PULSE Perspectives by Lizeth Hernandez Santiago

I grew up in eastern Washington in a small town where agriculture was the center of a majority of jobs. It was normal to see people getting up at 5 a.m. to go work either picking fruit, pruning trees or a variety of other farm work. My parents were also farm workers, getting paid by the hour or by contract depending on what their boss decided for by the season.

To me, a normal day as a kid consisted of waking up at 5 a.m. every school day for my mom to do my hair. It was a dreary experience, but looking at it now I appreciated being able to be with my parents even if it was for 10 minutes in the morning. Some people might not know this if they don’t come from a family of farm or migrant workers, but typically work starts from 6 a.m. until 6 p.m.

So, I cherished being able to see them for those 10 extra minutes even if at the time it didn’t really pass my mind. It was typical for me and my sibling to come home to an empty house after school since our parents were still at work. On the rare occasion that we did have our parents present when we came back, it was usually because they finished the field they were working on for the day or finished the season.

Usually there’s work all year round, except in winter, and as soon as I saw our fruit trees blossom and the bees buzzing I knew it was time for my parents to start work again. Every day my schedule as a kid was wake up at 5 a.m. for my mom to do my hair, at 7 a.m. I would go to school, then at 3 p.m. I would go back home, at 6 p.m. my mom and dad would come back and unload their things, then at 7 p.m. we’d eat dinner and hear my parents complain about the bad management and other workers before finally resting for the next day. Rarely would my parents get both Saturday and Sunday off, luckily though Sunday would usually be the day they had off or had a half day.

This was the day we would go shopping and relax together just like any other family. Whenever I look back at these memories, I remember that I more or less grew up ‘responsible’ whether I like it or not. My mom would usually tell us to take out the meat to defrost or start cooking right before they got home just so we could eat together quicker and if it wasn’t cooking it was usually cleaning the house and doing chores.

Did I complain? Yes, but I understood this was to help out both of our exhausted parents after they had a long day of work. As a kid I did not like having this type of life, but as an adult I value what my parents went through to get me and my sibling food on the table and clothes on our backs.

For this reason, I will always have the utmost respect for farm workers because of everything they do for their families.

A Farmworkers Child