I was six years old when my family moved from Guatemala to the United States. I had a big family and lots of friends. My Grandmother cuddled me whenever I cried, and my Grandfather taught me that God was always with me. I did not want to leave my country. I never thought I would find another to call home. .
I remember sitting at the airport as if it was yesterday. I remember the noise of carts, moving luggage and the smell of over cooked coffee. I cried and felt sorry for myself. My Grandmother and Grandfather were not coming. Who is going to spoil me and kiss my tears? Who is going to tell me that all is well because God was with me? I was not even sure if God knew of the United States. Maybe he would loose me. I loved Guatemala. I had everything I needed. Sitting at that airport I thought I would never be happy again. I prayed to God that I would not loose the memory of my homeland and the people who cared for me. .
I know what a child must feel like when he is pushed into a swimming pool to "sink or swim." I was placed in a public school in Los Angeles. The school was huge and there were so many children. I didn't speak any English, had no friends and Grandma and Grandpa were gone. I was confident that God had somehow lost me. .
I was six and the city was so big and noisy. Certainly, God was looking for me in Guatemala. I was petrified that maybe my best, loudest and longest prayers would not reach him. I told my father that I did not like the big ugly city and the big school with children speaking a language foreign to me. I told him I had to go home so God would find me. My Grandfather told me God was always with me. I was happy at home. God was there waiting for me. I was not able to swim. I felt like I was sinking. Although my father told me not to worry and that God was with me, at first I was skeptical. .
The Bilingual Program at school was hard. After a few years I was still stumbling over every English verb and adjective.