My mom and dad escaped china together during the cultural revolution at the end of the 1960s with the ultimate goal of coming to the united states. When my sister and i were kids, they recounted how they scaled a mountain-side in the middle of the night, swam in icy waters, and emerged on the shores of macao, then a portugese colony, all to ensure a brighter future for the children they hoped to have. After Macao, they took a boat to hong kong where they lived for 3 years. My sister and I were born there.Shortly after i was born we boarded a plane to san francisco. It would take thousands more words to describe in detail what an arduous journey it was, but suffice it to say that what they did to escape china took enormous bravery, will power, and physical strength.My mom often says that she thinks of china as her birth mother and america as the country that adopted and took care of her and my dad. When i think about their story, i have sympathy for people like the young central americans in the news recently that are desperately trying to come to america, by any means necessary, not just for a better life, but for their own survival and possibly so their future children can actually live and grow.