Illegals. Foreigners. Aliens. Immigrants.

We use dozens of labels to categorize people as they cross our borders and settle here. And behind the labels are countless attitudes and strong feelings on all sides of the issue.

I had strong feelings, too. But recently they’ve been tempered by one man who stepped into my life and helped me see from another perspective.

I work in a tutoring center, and a few months ago I got a new student. While most of my pupils range from teens to young adults, this man stood out. Forty-one years old, hair slightly graying at the temples, he more closely resembled one of our instructors than a student. I’ll call him Mr. B.

My supervisor introduced me to Mr. B and his teenage daughter, who would serve as translator. However, her presence wasn’t necessary. Mr. B spoke English already; he simply needed confidence in oral skills and a boost in reading.

Within a few days his daughter stopped coming, which indicated his growing comfort level. Together, he and I worked on spelling, reading and comprehension. Each day we practiced oral skills as well. We talked about family, the weather, our jobs. We discussed our respective childhoods and life in America today.

About then I realized our roles were shifting. In many ways, I became the student and Mr. B was my teacher.

Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned:

“The value of remembering the past.

Mr. B came here because of the geographical similarities between Spokane and his hometown. But the political and social attitudes proved a contrast. He described teasing and ridicule from teachers and fellow students during his school years and even in college. He hinted at the reasons behind his decision to come to America, including religious persecution.

“The value of family.

Mr. B didn’t come alone. Over the past few years his parents and several siblings, his wife and children have all emigrated from their European homeland to Spokane. One by one, they’ve studied for the U.S. citizenship test, and several have already become citizens. Mr. B’s extended family offers him encouragement as he prepares for his own test. They’ve also helped him wade through the paperwork of getting a job for himself and his wife, of buying a house and of remodeling it to accommodate his needs. These people are a lifeline for him.

“The value of simple freedoms.

Mr. B expresses amazement that he’ll be able to vote for our next president, that he can read whatever he wants in our newspapers, and that he and his children will not be harassed for their religious beliefs. While studying for the citizenship test, he explains how happy he is to be in the United States. “America better,” he says, nodding emphatically.

“The value of a new language.

Mr. B is up to the challenge of learning English. Besides his mother tongue, he says he understands 90 percent of Russian, 50 percent of German and a smattering of French. “English very hard—not like others,” he asserts, pointing to our crazy spelling rules and verb conjugations. Still, he works at it. When I watch him struggle with “th” and “wh” sounds, I see a man who’s determined to get it right, no matter how long it takes.

“The value of simple, heartfelt praise.

At our tutoring center, we reinforce learning with honest encouragement. “Great job,” “Good try” and other phrases roll off the instructors’ lips frequently. We also present certificates to recognize achievement at certain levels. When I gave Mr. B his certificate for mastery in basic vocabulary, he cradled it like a treasure and beamed with excitement. “Tonight my home celebrate!” he exclaimed.

“The value of a life.

This one man continually inspires me because of the hardships he’s overcome. With his move to Spokane came myriad adjustments, and he’s faced them with dignity. In the process, he’s contributed to our political, social, religious and educational community.

Spokane’s population includes thousands of persons whose first language isn’t English. In fact, according to recent records from the Spokane Public Schools, about 1,100 students speak Tagalog, Hmong, Spanish or some other language—besides English.

Now that I know Mr. B, I no longer place them all in one category with one label. I’ve broken out of my comfort zone by conversing with someone different from myself, and I’m richer because of it. He and others like him don’t fit into a pigeon-hole, just as we native-born citizens do not. So, I won’t use any of those labels on Mr. B.

I’ll just call him friend.