My life journey began about as far from my father's as you could get and still stay within the United States.  I was born in upstate New York a continent away from the prejudice he found growing up in a Southern California in a town where stores had signs reading "No Mexicans or Dogs Allowed."

We were told we were Spanish. That while my Grandpa was born in Mexico, the family was really from Spain. (Trace back far enough and most Mexicans can say the same.) The truth crept into around the corners.

As the only sibling who looked like my father - a Marine fighter pilot who was frequently absent, I frequently felt odd-man out. But I thought it explained my affinity and longing for Mexico.

My Grandma was Yaqui, a Mexican indigenous tribe that spanned the Texas/Mexico border before the border existed. She was born on the US side. Fifty years earlier, both my grandparents would have been born in Mexico. 

 

My Yaqui lineage is the storytellers.

I started my professional life as an advertising copywriter. Twenty years later, I became a playwright. Fifteen years after that - a business owner.

 

But my roots are calling. Both my Mexican roots - which is why I started this journey. And my Yaqui roots - which is why I am telling the story of this journey.

As our story unfolds, I sitting on a balcony in Querétaro, watching a Mariachi band parading down the street, and typing this on my laptop. The little girl in the picture could never have imagined these things.