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The dry, cracked, and calloused hands of my mother and father were necessary sacrifices. Leaving their home known for the beautiful, blazing sun that made their skin sizzle from the heat and the humid weather that would cast a thin shiny layer of sweat across their tan faces that made them slightly glow from the inside out, for a place that would wash them out. Their bright sun wouldn’t be found in their new home, instead, it would be replaced with gray clouds and rainy days, with people speaking a different tongue. It was a necessary sacrifice in order to embellish their children’s tongues with not only the familiar red, white, and green but as well as red, white, and blue. These embellishments would give their children opportunities that they were never offered back in the motherland. Their sacrifices were not made in vain.
