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I really, really admire my parents so much, for how they raised me. They're some of the best human beings I know.

My mother was an activist; so was my father. They came from a generation of young Somalis who were actively involved in getting independence for Somalia in 1960.

My parents met in Kenya. My father is African, is Kenyan. The Kenyan side of my family was involved in the anti-colonial movement.

My parents, man, they're just the most loving, encouraging... They're like those people who define themselves through their role as parents before people in their own rights.

I was born in Somalia, which is in East Africa. My parents started with nothing: poor, poor, poor. They eloped, which was unheard of in my country, when my father was 17 and my mother was 14.

Both my parents were immigrants, as were many of their friends, the parents of the children with whom I grew up. Of course I respect and admire immigrants and their undeniable contributions to America, as we all should.

My parents are very lovely people - the sort of people that one should aspire to be like, really.

My parents were exactly like millions of other Americans who had a fire in their belly to build something of their own, and in so doing they exemplified the dignity of work, the opportunity available in this great nation to those willing to work, and they left the world a bit better than it was when they first showed up.

Both of my parents were born into poor families on the island of Cuba. They came to America because it was the only place where people like them could have a chance.