‘Dreamers’ remind me of my extraordinary husband, and they deserve opportunities too

I see the same work ethic and gratitude and grit and integrity, and it breaks my heart that this new generation of immigrants is being cast away.

I call him my American dream. When we met during the summer of 2000 while working for The Oregonian newspaper, our differences intrigued me as much as our shared interests. We were fresh-faced college graduates. We bonded over basketball, books and politics.

I was white and middle class, the daughter of college-educated parents. He, the son of Mexican immigrants and the first in his family to graduate college. On our first date, I asked him what he would do if he received a windfall of money. I answered first and quickly: I would quit work and travel. He answered quietly and thoughtfully. He would pay off his parents’ house so his dad could retire from working 12-hour days under the hot L.A. sun as a garbageman.

Although born in this country, my husband, Ed, did not learn English until he started elementary school. And he lost his accent during high school, tired of being a verbal punching bag for the upper class white classmates at his Boston-area boarding school.

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Ed’s parents and aunts came to the U.S. in the 1970s from rural Mexico. His dad was deported twice, plucked from the farmlands of California’s Central Valley. His mom and aunts labored in the L.A. garment district sweat shops. Thanks to President Ronald Reagan’s amnesty program in the 1980s, Ed’s parents and aunts received green cards and were able to find more stable employment, with some of his family becoming citizens.

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Other family members saw the amnesty program as a government trap that would lead to their deportation, and life has been harder for them. I used to think that level of government suspicion was ridiculous. At least, until this year.

In elementary school, Ed was invited to apply for a talented and gifted program. He helped his mom fill out all of the forms and mailed them himself. Like a lot of immigrant kids, he still translates for his parents and helps them with bills and paperwork.

Growing up in East L.A., gang violence claimed some of Ed’s middle-school classmates. In the first month…

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