Status: Any constructive criticism is welcome! :)
The Land of Opportunity
The Land of Opportunity
The land of opportunity they call it. The country stayed true to this label for me, my family of Kenyan origin having moved to the US when I was four. I was living the American Dream, until I wasn’t. We lived in the heart of Texas, in what some would call a conservative neighborhood. Point being, discrimination was anything but an elusive concept to us. It was a living, breathing reality. You grow accustomed to it, until you can’t.
It was Ivy Day. I felt like my entire life was hanging on by a thread. My heart beating out of my chest and my breathing shallow, I refreshed my inbox for what must have been the fiftieth time that day. An email from Harvard. I prepared myself for the worst; my mother hovering over me.
“Congratulations!” It read.
Teary-eyed and joyous, I scanned the room for my father- the man who I accredited all my success to. An enquiry later, I discovered that he was still at work. Perfect, I would surprise him. My father was a self-made man, having climbed the corporate ladder to a top ranking position in a large tech. company- Hansen and Co. A good work ethic runs in the family, I guess.
A car ride later, I reached his office. Something you should know about me- I eaves drop. It’s a bad habit.
“Deportation! You have got to be kidding me. It can’t be that bad,” my father says, his voice hoarse.
“I am afraid that is a very likely possibility at this point. Your suspension, however, is a surefire thing.” proclaims a plump man whom I recognize to be our family lawyer.
I rush into the room, panic-stricken. His kind face never failed to calm me down.
“We will get through this,” he reassures me.
I smile.
My father had been accused of embezzlement, misappropriation of company assets, accused being the key word here, and was to appear before a board of directors before further action could be taken. Our entire lives had come crashing down. I was worrying about colleges one second, and what country I was going to live in the next.
It was the day of his meeting with the company officials. The sky was crystal clear.
“Good omen, dad,” I said, pointing to the sky.
He gave me a nervous smile. I will not bore you with the tedious proceedings of that day. Six hours into the conference and it was time for the verdict.
“Mr. Deluka has been found to be fraudulent. His suspension is effective immediately. The question of his deportation will be referred to the Immigration Court in the following weeks. Thank you for your time.”
When the announcement was made two people got up and left the room- my father’s assistant and associate. What was peculiar, and somewhat amusing, about their departure was that they cursed at the board as they did so. The company had based their entire accusation on one witness. My father’s crime was not embezzlement, it was his race. A black man at such a high rank was a liability to the company’s sales.
The very next day, Hansen and Co. receives twenty-five resignations, twelve of which are from senior officials. There is hope. My father was well-liked.
We received a call from the lawyer, my father was morose as he hung up.
“I guess we better start packing,” he says.
“Are there no other options?” I ask, helplessly.
“Well, you do want to go to Harvard don’t you?
My eyes widen in disbelief.
“Jesus Christ, dad!”
There is nervous laughter.
It was Ivy Day. I felt like my entire life was hanging on by a thread. My heart beating out of my chest and my breathing shallow, I refreshed my inbox for what must have been the fiftieth time that day. An email from Harvard. I prepared myself for the worst; my mother hovering over me.
“Congratulations!” It read.
Teary-eyed and joyous, I scanned the room for my father- the man who I accredited all my success to. An enquiry later, I discovered that he was still at work. Perfect, I would surprise him. My father was a self-made man, having climbed the corporate ladder to a top ranking position in a large tech. company- Hansen and Co. A good work ethic runs in the family, I guess.
A car ride later, I reached his office. Something you should know about me- I eaves drop. It’s a bad habit.
“Deportation! You have got to be kidding me. It can’t be that bad,” my father says, his voice hoarse.
“I am afraid that is a very likely possibility at this point. Your suspension, however, is a surefire thing.” proclaims a plump man whom I recognize to be our family lawyer.
I rush into the room, panic-stricken. His kind face never failed to calm me down.
“We will get through this,” he reassures me.
I smile.
My father had been accused of embezzlement, misappropriation of company assets, accused being the key word here, and was to appear before a board of directors before further action could be taken. Our entire lives had come crashing down. I was worrying about colleges one second, and what country I was going to live in the next.
It was the day of his meeting with the company officials. The sky was crystal clear.
“Good omen, dad,” I said, pointing to the sky.
He gave me a nervous smile. I will not bore you with the tedious proceedings of that day. Six hours into the conference and it was time for the verdict.
“Mr. Deluka has been found to be fraudulent. His suspension is effective immediately. The question of his deportation will be referred to the Immigration Court in the following weeks. Thank you for your time.”
When the announcement was made two people got up and left the room- my father’s assistant and associate. What was peculiar, and somewhat amusing, about their departure was that they cursed at the board as they did so. The company had based their entire accusation on one witness. My father’s crime was not embezzlement, it was his race. A black man at such a high rank was a liability to the company’s sales.
The very next day, Hansen and Co. receives twenty-five resignations, twelve of which are from senior officials. There is hope. My father was well-liked.
We received a call from the lawyer, my father was morose as he hung up.
“I guess we better start packing,” he says.
“Are there no other options?” I ask, helplessly.
“Well, you do want to go to Harvard don’t you?
My eyes widen in disbelief.
“Jesus Christ, dad!”
There is nervous laughter.