Untimely Immigrants: My Family Within and Without, From Brazil to the United States
Each time I am lured by the mirage of progress, someone knocks at the door and I am reminded of being thirteen and having nightmares about ICE at our door.
My father migrates to the United States on September 9, 2001. He leaves our home in Brazil at dawn and arrives at the airport before the new morning’s first yawn. He is thirty-nine, a father of two, and out of opportunities, out of options, out of numbers on the clock.
A Cup of Water Under My Bed,
More in this series
“This is where I’ve come, to the America of lights and dreams. And if I am better off I cannot tell.”
My idea of home had changed, so I took the symbolic step of finding a new tailor—marking Philadelphia as a place that now fit me right, too.