Golden Dreams

Earlier this month, July 9 to be exact, marked 50 years since the day that my parents and I immigrated to the USA from the Philippines.  Unfortunately, we didn't own a camera at the time, so I don't have pictures to share with you from that day, but I thought I'd write down what happened in our early days, according to my parents.

Mom was allowed to go to the USA on a green card through a petition from her uncle.  She was going to go ahead of my dad and me and send for us later, but my dad's father asked her to wait until we were allowed to join her.  10 days shy of my being 18 months old, we took a Cathay Pacific plane leaving from Manila.  From Manila, we stopped in Hong Kong, and then stopped in Tokyo.  I had an ear infection.  I asked if I cried for the entire journey.  Mom said that I only cried on the first leg, but that the most I cried was when we got to Tokyo.  I guess I wouldn't leave one of the stores until Mom bought me a doll that I wanted.  She says that it was big, but I wouldn't stop crying, so she got it for me.  Chrissy is now in my niece's room.  I hope that if she ever grows too old for it, she gives it back to her Tita Sherry, because that has always been my favorite doll.  Now I know why.  Our first touchdown on US soil was in Seattle.  

We were originally going to meet Mom's Uncle Paul in Chicago, but he didn't think that the weather would be good for the baby (me) because it gets very cold (Uncle Paul is wise.  I do not like cold weather).  He suggested that Dad try to find a job in LA, and if it doesn't work out, then come out to Chicago.  So we flew to LAX, and my godparents met us at the airport.  We stayed at their place for a couple of weeks.  So it took me 50 years to actually get to Chicago, to attend Star Wars Celebration. (This is not counting a few hours I spent in the O'Hare airport).

Dad was able to acquire a job on our 3rd day in LA.  Yes, THREE DAYS.  He started working the next day.  Impressive!  It's a good thing Mom waited for us!  The job paid $400.00/month, and he bought his first car, a VW Beetle. By then, my godfather had taught him how to drive so he could actually take it home.  We were also able to afford our own place, on Bonnie Brae, for $80.00/month, which mom said "included utilities and cockroaches."  Back then, $20.00 bought a cart full of groceries, including 3 dozen eggs for $1.10 total, and a gallon of milk for $0.29.  Gas cost about the same as milk then, so we were in good shape, and Mom was able to stay at home with me for about a year before she got a job working with the State.

We were friendly with our neighbors, and one day we met a man named Tata.  He let me sit on his lap so I could hear his radio and listen to Dodgers games with him.  Yes, I've been a Dodgers fan almost my whole life!  We didn't even know about the Lakers back then.  Tata probably would have been happy to know about all of the cool Dodgers stuff I've done this year, even though I haven't been to a game yet this season.

Once mom got a job, she got a babysitter for me.  Mom came home one day and found me in a paper bag because I was crying, so she changed babysitters to Auntie Menchie, whom had two kids of her own named David and Aileen. We were all close in age.  Mom said that David bit me a lot because I didn't want him to kiss me.  I have a picture somewhere of some other boy trying to kiss me, and I'm making a face like "I can't believe they're forcing me to take this picture."  I've always been picky, I guess.  Take note of that, any boys I've allowed to kiss me!  You were SPECIAL  They're probably not reading this, but whatevs.

Eventually, we moved in to an apartment on Carondolet, where Auntie Evelyn (mom's cousin) and Auntie Gaye stayed secretly.  They hid when the landlord came so that we wouldn't be charged more money.  My earliest memory of living in LA is the morning of the Sylmar earthquake in 1971.  I remember all of us screaming and running around the apartment because we didn't know any better.  Auntie Evelyn and I were "buddy buddy", according to my mom, and I was jealous when she got a boyfriend and eventually married him.

Mom and Dad tell me a lot of stories about those days, some having to do with their crazy friend Fernando (whom Mom credits with getting the two of them together back in the Philippines), and how I always asked her to carry me when she and I walked home.  "Carga!", I would say, as we started going uphill.  That's me, lazybones.  Thanks for carrying me anyway, Mom, and thanks for all of the dresses you bought me on your way home from work.  They were $1.00, and I'm sure they made my face light up every time.  New dress!

Later that year, my parents had saved enough money to get a house in Arcadia for about $40K. I lived there until I grew up.  I still miss that house, but can't really go near there without crying, so I don't.  Bro was born 4 years later.  He's the first American-born child in our family.  He doesn't understand as much Tagalog or Ilocano (my mom's dialect) as I do, but we still try to understand when people around us are talking in my parents' native tongue.  Mabuhay, Pilipinas!

I am grateful to be an American.  Our country may be full of strife these days, and I've been quite frustrated with the leadership lately, but I'm still a citizen of my favorite country in the world, and I hold out hope that it will be looked at as that ideal place again for people to build their dreams, just like my parents did.

I'm grateful my parents brought me to this land of opportunity, this melting pot of races, beliefs, and cultures.  I wonder what my life would have been like if we had stayed in the Philippines.  (I'm thinking that I would have had a bunch of children and stayed at home and actually learned how to cook Filipino food properly, but would have never known the wonders of Disneyland, Drum Corps, and Rockapella...at least not until the internet).  

Thank you to my parents for being my role models of faith, love, respect, humor, and ambition.  Thank you for raising me in a world full of possibilities.  

Happy Golden Anniversary of our immigration, Mom and Dad. 

Christmas in L.A. 1970