Job searching is difficult for everyone, but in a world full of Daves, it's almost impossible. Daves are people who look at my family and immediately think less of us. They think illegal, poor and uneducated. Daves never allow my dad to pass the first round of job applications. Daves watch like hawks as my brother and I enter stores. Daves inconsiderately correct my mother's grammar. Because there are Daves in the world, I have become a protector for my family. I excuse their behavior as just being a "typical American." I convince my mother that they are only staring at her lovely new purse. I convince my dad they are only shouting about store sales to us. Aside from being a protector, I am also an advocate. As an advocate, I make sure my family is never taken advantage of. I am always looking out for scams and discrepancies. I am the one asking the questions when we buy or sell a car. I make sure all details are discussed and no specifics are left unanswered.
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As the years went on, I continued to badger my mother on the subject. Her answers began to lessen in severity. She showed compassion toward my dislike of choir and soon replied to my questions of discontinuing my involvement in chorus with answers like “Just do it for one more year” and the even more compassionate, “Are you sure?” Despite my mother’s change of heart, I did not take advantage of her limbo-ed responses, and instead, I began to withdraw my constant requests. In spite of not having many friends in choir, I began to enjoy literally finding my voice every week in church. After years in choir, I let my voice become free and discovered that it was loud and powerful. It could be used to lead others in song. When I was younger, I had always followed the older, more experienced singers. I would wait for the right pitch, or follow the pros to figure out when to come in, but little by little, letting go of my reticence, I began to trust myself: starting the pitch and coming in when I knew we were supposed to sing. Eventually, other singers began to follow my lead. Parishioners started to acknowledge me for my voice rather than my address. I began to appreciate this music that I had heard throughout my youth, yet had always dismissed as boring and religious. Soon enough, my habitual complaints about choir completely stopped.