It was May 15, 1975.The day I was born. I was born in a foreign land known today as Mexico.
I was born specifically in Torreon, Coahuila, Mexico. This was the city where my mother’s siblings lived and her mother, my grandmother, “Cuca”. A nickname she was given by her loved ones. I grew up in Acuna, Coahuila, Mexico until I was 7 years old.From what I recall as a child, I remember some school days, a school performance dressed as a yellow “chick” while singing “Pajaritos a Bolar”.translation”the Chicken dance”.I remember little things, first time getting stung by a bee.I’ll never forget the feeling.
It was the most painful feeling I had ever endured as a child.My life changed for the better at the age of 7. We had visitors from the United States, only to realize later this was my father’s nephew, Juan, and his daughter, Raquel, visiting us.I had never met them beforehand, I didn’t even know they were our relatives.
I remember sitting on my cousin’s lap as he asked me, “do you want to go up there” while he pointed towards the sky.From a 7 year old’s perspective, I understood this as Heaven.My reply, was a nod.Yes, I nodded.
Of course I want to go to Heaven.What kind of question was that?The nextconversation that took place, was to get my things together because we were leaving.In my mind, this was a quick trip in town.Little had I known, we were leaving the country.My sister, Erica and I were leaving with our relatives and we had no idea of what was coming. Looking back, I don’t remember my parents explaining where we were going, the length of time we were going to be gone, or what was to come.Something many traditional Hispanic families don’t do for their children.
They don’t involve them and explain as to what is happening.This is something small to many, growing up in a traditional Mexican family, in an Anglo world, for me this was a tough life to live, …