(2/2) “The only photo I have from my childhood is from my...

(2/2) “The only photo I have from my childhood is from my sixth-grade report card. It was the same year my mother told me I had to leave school. I moved to Mexico City and began working as a housekeeper for a rich family. They had a daughter who was the same age as me. And I felt so envious of her. She had her own bedroom. She had so many nice things. She went to the concerts of famous singers. But most importantly, she was going to school. When I was fifteen I came to America. I started working in the home of a young couple. It was near a high school, and it hurt me every morning. Seeing all those teenagers going to school. When my daughters were born, I said: ‘They’re going to college, no matter what.’ I started reading little books to them every night. My English wasn’t good, but I knew they wouldn’t judge me. But after third grade it became very hard for me to help them. Especially in math. But I kept pushing them. I told them my story. How I’d been all alone in life. How I never had this opportunity, to go to school. I always said to them, in Spanish: ‘Tu exito es mi exito.’ Your success is my success. I don’t know why they worked so hard. Maybe because we didn’t have anything. Other classmates had their mother, father, car, house. But we had nothing. Just me. There were days I couldn’t pay the $20 for their school trips. I could have taken extra work: more days, more hours. But I wanted to be there when they got home. I wanted to talk to them. To cook them a healthy breakfast in the morning. I wanted them to at least have me. Some of my family members were pushing me to work more. Maybe I seemed lazy to them. For wanting to spend time with my daughters. Back then I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. But maybe now they see. When my daughters graduated, I wish I could have done more. I put up some decorations at home. But I wish I could have done more, like the other parents. Maybe give them a car. Or take them somewhere nice. I’m not allowed to leave the country, but I’d love to take them somewhere. Maybe Connecticut. Or Pennsylvania. Just a surprise of some sort. Telling them, I’m thankful for them. For giving me this gift. Tu exito es mi exito.”


One of the most charming parts of my interview with Esther was walking into her apartment and seeing that the living room was furnished with two things: a couch, and a stand with about thirty trophies that her daughters had won. It was such a fitting symbol of her life and priorities. Esther told me that ‘everyone’s compliments make her so happy.’ But for those of you have been asking how to further support Esther, I’ve set up a GoFundMe to help lighten her load a bit: https://bit.ly/letshelpesther