This story was shared by a member of our community. We believe everyone has a story worth telling, and we’d love to hear yours. Join our community of storytellers. Share your story with us at in**@******ng.org or use our submission form.
Written by Vannia Mendiola
I still remember the day I knew my father was my best friend. I’d come home from school absolutely exhausted, and he’d asked me how I was. I told him exactly how I was feeling and I didn’t stop until I was done. He listened to every word I said. The next day, he picked me up from school, instead of letting me ride the school bus for an hour, and took me out to eat the Chinese food from the restaurant I’d been desperately craving.
Whenever I felt as though the weight of the world was too heavy on my shoulders, I could always count on my best friend to help me carry the burden. The best part, the best-friend part of him, was that he’d do it with a smile. That was my dad for you: the happy, fun man with a sweet tooth and an even sweeter heart. My dad was my hero, my muse, and my lifeboat.
A dad like that is hard to come by I’ve been told.
If you could look at him through my eyes, you’d see him as nearly perfect. He played with my two and four- year old siblings every day after coming home from backbreaking mechanic, car detailer, car washer, janitor work—anything really to provide for our big family of 7. He made my mom her favorite drinks with fresh pineapple and papayas. He cooked dinner and listened as all of his 5 critters rambled about our days, joked around with us, and even offered to clean the kitchen for us afterward. On weekends, he would take us out to dinner and church, and if one of us left something at home, he would turn the car around in a second and get what we needed with a smile.
He was practically perfect.
However, apparently, he did have one flaw. My father was in America illegally, and I guess that devalued every other quality of his. Never mind the fact that my father followed every single speed limit, did his taxes, paid his bills, and worked hard so our family wouldn’t use up government resources so “the people who really need them” could use them. He didn’t drink, smoke, vape or use anything of the sort because he was afraid to hurt our family. He didn’t even own a gun because he was scared that the babies would get to it. My dad was a model father, and I think many would agree to that claim after everything I’ve shared. So why wasn’t that enough to keep him here?
Simply speaking another language and having darker skin doesn’t mean he was a threat. Many would have called him a model citizen if he had the proper documentation. What no one talks about is how long and how costly getting proper documentation can be.
My father was my best friend, and he was ripped away from me on February 2nd of 2026, the day before my little sister turned 5.
When someone says they’re happy illegal immigrants are getting deported from this country, they don’t feel bad because they’ve never been introduced to the people they’re talking about. In their heads, they’re not even people. They become dehumanized as soon as they are called illegal aliens.
Well, you’ve met one now; my father, my role model.
There are many people like my father in America. As citizens of this country, let’s keep it beautiful and welcoming by getting rid of this prejudice. My father, and many others, were doing this country a service by paying taxes like everyone else and working difficult jobs with smaller pay.
He was going to throw me a graduation party and take us to Disneyland after I got my diploma. I graduate this year with the highest diploma my school offers, a full-ride scholarship, and an additional $5,000 in merit-based scholarships. The woman I am today, I owe to him.
He taught me to work hard and to believe in myself.
But, I will never see him again. He won’t be at my graduation to take pictures of me or to hug me or to tell me how proud he is of me. Even when I’m at my happiest, all I can think about is how much I wish I could celebrate my wins with the one person I love the most. In every single thing that I do, I’ll always see him. It hurts devastatingly to know that the person that helped me achieve these goals will never see how his love, effort, and sacrifice paid off. These awards were given to me, but they were won by both of us.
Is this the great America you were hoping for?
My name is Vannia Mendiola and I am a rising senior at Little Rock Central High School. I am 17 years old, and I am a first generation student. I am the oldest of 5, and I am the proud daughter of beautiful immigrant parents. I am very passionate about immigration because I have been blessed to see the both sides, the American side and the immigrant side, and I want to help others see how immigrants are so much more than what is said.
