Love Letters to America

When I was eight months old, my father left India and boarded a plane to the United States with two dollars in his pockets and the weight of his family's destiny. He was wearing a suit with a red tie that matched his turban. He left his wife and three daughters behind, promising we would reunite some day.

I know every detail of this story because I have more than 800 love letters in three different languages that my parents wrote to one another, describing their lives and dreams.

These letters are truly love letters to America. And they are our family treasure, much like my parents. Hardly a day passes that my children and I don't talk about the sacrifices and hardships they endured so that we might enjoy the quality of life and opportunities that we have today.

Theirs is the universal immigrant's story of self-sacrifice: Every step forward necessitated making heartbreaking choices. My father worked several jobs simultaneously while pursuing graduate studies. He sometimes did not eat so he could save money to send to us. He wasn't sure whether he could afford to send for all four of us, he wrote, so my oldest sister may have to stay with our grandparents.

My father also wrote of some of the profound moments that sustained him during difficult days. During the height of the civil rights movement, in Statesboro, Ga., my father was welcomed to his first Christmas party by his roommate, Mickey Guthrie. He described it in a letter to my mother:

"Darling Love, When the party was in full swing, [Mickey] stood up and made an announcement to explain the significance of the Christmas tree. He told us that, '...our homes are in Statesboro and America but Amarjit comes from India and his family is sitting at a distance of 12,000 miles.' He further told that the celebrations were in my honor and all the gifts under the tree belonged to me. I was shocked and, with tears in my eyes, I looked at him - he too was trickling tears at that time. I thought of you. I opened the boxes to find 2 pullovers, 2 shirts, 3 pants, one dozen [pairs of] underwear, one night suit, 2 ties, a dozen of socks, 2 pairs of shoes, one belt, one golf club and a ball. Mickey is a hell of a guy."

The friendship between my father and Mickey Guthrie represents the heart and foundation of America: generosity, hospitality, kindness and warmth. I never had the privilege of meeting Mr. Guthrie, but he is my hero. His loyal friendship eased my father's long hours of work. I consider him a U.S. Ambassador of Goodness.

My parents and I honor Mr. Guthrie - and Mr. Woodcock, who sponsored us and reunited our family - when we lend a hand to newcomers in our community and to America.

Only in America could my father, a Sikh man in the 1960s South who didn't even know how to drive, win a raffle for a brand new Pontiac. It turned out that everyone who entered the Georgia Southern College campus raffle had written his name on their ticket.

This is the America "Of Thee I Sing." This is the America I dream we return to.

Ultimately, my father earned a doctorate in education, and my mother earned a master's degree. The two enjoyed long and successful careers as educators and entrepreneurs while raising five daughters and founding and leading several Indian-American organizations that serve the community to this day.

As a young girl on a farm in India, my mother received an official U.S. government letter telling her that a farm girl in Indiana wanted to be her pen pal. She could never have imagined that 32 years after receiving that letter, her daughter would receive an official letter from the White House asking her to serve in the Clinton administration. America dreamed this dream for her daughter.

This is the promise and the possibility of America, and the ascendant destiny of our country. We sacrifice, we grow, we have heartbreak, and with God's grace, we rise. Fresh out of college and working in an immigration law firm, I could never digest alien registration. Was that a special document for Martians?How could we label a child an illegal alien? Did she overstay her visit from Saturn?

We need to change the language we use to refer to human beings who are within our borders. It is time for common sense immigration reform.

My family was privileged to come here legally. I cannot imagine what it must be like for a child to be forced to live in the shame of a shadow that doesn't belong to her.

I hope that when these children grow into adults, they have stories like those I have shared. I hope they tell the story of a president and a nation that took up their cause.