I came up with the Statue of Liberty close at hand, seeing her on clear days and nights from the high-floor window of my childhood apartment in Queens. Down on brown knees with elbows resting on the sill, I'd take in this postcard view of the Manhattan skyline, just about making out the lady's outstretched hand. I was twenty miles away, a distance that also spanned the leap between my household and those glimmering spires of wealth, security, and different worries.
The leap seemed possible to me because, well, why wouldn't it? I was that kind of kid. And in school I was learning that the Statue of Liberty is a 24/7 broadcast of a powerful story: in America, poor immigrants can close those twenty miles.
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