![]() ![]() But they were never recognized for their credentials in the United States. My parents were highly educated in Mexico - my father was a school principal and my mother his secretary. There weren’t “lawns” - there were dirt yards with patches of grass and weeds. We lived in a poor Mexican community in the San Gabriel Valley with dirt roads, no sidewalks, chickens and goats in backyards. I ended up dragging a rusty lawn mower around the neighborhood to cut lawns for 25 cents. Child labor was common among Mexican migrants during most of the 20th century - and sadly persists todayin factories and slaughterhouses. At that age she had picked cotton in south Texas as an undocumented child. ![]() When I was 9, my mother declared it was time for me to work. ![]() It’s older than poetry, even, and central to who we are as a people and a country. Farmworkers and grocery clerks who risked their lives to care for us and keep us fed during the height of the pandemic were briefly celebrated and deemed “essential.” Tales of their bravery were followed by headlines about the great resignation, as many quit their jobs or retired early. In recent years, the media has turned its attention to the stories of ordinary working people. You know what work is-if you’re old enough to read this you know what work is, although you may not do it. ![]()
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