There’s a huge burden that comes with being the son of immigrants. I was basically the conduit between my parents and the English-speaking world as soon as I had an elementary grasp of the language. That means I got thrust into interpreting the adult world well before I was supposed to; interactions that few other kids would experience. They get to go to McDonalds and wait for the food. I had to go to the counter to order.
With that kind of childhood comes a psychosomatic duty to help my parents that lasts to this day. Even when I am no longer needed or there’s really nothing for me to do. Since I’ve moved out, it is my younger brother who lives with my parents. It’s up to him now to assist them with any English-language needs. I’m supposed to be relieved of duty, living my own life. I’ve long already put in the work.
Yet these days when I see my parents having difficulties navigating American society, I still experience stress on their behalf. As if I must to be there to make things right for them, even when things are beyond my control. Because that was me - and only me - for the greater part of my childhood and early adult life. They work so hard to immigrate to this country and give me a different life. I just don’t want to see them suffer unnecessarily.
I think I have to learn to let that feeling go. My brother is a capable and can take care of anything that comes up. There are and will be problems that’s not up to me to solve. It’s not helpful to be stressed over them. Everything can and will be alright without me.
Charge!