‘Yes, hija, of course we will be happy’
Family celebrates daughter as deportation fears loom
What should have been the biggest moment yet in the Rodriguez family’s improbable American story was just a day away. Karen, 18, their precocious eldest daughter, would graduate from the Cristo Rey Jesuit preparatory school at a ceremony on Saturday in downtown Houston at the Revention Music Center.
Could they keep the pall at bay, at least for a little while?
”Let’s make a commitment. Let’s forget everything for one day,” Karen said as she leaned forward in the backseat of the red SUV, talking to her parents: “I would like to see my family happy tomorrow. If I see you sad, I cannot be happy.“
Her parents, Celia and Juan, were in the front seat, driving back to the family’s low, brick ranch home near the University of Houston around noon on Friday, having dropped their middle daughter, Rebecca, off at summer school. The youngest, Kimberly, sat in the back next to Karen.
“Yes, hija, of course, we will be happy!” Celia said.
Karen was worried about her mother, acting like a locomotive, frenetically busy. Privately, the graduate-to-be said she wanted “Mamá to calm down, stop worrying for a day.”
But Karen saw through the rearview mirror that her father was nodding his head at what she was saying. “Papi agrees,”
she thought. “We’re going to be happy.”
Now, early on Saturday morning, her graduation just hours away, the Rodriguezes hurried off to Mass at the Pasadena Seventh-day Adventist Church. Kimberly, working her hardest at being happy, stood in the sanctuary, announced to the congregants that they would be singing Hymn 400, and then added with a flourish: “Just as David defeated Goliath and had faith, so my father and my family will defeat our Goliath with the help of God.”
Juan, the Rodriguez family patriarch, a car mechanic taking a rare day off, also spoke, reading Psalm 1 Samuel 17: 45-47, in which David declares that God is with him to overcome the Philistines. He felt a great relief in his soul as he read from the Psalm, he would later say. And the feeling would remain with him for the rest of the day.
Back at home after church, with the house like an anthill, Celia watered the backyard plants, filled coolers with refreshments and attended to “the gentlemen from the New York Times.” The newspaper had sent a team of three video producers to shoot Karen’s graduation, which seemed an irresistibly poignant reminder of the moment in America. In a couple of hours, Karen, accepted at five colleges, would walk across the stage to receive her diploma as her father’s deportation clock inexorably ticked away.
Tried to make it right
Sixteen years ago, Juan left gang-infested El Salvador and crossed the U.S. border illegally to reunite with Celia, who had come legally two years before him to live with her parents, already American citizens living in Houston. Karen was just a baby at the time, and Rebecca and Kimberly were born in Houston.
All three girls and their mother are citizens.
A dozen years ago, Juan tried to set things right and applied for so-called temporary protective status, but it was denied. Still, he was allowed to stay in the country and work legally, as long as he checked in regularly with immigration officials, which he did 25 times.
But in February, as the Trump administration cracked down on undocumented immigrants, the rules abruptly changed and he was told at his regular check-in that he would be deported on June 29.
The New York Times has already made plans to return for this scheduled tearing asunder of one American family: Far from a “bad hombre,” as President Donald Trump has described the undocumented immigrants being targeted for stepped up deportations, Juan is a doting family man who prides himself on paying taxes and feels burdened by what he calls his “sin.”
None of this, though, would poison the moment. Karen wouldn’t allow it. She began her grooming at noon and took only about 40 minutes to do her makeup.
Her aunt, Janet Castro, Celia’s younger sister, said the girl had broken a record, given her usual marathon sessions before the mirror.
Still, Karen felt a touch of nerves as she got ready. She’d learned only the day before that her parents were preparing a special dinner after graduation. At least Aunt Janet had stayed over the night before to help them prepare for the celebration. Celia had cooked all night, and Janet had helped her peel and cut the potatoes and carrots for a brisket roast.
They all finally left for downtown at 2 p.m., with Karen wearing a black skirt she’d bought the previous week with her mom at Baybrook Mall. She thought her mother would find it too short. But when she showed it to her, Celia said, “Oh yes, how beautiful!”
