The family sits on the pink thrift-store furniture, Susana's feet shuffling on the linoleum floor. They talk with a reporter about Elvi's impending court date, Mael, and their passion to become legal American citizens. Nestor translates for his parents.
"This year has gone really fast, because we've spent it counting the days," says Felipe. He's a soft-spoken man with serious eyes. He's just gotten back from work on a Friday afternoon, his pants stained with paint. "We might be here illegally, but it is its own punishment, because we're always on our toes. All we ask for is a little pity. We want people to know that we're not here to make a fortune. We just want our kids to have a better future. I'd give a kidney away for the [immigration] papers. Gladly."
"I'm willing to suffer the hardship if my children can stay here and finish what Mael started," says Elvi, who still volunteers at Ronald McDonald House. She's wearing the black and white cardigan, tears trickling down her face. "If I have to leave, I'll be thankful to the U.S. The U.S. let me enjoy the company of my son for two more years. I got to know him better. And I got the chance to love him so much more."
Elvi believes firmly that Mael has spoken with God, that he made a deal — his life for their citizenship. "The price he paid for us should not go to waste," she says.
Christmas Day, 2005
The Ojeda family doesn't have anything extravagant planned for this Christmas, which may be their last together for a decade. Like last year, they'll go out for ice cream. But because they spend every day waiting — waiting for Felipe's green card to come through, waiting for a deportation officer to show up at their door — not even Christmas is comfortable.
Since that plane flight six years ago, Elvi says, "Every Christmas is a promise for something better. When we get green cards in our hands, that promise will be filled. Maybe after that, we'll be able to celebrate Christmas more joyfully. Because Mael's dream will have come true."
