Becoming An Immigrant Essay

My mind was running its own thoughts as it planned the day I had ahead of me. I walked into my parents’ room, taking a sip of hot coffee from my mother’s mug. I knew she hated it when she would suck her teeth together and gesture me to get my own. The taste of the coffee would get me up and if I tried to make it like hers, I’d fail. She would always be rushing to get the first things done in my father’s family business, the smell of iron running through her oil stained t-shirts. They didn’t have a uniform, but I knew what shirts she would use, as sweat and hard days’ work wouldn’t wash away.
The smell of the rotisserie chicken pit behind the business would stick to our bodies, and it would get you full of the essence itself. I could tell you what I did during that day, but the more I try to remember the more faint the memory becomes. Like a normal kid, I was, nothing took that from my brother and me. Having a family business isn’t the only thing that made a name for my family on the small island. My father served a couple years as an honorable soldier in the Army, later the police force honorably discharged him because they wanted his fateful duties. After the police force, which was around the time I was born, he joined the DEA family. The way his father had done sometime …show more content…
I never understood until that night why I was different, but for whatever reason, to be a rebel I was.
That night I lay in my brother’s bed, the smell of his worn out cologne used over and over again on the pillow, a younger image of him pinched between the wood and the mirror, the TV on a wooden stand drained out of its brown color facing me, and my back against the door. It didn’t mean anything. I was home in my home, my back against the door, shielded from the outside world. I’d take a look around the room and I realized how much more we fought than talked. He always had it better than me, you