CROSSING THE BORDER AND CROSSING MYSELF

My earliest recollection as a Mexican living in the United States occurred when I was seven years old. My mother took my sister and I out of school to go see our grandmother in Mexico who was gravely ill. I don’t recall much of my stay in Mexico, other than my grandmother, but the memory of my families’ journey back to Chicago is crystal clear. You see, on our way to Mexico we flew on an airplane but on the way back to the U.S. we had to sneak across the border on foot.