When my parents came to the U.S. in 1973 as refugees from Uganda's brutal dictator Idi Amin, we were one of the only South Asian families on my block in the suburbs of Chicago. As I grew up, my father wished for me to become one of three things: a doctor, a lawyer or an engineer like he was. To him, these were the jobs with the highest earning potential—jobs that could help our family rise up into the middle class. This was his idea of the “American dream.”