Member-only story
Work as First-Gen American
My blonde haired, blue-eyed husband asked me what I dreamt of being when I was growing up- he then proceeded to answer for himself, he dreamt of being “president” I smiled and said “I just wanted a salary with benefits.”
I recently read that “representation is a way to dream” and that struck me deeply. My husband had ample representation of people that looked like him in that role, in many roles- he could picture himself in many successful careers and positions. My representation looked and still looks vastly different. My Latina self wanted to break the hourly wage that caused so many worries in my childhood home. And I didn’t want to live tied to the free clinic in our barrio.
When you learn about work with a First Generation American lens it messes you up for a long time.
I watched my mother slump her tired body onto the couch every evening. My responsibility was securing warm water for her tired feet. I held my grandmother’s calloused hands when we walked to church. She worked for years doing laundry for a local hotel chain. Work, for my maternal lineage, is immensely physical. And when they would catch me noticing their exhaustion they would say things like “Do well in school so you don’t have to work like I do” — Only that’s what I learned about work. That it’s supposed to drive you to physical exhaustion if you are doing it well.
