“Are you an alien from outer space, mommy?” That was an honest question I asked my mother the first time I read the “Resident Alien” header on her green card as a child. She took that opportunity to explain to me what a green card was and why she had one. My mother is from the beautiful island of Roatán, Honduras and came to live in the U.S. when she was thirteen. She was old enough to come to the States, full of memories of life back “home,” but young enough to assimilate into life as a Black American.