Trail of Death

A candle is lit on my table today... . . . It's fourth grade, and we're learning about "American Indians" in social studies. I have never taken notes before in my life, but this time as the lights are off and the slide show is running, cataloging so many tribes, their housings, their ways of [...]

My blood is the history of wars

I remember the moment so distinctly in which my parents break the news to me that I am not Mexican. We are standing in the kitchen, it's after school, and both of my parents are present. I'm maybe eight years old, and in school we've been talking about genealogies and heritages. Something I have written [...]