Our neighbor lived the American Dream

There's just one problem

Recently a couple invited us over for drinks.

Since we only moved to town a few years ago we’re just getting to know some of our neighbors. So we appreciated the reach-out.

It was a fun evening: craft cocktails, house-made appetizers and chat about families and kids.

Since we were new acquaintances, there was a lot of catching up on everyone’s background. We talked about where we were from, how we met, etc.

And then the hostess described her origin journey. It was mesmerizing. It played out like a novel. There was wealth, loss, grit and travel to two continents.

“What a great story,” we both said when we left the house.

But I had trouble letting it go. Because if you took it chronologically, from where she started to where she is, right now, there’s a nasty little twist at the end.

It gnawed at me. It was unfair, random and even cruel.

I couldn’t let it go. It reached the point where I went to her and asked if she’d mind if I wrote it and sent it out to subscribers.

She was fine with it. We agreed not to use her name, or where we live, But otherwise, she was not only willing to tell it, she wanted people to hear about it.

So here it is. And I’ll say again, it is a great story:

It begins in Pakistan where she was born into what she candidly says was “a very sheltered and very privileged life.”

She’s not exaggerating. Her father was the CEO of a Pakistan-based arm of a big British company. They lived in on a huge estate with a house so large, “I can’t remember how many rooms it had.” There were servant quarters and a full-time car and driver.

In her words, her two brothers and three sisters, “lived a life of luxury.”

And then, when she was seven, her father suddenly divorced her mother.

“Suddenly” may be an understatement. At the time, by Muslim law, a man could divorce his wife by saying, “I divorce you,” three times in the presence of a legal witness.

Although the practice has since been made essentially illegal, it wasn’t then.

Her father pronounced the words and just like that her mother was out. She became a single parent who had to fend for herself and the four girls. (The father was only interested in the sons).

Her mother had a college degree, and got by with tutoring jobs, until an unexpected opportunity arrived.

An attorney in New York City was looking for full-time care forhis kids. She flew to NYC, checked it out, then brought the girls over.

Our neighbor was 16.

“Didn’t speak a word of English,” she said.

There was no time to fret about that. Her mother had moved on from the child care job and was cleaning houses. No more servants. Her daughter went along and helped clean.

But there were other responsibilities. Her mother was an adamant advocate for education.

She was sent to high school and basically told to figure out the language barrier. She can laugh about the inevitable confusion now, but it was not easy.

She tells a story about a boy who came up to her in the hall and asked what her name was.

Confused, she asked, “Why?”

Which he misunderstood to be her name.

“So any time he saw me in the hall he’d say, ‘Hi Why.”

She did have some advantages. The math numbers were the same, regardless of language. And many of her classes in Pakistan used English texts. So although she couldn’t speak English, she could read and write it.

She dug into the experience. She honed her English by watching the Brady Bunch and Gilligan’s Island. And she hit the books with a purpose.

Meanwhile, her mother had gotten a job with the city, which was important, because her rule was “never any kind of public assistance. No food stamps, no nothing.”

And in the background, there was the realization that with good grades there were scholarships and grants available. College suddenly seemed like a real possibility.

She and her mother “took a train and then a bus” to the admissions office of a state college in New York.

She got in.

She graduated with the degree in biochemistry and took a job as a scientist at a cancer research center.

And somewhere around that time she realized there was something else she wanted to do.

“I wanted to vote,” she said. “That’s like the biggest civic duty you have in a democracy, right?”

She applied to be a naturalized citizen. She took the test, filled out the forms and raised her hand to take the oath of citizenship. She became an American.

There were some bumps along the way. She married and had three kids. But it was an unhappy union and after they moved to California they divorced.

The plan was she was to be done with romance. She’d stick to her work as a senior scientist, researching cancer. But a friend recommended that she meet someone. He was also divorced, with kids, and looked a bit like Jim Gaffigan.

What are the odds? They were married and have blended their families and are the kind of couples who invite the neighbors over for drinks on a summer night.

And here’s where we get the twist.

The husband is an avid golfer. And of course, on his bucket list is a trip to the cradle of golf, Scotland, to play the most famous and revered golf courses on earth. The plan was he’d fly over for a few days, play golf, and then she’d meet him for a holiday.

But now . . .

“I’m afraid to leave America,” she said. “I’m afraid I won’t be let back in.”

Let that sink in.

“Even though I’m a naturalized citizen, I just decided it is not safe for me. My kids are here, and if there is a possibility that I might not come back can you imagine the trauma and headache?”

Now, at this point, what you’d like to say is: “Oh come on. Let’s don’t be paranoid here. Surely an accomplished, successful naturalized citizen has nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, except she’s seeing the same video clips you’ve are. The guy grabbed by federal agents while walking out of his house to throw away his trash. The people who voluntarily came to the courthouse for immigration hearings, but were arrested instead.

Why would she trust the government — her government?

“They are zip-tying people, kids nine to 12 years old,” she said. “I can be taken to a back room, or arrested, or whatever.”

Obviously, we don’t have to hit you over the head with an irony-stick to get the point.

This person is the personification of a basic premise of America — the chance to come here, work hard and better your life. This is the land of opportunity, where a million cornball stories have been written about grit, determination and perseverance overcoming obstacles to turn an entire family and generation around.

This woman, and her family, have done that.

“I care about this country,” she said. “I feel I’m patriotic. I am an American. Not by birth, but by naturalized citizenship. By choice.”

She’s made a point to participate. Never failed to vote in a presidential election. She continues to do important work as a scientist, pursuing cancer research. Two of her nephews went to West Point and served in the armed forces.

That was how it was supposed to work.

This, she said, feels like a betrayal.

“I mean, people used to want to come to America. Now they’re afraid to come to America. And I am afraid to leave.”

Contact C.W. Nevius at cwnevius@gmail.com. Twitter and Threads: @cwnevius