For me, the border was a place near Mexico, where I was born. For my children, the border may turn out to be on a different map entirely. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago in a neighborhood that was multiculti way before being multiculti was the thing. Every weekend when I was a child, all six of us in my family would shuttle from our spacious, airy apartment in Hyde Park to the overcrowded, bustling barrio of Pilsen, where Mami would buy carnitas, chicharron and, of course, fresh corn tortillas carefully wrapped in paper, all soft and steaming.
...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In