I spent four years of my young life going to school in Anton Chico, New Mexico. Anton Chico is a village of about 600, about 45 minutes from my hometown. It’s the kind of place with one store, and that store is clearly just a room in someone’s house, and behind the cash register there’s a curtain through which you can see the part of the family that is off duty watching TV in their living room.
The four years I spent in Anton Chico are not among my favorites. I was an outsider, and life is always harder on outsiders in a place like Anton Chico. But I was also the son of a teacher, and that didn’t help. I also didn’t speak Spanish, which put me even further outside the acceptable circles.
I suppose kids are the same anywhere, but Anton Chico seemed rough to me then and seems rough to me now. I got roughed up and pushed around regularly. I lived in a state of fear, and even though my life was never in danger, that fear made a permanent impression. To this day, every time I walk into a new situation, I wonder if I won’t be ambushed. I can’t help but tense up, and think about how I might best defend myself if someone steps out from behind a door and clobbers me. Read More →
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