I remember the day with

gray skies overhead

and over my head.

The weight of my problems,

heavy on my shoulders,

pushed me down

and down

and down.

I look over at the couch,

before the beer cans littered his chair,

when he worked in the fields,

his arms darkened by the summer sun.

Taking his eyes off the news of his town,

before the earthquakes that shook his homeland

and the concern for his family left across the border,

he looked at me

and my mountain of homework

and insecurites.

I couldn't understand when he spoke

sometimes,

not being fluent in the Spanish language,

but now I see what he had said.

In his English, he told me,

"Mija, I want to see you up there.

I want you to do great things,

like become a doctor or lawyer."

To myself I said

I didn't want to be either,

but I let him continue.

"Yo quiero te ver arriba y adelante."

I looked at my mom,

who helped translate,

'I want to see you go

up and forward.'

For the first in a while,

I smiled.

Even him,

leaving half his family behind in Mexico,

what little family he had in the US

spread across the country,

he supported me.

I was one of many kids

of his family in Cali,

but he chose me.

I saw the stars in his eyes then,

that shone bright like his heart.

At that moment, nothing mattered.

If my abuelo believed in me,

then so did I.

I would make him proud,

any route I take.

It didn't matter when I failed

or what mistakes I made.

Today I am stronger,

just like he.

Because it was 'arriba y adelante'

he told me.