American-Latino Immigrants Proudly Assisting the Community

The first night of English class was last night. In some things you don’t know what to expect. The first day at a new school will the kids be nice? Will the teachers be nice? A new job - what will it be like? But the first day of English class in an area heavily populated with Hispanic immigrants, one knows exactly what to expect. Most will come on time. There will be old people, young people, married people and single people. Most will be optimistic.

Most will be friendly. Ignored by most Americans (except Minutmen and others) as they go about their normal lives, they relish the opportunity to meet a North American and possibly make a friend out of one of them. You’ll see a lot of teeth (some with gold caps). There is a lot of smiling. There are a lot of people eager to make new friends in their new home town and eager to learn the language. It’s a positive sight.

 

Most are humble: jean pants, old coats and jackets, etc. But the jean pants with the patches on them are meticulously ironed. The Guatemalan girl with the blouse from a thrift shop has her beautiful black hair attractively styled and sits with an air of dignity. Blanca stands out. A Spanish radio personality, she has curly blond hair neatly permed, more make up than a circus clown and a ring on almost every finger. She sits there smiling, eager to learn. Most are courageous. They’ve left their home and everything they know to come to a strange, often unkind land of uncertainty. They send thousands of dollars to their mothers every month. They don’t look like heroes, but to me they meet every definition of hero.

And they all have awesome stories. A few years ago we had this guy, Luis. He was the class clown. He had a perpetual smirk on his face kind of like Bill Murray. One day he told his story. Back home in Colombia he was a carpenter. His truck and tools were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time one day and were destroyed by paramilitaries. He found himself homeless and penniless. He decided to try to make it to the land of opportunity: USA! He walked and hitched, penniless, through Panama, Costa Rica, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala and Mexico. Somehow he got across the border. He found another Colombian man who was more established in the country. That man helped him greatly. A lot of stories I hear about these people involve the kindness of strangers. He was dirt poor: no job, no money, no nothing. At a church someone hooked him up with a job, but he needed transportation. Someone gave him a piece of junk Geo Metro 3 cylinder. Someone else paid to have it fixed to running condition. We had him over for dinner. Someone gave him some food. Since then I moved. The last time I saw him he was married and happy. May God bless him and his wife.

Another person was Maria. She was an Aymara Indian from Bolivia, and she has high cheek bones and appeared to be always smiling. Whenever she did smile, she lit up the entire room. And she smiled all the time because she was pregnant. She was so happy. She worked at McDonalds, and one day they were short on cashiers. Maria had to work with English speaking customers. The way she described it she was confident and looking forward to the challenge, not scared or timid. I didn’t get to know her husband very well as he was in a more advanced class. Maria had her baby mid way through the semester, and I never saw her again. I’ll remember her.

There’s Jose, Jose, Jose, Maria, Maria, Melyi, Luz, Flor, Mery, Pedro the Meatball maker (he makes meatballs), Gloria, Delia who works at a restaurant and brought me bbq ribs and grilled shrimp one day, Sergio, Obed, and so many names that I’ve forgotten. As I ponder them, I have to ask myself, “If I were in the same condition under the same circumstances, would I have the courage to do what they do everyday?”