifted off to sleep.
We would arrive at 4 a.m., and leave at 10:30 a.m. Between 4 a.m. and 7:30 a.m., I milked the cows with my mother. After school, from 3:30 p.m. to 10 p.m., I would milk the cows, drive the skid steer, clean the corrals, feed the the animals and their young, and wash the eggs. I
would sometimes wish to get paid for all the work I did for so many years, but every time I was offered, I declined. I worked long hours during all four seasons not because I wanted money, but because I thought maybe if my parents could come home earlier that 11 p.m., they wouldn’t be drained. My mother’s light skin wouldn’t be burnt, and my parents wouldn’t be exhausted to look at drawings from school. The majority of my life I have observed my young mother and father work their way from the bottom just to get enough money for our basic necessities.
By the time I was seven, I was taking care of newborn twins while my parents continued to work two jobs in order to supply us four. Aside from that, I was already in charge of keeping the house clean, feeding my younger siblings, translating for my parents at the store, their jobs, at parent/teacher conferences, and their bills. Every time my parents struggled to speak English, I wanted to break the English language to prevent the sharp sounds from cutting their
tongues.
However, their broken English was always something that made me smile. My mother always held my hands and said, “Estudie mucho, para que no seas como yo.” (Study hard so that you don’t end up like me). There was only one predicament, though: I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be a strong woman. I wanted to work diligently. Most importantly, I wanted to protect her from the cruel world, like she had protected me.
As I get closer to reaching the dreams I dreamt about for many years, I feel myself growing more tired from all the work that has to be done.
But I always think about all the years of work my parents have put in every since they were 16 years old. For this reason, I want to show my parents that they didn’t leave everything they knew and worked for 20 years for nothing.
Their efforts weren’t for nothing, though. I’ve done so much -- taking dual credit and AP classes, getting into the highest orchestra at school, teach other immigrants English, playing at concerts aside from school. I don’t have many awards to show my family, despite my accomplishments. To me, putting my effort and thought into everything I’ve done is worth much more than a piece of paper with my name on it.
Because of my accomplishments, I haven’t wasted all my parents’ efforts, just like I believed I did for so many years. Just like them, I’m building up higher off the few steps they started on. When I reach the top, I won’t forget to turn around and help them up. I won’t forget to kiss their sunburnt skin. I won’t forget to thank them. And I won’t forget to says these two words: “Lo hicimos.” (We did
it.)