The Drawbacks of the American Dream
“My parents were convinced that if we had more money, or even financial stability, that our lives would turn right side up. That everything would change, bringing us happiness. As time passed by, we realized that nothing had changed. The truth hit them as hard as a boulder, and they had a long needed awakening.”
My parents, Jaquelina Hernandez and Oscar Gonzalez, moved away from their country of origin, straight out of high school, to the United States. Similar to many other immigrants, they were attempting to achieve their version of the “American Dream”.
Arriving to New York City, they believed that living in America would be a dream come true – finally being able to provide for their family members back at home while maintaining some of their own wealth. They wanted to do all of that while never forgetting where they came from, instead using that as reason to keep on going.
Or at least that’s what they thought.
I am not the only child my parents have, rather I am the third. I wasn’t born last, or first; instead I was born unlucky, in the middle. I wasn’t the first priority when it came to my parents, but I don’t blame them. My sisters, Citlaly Gonzalez (18) and Karen Gonzalez (13) were constantly competing for first. Looking back at it, they never were, the stars were just aligned that way.
By the time I was in 2nd grade, I stopped receiving help from my mother when it came to homework. My mother claimed I was “independent enough”; I had better handwriting than both of my sisters and I didn’t seem to struggle doing work on my own.
Around that time, both of my sisters experienced health conditions that worsened.
My sisters were frequently in and out of the hospital due to their eczema, asthma, and a variety of allergies.
My mom would often stay up late, running around in order to prepare homemade meals taking them to the hospital while my dad took on more hours in order to keep up with the aggressive mountain of bills. It often felt like a lasting game of tug of war.
I believed I was an adult trapped in a child’s body by the age of 8.
Oftentimes I was what some considered neglected, but I rather deemed it as an honor. I wasn’t a hassle to my parents so I was free to do whatever I pleased.
As I grew older, my parents consistently worked hard in order to make ends meet. Often I overheard my parents discussing money problems.. Whether there was enough or if we had none to spare. The responsibility of taking care of their children was steadily replaced by their need to pay bills.
With my parents working long hours, not returning home until late at night or even dusk. Our shabby apartment grew to feel cold and isolated once returned to. It was a place we merely called home but it never truly felt familiar. Regardless of that, I can proudly say that at least we had a roof to cover our heads.
Although I had been raised to be well mannered that wasn’t always the case.
During my most important years of development, I felt shunned, misunderstood, and insignificant. I wasn’t taught to express myself properly. The only way I could express myself was by lashing out, but most of the time that would make me feel even worse.
I spent much of my time forced to stay in my after school program or in my aunt’s house. Anywhere but that chilling feeling that home gave. I relied on help from the internet and teachers for basic needs, needs I should've been taught by my parents. If I ever needed help, it would come from those outside my home, never the people I needed the most.
Over the years, we were still struggling with money problems, but it was manageable. My parents were convinced that if we had more money, or even financial stability, that our lives would turn right side up. That everything would change, bringing us happiness. As time passed by, we realized that nothing had changed. The truth hit them as hard as a boulder, and they had a long needed awakening.
As the truth sunk in, they had what I would like to call a development period. Nowadays, the generic term is called an epiphany.
Once I turned 13, my parents gave up the illusion of the American Dream.
The following year, I spoke with both of them about my struggles. How difficult it was to manage to do so much with so little help. My father explained that the reason for neglecting me was because of the lack of acknowledgement toward my feelings. My mother, on the other hand, believed I was strong enough, much like she was as a child. In the end, both of them explained that they just wanted to give us the things they never had growing up.
The dolls, the ponies, the cleats, even the food.
That's why they worked so hard.
From then on, they took any opportunity they had to spend time with us, giving us the childhood we had longed for.
As I turned 14, I became a child again.
A new chapter of our lives had just begun.
A postscript:
I am fortunate enough to have both of my lovely parents in my life constantly supporting and helping me achieve what I can't do alone. Although there are moments where I wish for more support, more understanding, more attention, I've come to realize that what I am given is enough. It’s that every support that gives me more of a reason to keep on going, and push forward. Many battles and hardships had to be fought for me to get to where we are at this moment. There have been countless sacrifices, often overlooked, made in order just for me and my sisters to receive a better shot at life itself. I cannot thank my parents enough, they are my sole reason to continue to try to improve myself and be the best version of myself.