Willis

My parents were refugees from Cambodia in the early 1980s. When we fled the country, I was the ripe old age of 6 months and I couldn't possibly realize what was going on. My mom tells me of nights when we would crawl through the jungles in abject fear that I would cry and a Khmer Rouge guerrilla would find and kill us without thinking twice. She tells me of nights where she would forget where she was due to fatigue, stress, and exhaustion only to come back to ensure that the guide they hired wouldn't throw me by the way-side like garbage because I was a burden to the group. The protection of a mother's love was never more evident.

Though the reign of Pol Pot existed until about the 1980s, his supporters were in full force for years thereafter. My dad tells me of the labor camps where we would be given (by his estimates) 2 cups of rice to feed 3 adults and 2 children for an entire week. He tells me that he and my uncle hunted field mice, crickets and various other forms of food that we would cringe in fear us just so that we could survive. They risked everything and decided to dare to leave the country. They thought it was with full understanding that our guide had papers to allow us not only in Thailand but into the UN refugee camp there; not the case.

When we arrived at the border, he left us. My mom, dad, uncle, 6 year-old sister and myself with nowhere to go and not any clue as to what to do. The Thai authorities had built trenches at the borders and put large spiked poles in them to deter people from crossing into their country because of the number of refugees. My dad and uncle found a place to navigate through the death traps and my sister and I were lifted to safety. My mom was caught in a flash flood and the waters started to rise rapidly. Through the panic, they were able to pull her to safety.

We hiked up behind the refugee camp and smuggled into the camp through a hole in the wall under cover of darkness. After a while, we simply became one of the refugees and acquired papers when we said we had lost them.

After about 2 years, we were notified that we had been sponsored by a church in the US to come live as refugees. My parents had no idea what it all meant. They only knew that it was a way to get out of a situation that saw no possibility of improvement so they were happy to take it. With literally the clothes on our backs, we were met by the Red Cross organizing the transport and were flown to Washington state.

My mom watched the kids as my uncle and my dad were put into vocational schooling. During the nights my dad would wash dishes at a local restaurant to earn some cash and my mom would sew clothing for $1 per shirt; a good day was 10 shirts. Whatever time my dad had during the day between working and going to school, he studied with the local pastor to gain basic math and English skills that were non-existent in Cambodia's educational system.

The one thing that my parents embedded in my and my sister's psyche has been education. Without it, they saw zero chances of success not just here but anywhere. Perhaps it was the persecution of the educated that they saw in Cambodia. Maybe it was because they themselves never had a chance to learn. Whatever the reason, I am thankful to them for pushing me to succeed and not to accept anything less than absolute drive to be better.

I'm taking classes in the coming weeks to further educate myself not because I am being forced to, but because I have lost some of that drive in the daily grind. Some would cringe at the possibility of continuing to learn in such a structured environment. I am grateful.