Let's say you're on the beach with your family in Florida. You're sitting on one of those folding chairs getting some sun and you're relaxing for the first time in months.

When you look out little tiny black dot, it looks like a fishing boat.

When you look up again, the dot is closer.

Gradually, 12 men come to focus.

The one of us. 12 men come to focus. They're jumping off the boat and into the water and running toward the beach.

They fall to their knees and start kissing the sand that's 20 feet

from where you're sitting. Good! Good! Yeah, you guys!

Yeah, you guys made it, bro,

can you get me.

Eh, USA!

USA! USA! For the past 22 years Cubans have been granted a special privilege. They're different from the thousands of people traveling from the rest of Latin America who cross the U.S. border without visas and are sent to detention centers and then deported.

But Cubans aren't deported. The moment their feet hit U.S. soil, they have a clear path to stay here.

They've grown up knowing that they have a one-way, no questions-ask ticket to America.

All they have to do is get here.

On the beach, when you see people kissing the ground, it's because they just accomplished a dream that's been in the works for years.

But now, the door to that dream is about to close. You're listening to millennial, a podcast about coming of age.

This is the second part of a four-part mini series about growing up in Cuba.

If you haven't listened to the first episode, I suggest you pause and start at episode 33.

In this episode, we're going out into and start at episode 33.

In this episode, we're going out into open water. A risk many Cubans are willing to take. It's Friday night in Havana.

It's Friday night in Havana. I'm with my best friend Hannah.

We're all dressed up because we have tickets to go see a dance

...