By Gloria López-Stafford
This memoir of becoming up in El Paso within the Nineteen Forties and Fifties creates a complete urban: the best way a barrio awakens within the early morning sunlight, the fun of a unprecedented wasteland snow, the flavor of fruit-flavored raspadas on summer season afternoons, the "money boys" who beg from commuters passing from side to side to Ju???rez, and the mischief of youngsters pleasing themselves within the streets. L???pez-Stafford indicates readers El Paso in the course of the eyes of Yoya--short for Gloria--the high-spirited narrator, who's 5 years outdated whilst the publication begins.Yoya is a survivor. Her younger mom has died, leaving her within the care of her a lot older father, who attempts to supply for his kinfolk by means of promoting used garments. Her brother Carlos, Padre Luna, and a group of kids and ladies suppose accountability for Yoya, yet just like the inexplicable lack of her mom, unforeseen adjustments separate her from her cherished barrio. the hunt for su lugar, her position, turns into a look for identification as Gloria seeks to appreciate her a number of houses and households.
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Additional info for A Place in El Paso: A Mexican-American Childhood
And, as always, he hiccupped after his first puff. " And he would pretend that I was asking it for the first time. " Then we would both laugh and he would hug me. I nestled in his arms, smelling the smoke of the cigarette and the faint odor of alcohol. After he finished his drink and cigarette, Palm went into the kitchen and began fixing us some supper. I watched him since there wasn't much else to do. Whatever he brought home was what we would eat. "Mi'ja," he began after a while. "When someone dies, they do not come back.
As if remembering the name, he answered in a soft voice, "Yes, por favor, just Luna. I don't use the de la Torre. It confuses immigration and seems out of place here in the barrio. " The paisano stretched the muchos out like pulling a long string of gum from his mouth. His tone was harsh. "¿Es español, que no? " The question was sharp. "Mis padres are Spanish by birth. " Padre's voice was the one he used when giving a serious lecture to his parishioners. "A Mexican! I hardly think that someone who changes his chaqueta, jacket, can be considered a Mexican.
I said with my head bowed. It was my mother. Palm raised his voice and continued, "It was days before you could go back into the living room. " Eehh! He was angry! He never said that word. "You were sick for a week! All because you believed your mother could be in the radio. " Palm was irritated with me. Yes, Padre Luna had talked to me. He wanted to know what the voice had said. I told him she said she knew what my friends and I had been doing. He asked me in a very gentle voice if I had done something I didn't want my mother to know.
A Place in El Paso: A Mexican-American Childhood by Gloria López-Stafford