I arrived in Jersey City on Halloween night in 1986 with my mom and younger brother. We had almost nothing.
Mom babysat for cash in the mornings and worked a cash register at night. We furnished our apartment with things other people left on the street. It still wasn’t enough, so we went on welfare.
I stood in food-bank lines for cheese and powdered milk. I learned that food stamps didn’t buy toothpaste. Those programs kept food on our table and a roof over our heads.
In eighth grade, a teacher at my public school suggested I apply to a magnet high school. A teacher had noticed a poor immigrant kid and opened a door.
More doors followed. A state scholarship sent me to college. A public-service fellowship led me to graduate school.
That was my America. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave us a chance and only asked that we build a future in return.
Then came September 11, 2001.