My journey to the United States began at the age of 18 months. Unlike many of the harrowing stories of illegal crossings full of danger and death, my crossing was aboard a jet plane from Mexico City bound for Chicago. My mother and I came here to meet my father, who had come here to continue his career as a professional soccer player. Although my father was born in the United States, he left at the age of 13. Because he lived outside the United States all of his life, he was ineligible for any benefits for me, my sister or mother. It would be a long battle before obtaining any legal status.
At 14, I began to struggle with yet another aspect of my acculturation that crashed squarely into the face of my very traditional upbringing and home life. I was an only son and I knew that I was gay. Coming out seemed easier than the underlying dread I felt while I sat in Advanced Placement classes at school and began to hear more and more of my fellow students testing and applying for prestigious colleges. In order to complete the process for any loan application, I would have to lie. Out of fear, my choice was not to apply. As a result, I wrestled with cultural identity, feeling regret that I had somehow let my family down by not being successful enough. Only years later would I begin to realize how much of the shame and guilt of being gay had conveniently wrapped itself around being undocumented. I knew I could rely on my language skills to prove to the straight, white dominant culture that because I was articulate, I was smart. It was my shield often used to mask my fear and feelings of inadequacy.
Despite the real or perceived barriers I experienced, I realize now that the answer was always in me. The solution to my problem was not so much a piece of paper, a document, but an attitude of security in who I was and what I could offer. My work at the Farmworker Housing Development Corp. is in many ways a culmination of the work I have done as a county mental health outreach worker, a tribal child protective services social worker, gay activist, artist and curandero.
As a family interventionist, working with families who share so many of the same dynamics around acculturation that I had, I can more easily relate the wellspring of compassion and skills that my life experience have brought me. I am seeing how I can aid these families into a greater sense of who they are by emphasizing the value of their adaptive skills as a contribution to the dominant culture. It is especially rewarding to see them connect that capacity to how they are raising their children. In many ways, I am their child grown up. I can only imagine how much further these children will be able to go. Regardless of how or why they got here, it takes the heart of a lion to endure and supersede their challenges. I feel such deep admiration and respect for the tenacity and resilience of these families. They are taking the barriers created by acculturation stress in the family dynamic and turning them into bridges to better futures.
Almost 10 years after submitting my application for residency and over 44 years since my arrival, I was sworn in as an American at the Paramount Theater in Oakland, Calif., on March 17, 2009. My mom and partner were with me that day as I stood with about 2,000 people in that gorgeous art deco palace and declared my allegiance to the United States of America. It was surreal, and somewhat anticlimactic after such a long wait, but I still cried.
As I looked around, it was clear to me that finally and forever more I was a global citizen.
John Camacho is the project coordinator and family interventionist for at Farmworker Housing Development Corp.