I Am Proud My Parents Were Farmworkers
Orgullo, through and through,
My father and mother were workers,
Of the San Joaquin Valley furrows,
Filled with our nation’s nutritional harvest.
I am proud to grow up being a farm worker,
Growing up strong and brown,
Toiling in the sun and the cold of winter,
Learning from the smartest and renown,
My parents, both so full of harvest banter.
I am proud to be a child of the earth,
Learning to live off the land,
Once working for all my worth,
Appreciating and loving the dirt and sand,
Affecting, my love and individual growth.
I am proud my parents were farm workers,
Picking cotton, grapes, peaches, figs, and chile,
They hoed fields, and drove tractors,
They built a loving home and a large family,
I saw them suffer, love, cry, laugh, and invite visitors,
I am proud to be their son,
A child engrossed in the times,
Allowed to enrich my brain with the seasons,
As well as words, thoughts and rhymes,
Learning, was encouraged by all persons.
Especially by my farm working parents,
Always so modern and ahead of their times.
I am proud, very proud that my mom and pop were farm workers,
Soy orgullo hacer de Mexicanos,
I am proud to of the fields of the beautiful San Joaquin,
Filled with now sweet memories of harvests so long ago,
I look back in vignettes of sepia tinted flashbacks,
Of a farm working family once together,
Making a living, playing, loving, and working in the fields.
Yes, I am so proud my parents were farm workers ,
Teaching me values of hard work, respect, love for family,
Learning from them the satisfaction of a job well done,
Self respect despite one’s lot in life,
I am proud of my farm working mother,
Toiling in the fields, then returning to cook,
A homemade meal like no other,
Working along side us,
Waking up long before,
Cooking homemade tacos for the day’s meals
Mom farm working intelligence of all life’s ordeals.
I am so proud to be her son.
I am proud of my farm working dad,
Working from sunup to sundown.
Exposing himself to the rough sun and drifting sand,
Returning so exhausted can’t wait to sit down, Despite all of us awaiting, his attention, Which he always gave, to each, Masking the fatigue, the worry, the aches.
