The Daily Life of an Immigrant Parent


Andrea Castaneda

From 5 to 7:30 am, Castaneda is surrounded by the pressure of the number of customers coming in at the same time, and she is continually working to ensure excellent customer service.

Andrea Castaneda, Staff Writer

On a cold breezy night, a bakery is filled with the warmth and the delicious smell of freshly baked bread. The place is filled with immigrant parents and their children― from teenagers to children. The parents’ faces look overworked, their hands are covered with calluses, and their yawns fill the bakery. Children are throwing tantrums, yelling, and hitting, ordering their parents to buy what they wanted, telling them hurtful words. The hurt expressed in their parents’ faces glooms the bakery. Teenagers disgusted by the slight touch of their loving parents, telling them to go away. The cold breeze from the outside fills the bakery, overcoming its warmth. These ungrateful children are unable to see the hard work and perseverance their parents put in every day to give them a better life.

My name is Andrea Castaneda, and I have an immigrant parent just like many kids my age. In this world, not everyone has had an easy life; many immigrant parents have had to make the heartbreaking decision to leave their whole world behind to give their children a better life experience than they ever had. My mother is one of those people. She came from nothing, and a struggling life is all she has ever known. Each day she goes through a 4:30 am to 4:30 pm shift waking up at 3 am every day. She returns home at 5 pm with a cheerful smile on her face, even when it is obvious she is close to collapsing.