As much as I liked to imagine myself as punk rock and counterculture, I was always a pretty straight-edged kid. I had a few run-ins with the law, but it was mostly teenage stuff. I would get upset if my dad drove over the speed limit or if my mom took too many samples at Costco—and she always took too many samples at Costco. Sure, I drank while underage, but that just felt like a SoCal rite of passage. The early-onset alcoholism did not take away from the fact that I was an honor roll high school student who also held down a full-time job. The news of being “illegal” was too much for me to digest. In times like this, I usually turned to episodes of Saved by the Bell for guidance. But in this instance I didn’t know what to do because there was no episode of Saved by the Bell where Zack gets deported!
My parents and I didn’t broach the subject of our immigration problems again. My dad and I were always good about not talking about the things that really bothered us. My dad would walk around the house like a silent assassin. If something bothered him, or if he knew something bothered someone else, he would go quiet and vanish from any interaction. And so we began ignoring each other.
Outside of my dad, I also began alienating my friends. MJ and I drifted apart. Our relationship was a casualty of a lot of bitterness from the news I had just received and teenage hormones run amok while undocumented. I stopped hanging out with her or anyone not inside my direct inner circle. I, of course, spoke to Napo and Sal about my predicament right away. Or at least, they forced it out of me.
In the quad at school one morning, Napo and Sal noticed that I was uncharacteristically silent and asked me what was wrong. I didn’t know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Would Napo and Sal judge me or think any differently of me if I told them my secret? They were my brothers, but would I be putting them in danger if I told them the truth of my legal status? After a moment, I finally fessed up that I had something important to tell them.
“Is it about Ross and Rachel breaking up because I’m still in shock,” said Napo.
I didn’t know what they were talking about. That’s how devastated I was by the news my parents had given me—I’d totally forgotten to tune in to the episode of Friends that began the “we are on a break” era. Next time give me a damn spoiler alert, Napo!
I somberly said that it wasn’t about Ross and Rachel. I took a deep breath and finally let out: “I have no papers.”
Sal looked around to make sure the coast was clear and then asked: “Like rolling papers? ’Cause I can get you some.”
I laughed. Sal could always make me laugh no matter how much I wanted to wallow in my own self-pity. I told the guys what my parents had shared with me. I told them that I was not legal.
“My uncles don’t have papers and they’re doing fine,” Napo said nonchalantly.
I had met some of Napo’s uncles. They all had been in this country for over two decades. I didn’t realize they didn’t have papers. Somehow they managed to buy houses and drive nice cars and—more important—were able to provide for their families. Napo put his hand on my shoulder and made me feel like things were going to be okay. I looked up at Napo, who was much taller than me, and smiled. He made me feel normal again.
Napo began working with his dad more. Post our day-laborer-for-a-day debacle, he slowly started taking over the reins of the family business, and without telling his dad, he included our house in his route. In other words, Napo gave us free landscaping services. Ramon and his crew would come over once a week to tend to our modest grass. I wondered if these workers didn’t have documentation. I asked Napo about it, and he said, “Nope—all of these guys are good. So is my dad.” Wow. It turned out that our gardeners were more legal than us. Our gardeners, by the way, that we were not paying for.
My dad and I spoke less. We began to not understand each other at all. Unfortunately, we became a pale imitation of what we once were. Long gone were the elementary school days when we would try to play baseball together. I felt uncomfortable being home when he was around. I eventually asked Napo if I could move in with him. He loved the idea. He had older siblings he didn’t really grow up with, and wanted nothing more than to have a brother his age at his house. But he knew we had to run it by his parents first. One evening, Napo and I went to speak to his mom and dad: Rosario and Ramon. Ramon and Rosario were a true immigrant success story. They loved each other dearly, built a large family together, created a small business from scratch, and happily grew old together. Like my parents, Ramon and Rosario always took in outsiders. Our homes were like revolving glass doors of aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, godparents, and perhaps a few coworkers. It was in their nature to say yes to my request. But Ramon surprised me when he said, “No.” Ramon clarified that they liked me very much and that they would love to help me out. In fact, his and Rosario’s house would always be open to me. But I had a mom and dad. Ramon clarified, “Any decision to move in would first have to be approved by your parents.” Since I knew my dad wouldn’t agree, Napo and I just left my request at that.
As junior year came to an end, I started drinking more. I couldn’t get a driver’s license. I couldn’t get a work permit. But I could get someone older to buy me alcohol. I stayed out late longer. In my head, I thought I was sticking it to the man because what illegal immigrant wouldn’t be out late drinking just to antagonize authorities?
I came home late one night drunk to find my dad on the couch watching an action movie, as usual. This was his nightly routine. He would watch movies until about 2:00 a.m., and would always be up when I got home. It was an awkward nightly interaction where we both avoided communication. This time when I walked in, my dad turned off the TV and got up from the couch. Without looking me in the eyes, he said: “At least now you know why I always wait up for you.” He headed off to sleep, while I stood drunk and undocumented by our front door.