Dad prayed for almost ten years to come to America. Daily after school as a young adult , he would hide in the tall tress and prays. Imprecisely , after trying so rigidly, the door unlocked and luckily he got a lottery to come to this land of opportunities. Coming to America was a dream, a long awaited for, it was like a miracle! America , a land of anonymity, an escape for peace, and an opportunity to get an education he desired. An infantile then , born in Kenya, bizarre. A land enhanced for better lifestyle, not a thatched hut that when it rained we had to hide in a corner to shun rivulet roof. Shoes too expensive, and if one pair that was a stroke of luck. We lived in an emergent country.
             Since then, coming to America a resolution to my dad's prayers has always been a sensation. Even though he has accomplished what he desired , not content but the little he has , he greatly esteems. He hunted to build a school back home and maybe help those who hang about, my relatives, neighbors, who see him as their lamp, who have a longing to come to America but in vain, the kids who can't afford to eat three meals a day, with no food for like a week. My dad ,has a heartbeat, he has apparition to help those kids and he is achieving and fulfilling his promise to those who are suffering.
             In contrast to my parent's dream, I'm profound and steadfast that all I want is to give all that I will receive. "Happiness is not a destination but a journey", and as I travel on this journey , I can only achieve the happiness that I need by giving back to those in need.I want to afford what I didn't even think of having, but more importantly give the one that can never afford what I was even afraid to get.
             My parents have instilled in me what the American dreams means to them; I can only hope to find what it means to me. I have to begin the journey and it is has to start by a first step. With ambition and a
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