Karen doesn’t know if her mother really liked it or if she was just tired of so much walking. To go with it, Karen chose a T-shirt, shoes and her manicure in pastel colors, wanting everything to match the same shades of the skirt’s embroidery.
At the Revention Music Center, hundreds of proud family members, decked out in their Sunday finest, filled the small theater in the Bayou Place entertainment complex on Texas Avenue. Among 130 seniors from Cristo Ray preparatory school, sitting at the center of the theater in the order of their last name initials, Karen was third in line from the back.
Celia and Juan sat five rows from the front and barely moved during the ceremony, their eyes darting back and forth from a big screen televising the graduation and the graduation itself on stage. Their younger daughters, Rebecca and Kimberly, sat with other family members in the rear.
Robert Ivany, president of the University of St. Thomas in Houston, delivered the commencement address. And then, as school administrators called the names of six students receiving awards, came the evening’s bolt of lightning: The winner of the Presidential Medal of Excellence for Vision and Leadership was … Karen Rodriguez.
Hearing her name, she began to shake uncontrollably as she headed to the stage, pausing on the stairs of the riser that shuddered beneath her.
‘How beautiful she looks’
Celia’s face lit up with an ample smile, and she applauded effusively. Juan clapped, too, his smile shorter as he thought back to his February check-in with Immigration and Customs Enforcement, when he pleaded with two agents to allow him to attend his daughter’s graduation.
“This is what I wanted to be able to see,” he thought to himself. “Look what I would have missed if they would have deported me that black day of February. How beautiful she looks with her graduation cap, and that gown!”
The image of his mother, Marina, came to his mind. He remembered that day when he was in his early 20s in El Salvador, starting a job as a cashier at a local bank in the city of La Unión.
He was wearing a white shirt and a tie. As his mother passed by the bank to see him, “I told my mother, ‘how can I help you, ma’am?’ ” Juan said after the graduation ceremony was over. “And she looked at me, ducked her head and started crying.”
It was the first time she had seen him in a shirt and tie.
“Now I understand what mother felt,” Juan said. “Look what I would have missed. … La niña looked so beautiful!”
Karen found her parents in the theater. Juan gave his eldest daughter the longest hug. They rested their heads on each other’s shoulder.
Juan cried, overwhelmed by the moment. Karen cried, wiping her tears with one hand before releasing the embrace. She did not want her papi to believe she was sad. Hers were tears of pure joy, on this day, at least.
As the crowd thinned, Peter Tumminello, who serves in the school’s board of trustees and is the president of Commercial Business for Southern Company Gas, handed Karen an envelope. She has been working at its subsidiary, Sequent Energy, one day a week for two years, as part of the study-work program.
“I am personally here to support her family,” Tumminello said. “We are trying to see if there are any ways to postpone her father’s deportation so that a timely review, and an intelligent review of this, can be done in the right way . ... I do not think we should do this, so it’s not what our laws intended.”
A generous gift
Back at the Rodriguezes’ home, uncles, aunts, grandpa and grandma, cousins, friends from the youth study group at the church, all gathered to celebrate. The house smelled of brisket, and bread and flowery lotions.
Before dinner, everyone got together to pray.
“We ask you Father to bless Karen,” said Fernando Castro, Karen’s uncle. “Thank God for letting us have a great achievement today. … We ask you Father to help her to be wise … to continue climbing steps. We put the lives of our family in your hands. … Amen.”
After the prayer, Karen began opening graduation gifts. Among them, the envelope from Tumminello. Karen opened it. Inside, there was a $2,000 check from the Tumminello family. “Please accept this gift from me and my family,” the card said, “to help with your future.”
“I am personally here to support her family. We are trying to see if there are any ways to postpone her father’s deportation so that a timely review, and an intelligent review of this, can be done in the right way. ... I do not think we should do this, so it’s not what our laws intended.” Peter Tumminello, president of Commercial Business for Southern Company Gas