I had the privilege of being born here in America, the greatest country on earth, because my grandparents had the misfortune of being forced to leave everything behind.

Family, friends, and fortune, all lost to the tyranny of socialist collectivism.

A thread on privilege...

It was New Year's Eve, 1958 and celebrations rang out across Havana. Batista fled in exile and Castro officially seized power of Cuba on January 1st, 1959. It wasn't a "New Year's" celebration.

It was...something else entirely...

As Che Guevara took military control of Havana on January 2nd, Castro was greeted by cheering crowds during his march to the west, from Oriente, until he reached Havana on January 9th.

Within a few months of "La Revolucion," the nightmare began.

Castro immediately nationalized all American-owned property. Very much like the socialists of today, that burn our flag, deface our monuments, destroy our federal buildings, and block the movement of free people, Castro also hated America.

His hatred didn't end there...

Within the same year, making good on the promise of "equality" for all, Castro ordered the nationalization of all property. Every citizen of Cuba was now a ward of the state.

That home, you don't own that. That business, you didn't build that.

Sound familiar?

By 1963 both of my grandfathers, one who owned a family furniture store, the other an accountant, were nearly destitute.

Within 4 years of Castro's revolution, there was finally "equality" on the island nation of Cuba.

The equal sharing of misery...

My grandparents, who didn't know each other at the time, fled Cuba to the United States. With their wives and a total of 5 small children in tow, they were allowed to leave but were not allowed to take anything with them. Only the clothes on their backs.

No, not kidding...

You see this ring?

This is my great grandfather's wedding band.

Take a close look. You see that indentation?

That's the hacksaw mark that Castro's goons left on it as they unsuccessfully tried to cut it off Pipo's finger at the airport in Havana.

For the greater good...

My grandparents arrived in this country, legally, and had the privilege of finding work, any work. One used his privilege to wash dishes at a restaurant in Miami and the other had the privilege of stocking groceries.

With this privilege, they provided for their families...

Further using their privilege, they each slowly improved themselves by learning how to speak and write English. This self-improvement led to more privilege, of course.

One of my grandmothers went to work as a seamstress in a factory with her privilege.

It went on like this for a decade as they moved across the country seeking more opportunity. My dad's side moved from Miami to The Bronx, then to LA, then back to Miami. The always impending earthquakes did a number on my, at the time, pregnant grandma.

They drove...

Back in Miami, a few years later, my mom and dad meet. When they were the ripe old age of 14 and 16, I came along.

Imagine the privilege...

My pregnant mom stayed in high school and my dad was working three privileged jobs.

A/C ducts...in the attics of Miami...in the sweltering heat...

The other as a counterman at an auto parts store.

The weekends and off times were reserved for mowing lawns and doing odd jobs.

My mom also had the privilege of working part-time as she went to school, while pregnant, at 14.

She did well... Presidential awards, all kinds of accolades, excellent grades...

It wasn't the hard work, it was definitely the "privilege..."

She was accepted into college once she graduated, which she attended at night.

She was able to stay home with me during the day because we moved back in with my grandparents.

She babysat my uncle which was only 5 years older than me when I was born.

She studied...

My dad, working three jobs, my grandfather moving up in the grocery store, and my grandmother working as a seamstress provided for a house with 7 mouths to feed. My aunt lived there too.

Oh, the privilege...

By the time I was five years old, (mom and dad were 19 and 21 respectively) I had the privilege of listening to them explain to me how they were getting a divorce. Good times.

Mom and I moved back in with my other grandparents, her parents.

My mom dug in. She got a full-time day job and went to college full time, at night. She had the privilege of working her ass off and studying 16 hours a day.

My dad always stuck around. I saw him every other weekend and on Wednesdays. Spoke to him on the phone daily.

He had the "privilege" of busting his ass to continue to provide for me financially, as did my mom.

As I grew up, we went through financial ups and downs.

Some days, I ate 4-day old rice and ketchup sandwiches with my inherited "privilege."

I graduated high school at 16 because of AP classes and being declared an "emancipated minor" by a Miami-Dade magistrate so I could have the "privilege" of unburdening my parents by providing for myself financially.

I enrolled at FIU...

I worked my ass off to move ahead. Never looking back and determined to be prepared enough to take advantage of every opportunity I could possibly encounter. I chose tech as my field.

It was a great fit...

I dropped out of FIU in order to pursue more direct certifications that would better align with the opportunities that arose. In the early days and through the following decade, I worked countless hours. My "privilege" saw me scantly sleeping and seldom taking any time off.

By the time I was 23, I had amassed enough credit and enough money to secure a loan on a postage-stamp-sized piece of land with a tiny, two-bedroom house on it.

It was the ugliest house I had ever seen, but I was on my way to making it mine.

I worked and paid my mortgage...

Over the next 20 years, my wife and I turned ever screw, sank every nail, painted every board, wall, and door, and fixed every leak, twice...

With "privileged" hands, "privileged" sweat, and the tears from our "privileged" eyes, we turned this house into a "privileged" home.

I had the "privilege" to land in the hospital twice as a result. Once for inhaling way too much drywall dust and the other time for mistakenly taking a crowbar to my upper lip and splitting it clear in half.

I also paid over $10,000 for the "privilege."

During the 20 years I've been here, I've had the privilege of paying $70,000 into the public school system despite having no children of my own.

I caught one of the little kids that I paid to educate breaking into cars in the neighborhood last year.

A backpack full of loot...

When I confronted him, he said: "It must be nice to be rich!"

I swear that it must be my privilege...

It took me twenty years of dedication, perseverance, hard work, and determination to get to where I am today.

All of it earned me the "privilege" of using these callous hands and this shovel to dig these three holes in the blazing hot Miami sun, next to the fence that I built, above the mulch that I spread, to plant three sets of Christmas palms that my "privileged" mom grew from seeds.

The most interesting part of my story is that it is not unique. Not even a little.

If it looks to you like I am privileged, you're right, I am.

But I've got news for you...

I wasn't born with my privilege. It didn't come from the color of my skin. It wasn't inherited or handed down through generational wealth.

I earned every last bit of it.

I've got more news for you...

You're going to have to do the same thing... Sorry...

The color of your skin is not going to buy your privilege.

Not today, not tomorrow, and not ever.

Likewise, the amount of my privilege doesn't do anything to detract from your opportunity.

I fly this flag over my home as a reminder that this is the only country on earth where if you make good choices, delay gratification, work hard, apply, prepare and dedicate yourself to moving ahead, you're destined to live a life of privilege, no matter the color of your skin.

God bless the United States of America!

/end

If you think this short account of the American dream has even the slightest chance of changing someone’s mind, please share it by retweeting or tagging someone in the replies...