My parents are burdened with firsthand experiences of the Vietnam war, experiences which took away their youth. I can see the agony in their eyes as they recollect the violence and poverty that they witnessed. This drove them to immigrate to America, even if it meant leaving everything behind for a country that they did not know the language or have any ties with. They wanted to ensure that their children would never have to witness any of those horrors. As a child, I would stay up until two in the morning waiting for my dad to return home from work so I could chat with him. I could see the bags under his eyes, yet he still smiled and asked me how my day was. I could hear my mother’s cries at night because she missed her loved ones back
