Survival in the Shadows

When I was sixteen, I got a summer job working at a supermarket. At the time, I didn't really have any financial obligations, so I just saved my daily wages and bought my first pair of shoes. That pair of shoes was my first and last piece of independence back home in Kingston, Jamaica.

A year later, I graduated from high school without the slightest clue about what to do next. After my parents told me they couldn't afford to send me to college, they gave me a choice: either move to America or stay in Jamaica and support myself. I chose America. My parents planned to move there too, and agreed that my mother would migrate first.

In 1990, I came to the U.S. on a visa, bearing no gifts. My suitcase had so few belongings, it could have passed for carry-on luggage. Although, as a child, I dreamed of becoming a pilot, I had never flown on a plane before and the experience made me feel important. As I thought about how I would miss visiting my grandmother in the country—where we would eat mangoes and jackfruit—that summer, I hoped for a better life than the one I had previously led.

When I arrived in New York, taking in the sheer width of the streets, the height of the buildings, and the pace of the people sent instant messages to my brain that I was not in Jamaica anymore. It took about three months to get reacquainted with family members who were already living in the area and to familiarize myself with the streets of Brooklyn. It dawned on me one morning, as I looked into the empty suitcase I had brought with me, that I needed a job. I had no knowledge of the necessary procedures or paperwork, but quickly realized that trying to get a j ob without the right papers would be daunting. I needed to become resilient.

My mother had already been in the U.S. for a year before I came. She rented a single room from a family friend, with the understanding that she would be the only person staying there. My arrival (at first) did not alarm the landlord—but as time went by and the arrival of more family members was on the horizon, it became obvious that other living arrangements had to be considered.

Most of the time I was by myself, thinking about the future. I had been groomed to believe that people could become anything they wanted in life, as long as they put forth the necessary effort and learned from capable mentors. Having no money and no job, I was getting frustrated with the situation I was thrown into, which was not getting any better.

At church one day, a friend (who had caught wind of my situation) offered me a job helping him with his roofing and contracting business. He was currently assigned to a roofing project—I knew nothing about roofing, but figured he could teach me all I needed to know. I felt like a child again as he taught me the trade—he brought me lunch, transported me to and from work, and gave me $180 at the end of our three days together. The doors of opportunity had been opened and I began to realize the possibilities that were out there.

However, back on the home front, I was caged in that one room like a bird with clipped wings. I wanted to fly, but knew I needed help. I started poring over the want ads, careful to stick to job listings that did not seem too complicated. After a week of this, it became clear that I would need information and advice from my mother. She worked as a live-in nanny, taking care of a little girl whose father was a stockbroker (and a part-time lounge singer) and whose mother designed women's bathing suits. When my mother came home one weekend, I asked her what a green card and social security were. She gave me the short version—the government needs...