My parents like to tell the story of when we went to church in the Valley. It was an Anglo-Mexican mixed community and services for all of us were at the same time. According to mamá and papá, and my two older sisters for that matter, as soon as we’d walk into the building I’d walk away from them and head to the front of the church where I’d sit next to the little girls with the blue eyes and blonde hair. No matter how much my mother would signal me with her hands to come back, worry in her face, they say I’d only turn back at them and turn away, as if taunting them with my disobedience...
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