When my father was 15 years old, and living in Dublin, Ireland, his mother passed away. My father had two siblings who were both much older than he was, and they were finishing up college. My father’s dad was in a bad place once his wife passed away, and my dad had to take care of him. After a year of looking after his father, my father decided he needed a fresh start somewhere else. My dad had heard about some people in his town moving to America to find work. He said jokingly, “They didn’t come back, so they must’ve found it.” My father saw that he had nothing going for him if he stayed in Dublin, so at the age of 16, he decided to drop out of secondary school. Over in America, that would be high school. Within a couple of weeks, my father convinced his neighbor to let him borrow his green card so he could fly over to America. His family had a couple of connections in New York, so that is where my father decided to go. The connection landed my dad a job interview and promised that he could stay with him until my dad managed to establish himself.

When my father arrived at the airport, it was his first time in one. He had no clue what to do or where to go. This was before the 9/11 terrorist attack happened, so airport employees didn’t really pay attention as much as they do now. When my father got to the gates, he realized that his flight was boarding. He panicked and started running. The New York boarding gate and the Boston boarding gate were right next to each other. Both flights were leaving 10 minutes apart. Since my dad was in a rush and not really paying much attention to the signs, he boarded a plane without knowing if it was heading for Boston or New York. Throughout the entire flight he thought he was flying to New York. He didn’t realize he landed in Boston until someone on the flight told him.

He had never been to either of them so he couldn’t tell. My father didn’t know what to do because he didn’t have much money. He didn’t have someone to pick him up in Boston like he did in New York. Also, he didn’t have anywhere to stay in this new and unexpected city. My father hopped in a cab and told the driver to take him to a bar that was hiring. The cab driver dropped him off at the Black Rose in the center of the city. He walked in and talked to the owner about getting a job there and the owner agreed. When the owner realized that my dad didn’t have any place to stay, he let my father stay with him. The owner of that bar is now my godfather.

After a few months, my dad was working at the bar as a bartender, and he got a job as a pipefitter in the union. Fifteen years later, my dad met my mom and they started a family. After countless years of hard work, my dad was finally living his American Dream. He became a citizen of the United States of America, and started a family here. My father was the only one out of his friends and a family to ever move to America. Although he misses Ireland a lot, he loves his family here.

My dad’s remarkable immigration story made me realize something about my identity. Murrays are hardworking and dedicated. Although some might think my father’s American Dream is over, there is still a lot left. This includes him wanting me to have a great life and be successful and happy in whatever I do. Finally, his story reminds me to always have a good sense of humor.

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