Not being as diligent or punctual or mindful as Dad, I missed it by one day. Lucky me, Dad sent an email yesterday to remind us: “Another year, another remembrance of the day we all became free. We pray that we never forget where we came from and how much we have been blessed since.” He finished his email with a quote of Deuteronomy 6:6-13. No matter what manner of hermeneutics you apply to that passage, you should see why it holds great appeal to any immigrant coming from oppression and poverty into freedom and prosperity. Many of those who crossed from Cuba to Key West during the Mariel Boat Lift connect with that prose.

An hour after I received Dad’s email, I asked him to forward the photo you see here: a week after our arrival, we stand in our new [and donated] Sunday best in front of the boat that brought us here. Yup. “Stand By One,” no less. That’s me on the right, in case you’re wondering.

With that picture in hand, and a day late, I will do my best to commemorate this 35th anniversary, not with political statements, not with high-sounding rhetoric, and not with long attributions of how far we’ve come and what a grand success we’ve become. No, thirty-five years later, one word above all comes to mind.

Thanks.

• Thanks to the God who sustained us and provided for us when we found ourselves destitute, isolated, and cast aside. Thanks to Him who never let us go hungry, and whose grace and power sustained us through years of oppression, through a high seas crossing in bad weather, and through the disconcerting times that followed in the first few years we lived in a strange place with strange customs and a language that often tested our willingness and ability to learn.
• Thanks to parents who never gave up, who never thought of themselves first, who risked everything, who sacrificed day after day that my brother and I should have a chance at a new life.
• Thanks to an uncle who risked his life to cross a ninety mile span in rough seas, twice, first when he failed and needed rescue, and then again when his resolve and determination wouldn’t let him quit, until he arrived at Mariel Bay, in disguise, to claim his family, when that very act could land him in a Cuban jail.
• Thanks to a country who welcomed us with open arms (in the words of then President Jimmy Carter) and who literally fed us and dressed us upon arrival, then gave us plane tickets, which we promptly booked to California, where we made our home.

From time to time, during these thirty-five years, I’ve recalled my grandfather’s admonition to not forget where I came from “when you get to the land of ham and coke.” That two zings a nice comeback for Exodus lovers. More than that, it reminds us how easily, in the busyness of a new life and all this “success,” we can neglect what matters and tend to soon forget the road we traveled, a journey more often than not fueled through the sacrifice others make on our behalf.

So thanks, Dad, for the yearly reminder, and thanks Mom and Dad for all you’ve done for us. And thanks to everyone, whether I’ve mentioned you or whether I even know you, who made our life in this land possible.