How Did I Get Here?

I was inspired by Shokufeh to write about how I got here and why I stay. Basically, I stay out of fear. My family is here and that gives me comfort. Or it used to, and I hope it will again. It's just home and always has been, no matter the weather. The bigger question, I think, is how I got here.

My father was born here, in Tolleson, Arizona, but my mom came when she was in her teens. Her entire family came from eastern Texas, a state they had lived and called home for many years, probably since the time it belonged to Spain or Mexico. During my mom's time, however, it was probably the worst place to be if you weren't white.

My mom was a fair skinned hispanic since her mother was European. She grew up spanish-speaking and used to tell us stories about going to restaurants that didn't serve Mexicans, even the American kind. Because of her skin tone, they'd serve her though, so she'd tell her slightly darker-skinned cousins. When they were turned away, she'd let the proprietors have it by angrily letting them know that the "pendejos" had, in fact, served a Mexican. My mom was good at "letting people have it."

Work was hard to find. Papa Che, my grandfather, heard that there was farm work in Arizona, so the family packed up their belongings and made their way through southern Arizona to an area west of Phoenix. When we went to Bisbee a couple of years ago, my mom studied the mountains and said she remembered going through them on their way to Phoenix from Texas some fifty years ago. The picture here is where they lived when they got here. A tent! Just like in the movie "La Bamba," she'd said.

They eventually got settled and my grandfather found a steady job on a farm and a was able to live on that farm. My mom met my dad, got married and had my sister, and the rest, as they say...is my history.