Twenty some years ago, in search of freedom from a communist country, a war-torn Vietnam sent my parents to America. Unable to continue their high school education, they found themselves working as laborers in a wintry Tyson Fresh Meats. Living in America, my parents were comparable to children, often rely on my brothers and me. Because I was sheltered by parents who weren’t accustomed to the foreign culture and had limited language skills, I didn’t know beyond their knowledge before I began school. As the middle child of immigrant parents, I inherited three English words: yes, no, and hello.
Sweaty palms, stomach butterflies, and teary eyes – mentally preparing for the first day of Kindergarten was obnoxiously nerve-wracking. I didn’t want
Sweaty palms, stomach butterflies, and teary eyes – mentally preparing for the first day of Kindergarten was obnoxiously nerve-wracking. I didn’t want