The year was 1969. I will always remember the day my school bus pulled up and parked in front of my family's home.
My family was living on a San Joaquin ranch. My dad had strung our hog up on a meat hook in plain sight. The bus kids got excited and asked questions about the animal on a meat hook; they didn't seem to understand our Mexican Thanksgiving dinner.
I was an extremely shy fourth-grader, wishing that house was not my home. Saying nothing to anyone, I ran off the bus and into our house.
Later that night, my family and I sat down to eat dinner. Sitting down to eat our Thanksgiving tamales, we thanked God that we were a family.
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Teresa R. Romero