Igrew up on a farm in eastern Long Island. Every year, men would come to help us pick berries, move irrigation pipes, plant, and hoe. Their days were long and hard, lacking in transportation, diversion or suitable housing.

But what I remember most is how kind these men were to us as children, buying treats for us in their weekly trip to the grocery store, repairing our rabbit hutches, and teaching us basic Spanish. It was clear, even to a small child, how desperately they missed their homes and their families and how difficult their lives were. They were here, not because they wanted to be but because they had to be.

I wonder if readers were in similar situations, what would they do? If they couldn’t find work to support their family? If their children’s choices were to join a gang or li

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