I am from the years my great grandparents’ spent working in the fields.

I am from the streams of sweat running down their backs

as they collected peaches and carrots under the scorching sun.

I am from the fleeting moment of both loss and triumph

as they took their first steps from Mexico into the United States.

Any sense of familiarity and security they had vanished into the horizon.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          I am from my grandmother’s stubbornness and untamable spirit

when she fought back against students who called her siblings “wetbacks.”                                

I am from her burning desire to prove that she belonged in this country.

I am from the mixed expression of deep sorrow and great pride

in my great grandparents’ eyes

when my grandmother told them she had enlisted.

I am from my mother’s deep and instant love for me,

even if it meant she would have to grow up earlier than her friends.

I am from her fearlessness of our unknown future

when she realized she would have to raise me on her own.

I am from the late nights weekends she spent at work

in order to provide me with the life my peers took for granted each day.

I am from the collection of sacrifices made

by each generation in my family,

with the desire to create a better life for their children.

I am from a long line of dreamers.