Birth Father The memories I have of my birth father before I grew up could be easily counted using fewer fingers than I have. He was around until I was 6, when he moved away and only called twice that I know of. Somehow, though I have several scattered memories with the rest of my…
One day, when I was 11 years old, Mami and I were heading out to Manhattan. We were planning to visit Delancey Street, browse through May’s Department Store on 14th Street, and maybe visit a cuchifrito for some delicious fried treats. It was our usual Saturday routine, and she purposely skimped on some of the week’s groceries in…