When Immigration Is Personal

An image from Feivel's Flying Horses...Feivel thinks of the family he left behind as he arrives in New York. 

I have never really thought of my mom as an immigrant. Well, not until recently when she was sweating the prep for the civics part of her naturalization test.  

My mom has lived in the United States for over four decades, and I think of her as my mom, not as the kindly resident alien who taught me how to tie my shoes, picked me up at the bus stop after school and, you know, loved me.

Until now, my mother has been a green card holding permanent resident alien. That means that she could live in the United States, she could work here, and its laws would protect her. But it didn’t make her a full citizen. And without this significant designation, there was something important that her three American daughters could do that she could not: vote.

My mom, who has never voted in the 41 years that I have been alive, decided that 2016 was her year to change that.

Despite mom’s test anxiety, my sisters and I were not at all surprised to learn that she aced the civics test.  Like many immigrants before her, my mother wanted to take part fully in what it means to be an American citizen. For so many Americans, someone in their family tree made that same decision. Having a sense that America is a home to immigrants, including your own relatives—matters, especially sharing that awareness with children.  

Read Feivel's Flying Horses to begin conversations in your home or classroom.