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By Daniel Do – Opinion (Published in the Lincoln Journal Star on February 4th, 2018.)

Expectations are defined by the level of hardships one has faced in life. For many students, the level of expectation would be to simply get their homework done on time. Meanwhile, for others, it is the hope of getting into a prestigious college. In my case, I am faced with an insurmountable expectation, the likes of which I’ll never be able to meet.

My immigrant parents — war-wreak refugees fleeing the Vietnam War who sought refuge in America before they could even speak English — have established a personal level of expectation for me. During their childhood, they faced unspeakable things, such as the deaths of their family members before their own eyes and the destruction of their beloved homes. They faced the ultimate fear of losing freedom within their country.

My mother never grew taller than 5 feet, because she didn’t have the money to buy nutritious food, let alone pass the 10th grade. My father’s siblings died in the crossfire of the war as innocent children. With no money and no education, the oppression of communism bore down upon the citizens of Vietnam. After seeking refuge in the United States, my parents started from scratch, living under the roofs of fellow refugees before eventually landing in Lincoln, Nebraska. While they worked multiple jobs without speaking English, they raised a family.

As their son, I was raised with standards. Individually, I felt that I could never fail at anything, because my parents went through too much. To me, it would feel as if I were a disgrace if I couldn’t even do well in school. I thought, “My parents survived a war and lived in a communist country, and I couldn’t even get a good grade on my paper?” The level of hardships that my parents faced bestowed upon me the innate responsibility to be worthy of their sacrifices. It wasn’t about succeeding for me anymore; it was about repaying my parents for everything they’ve gone through and done for me.

As a child, I would sometimes complain about my life to my parents. I never realized what my parents had done to get to where they were. I wouldn’t be alive in this amazing country — a country where freedom is allowed to prosper — if it weren’t for their perseverance. Although this nation may seem terrible to some people, speaking from personal experience, I can promise that things could be tremendously worse.

I’m actually happy that America has problems such as gender equality and social rights, simply because in other countries, no one has the luxury to think about that when their human rights are nonexistent. Some mothers, who were raised with freedom and luxury as things to be expected in life, may complain about how their steaming coffee is the wrong flavor; yet my 5-foot-tall mother — who was born two months premature in the jungles of a war-torn country — made life possible for me and never complained. Through all those nights when she only had four to five hours of sleep, through all those years when she had to work two jobs and through all those times when she thought she was never going to be able to see her family again because of cancer — she survived.

As I reflect on my life and what it means to be a first-generation student, I can’t even imagine how different things would be if I was raised “normally,” without the baggage of my parent’s history. Luckily enough, I go to a school where people of similar or worse situations are all around me. The diversity of stories that surround me truly allows me to grow as a person. Even today, I may not have the newest iPhone, the nicest shoes or even the easiest life, but I’m thankful for everything my parents went through to give me the opportunity I have today for a great future.