“I hated seeing these spasmodic upside-down chicken heads stretching to puncture my flesh. I imagined once that they reached my groin and pecked out my penis and my huevos and kept pecking until they got to my gut and my eyes and my brain, until I was just a pecked-out piece of human meat surrounded by thousands of nervous, dirty white chickens. I think that was about the time I fucked up a pair of chicken heads against a warehouse wall when no one was looking. Well, almost no one. Rueben was right behind me, and that's when he grinned his stupid grin. Maybe he hated the chickens as much as I did. Maybe he just knew que ya me iba también a la chingada. Maybe I was going on my first joy ride to hell and back, and it was fun to watch.” StoriesImmigrantsTexasFamily RelationshipsLatinoShort StoriesImmigrant ExperienceShort Story CollectionChicanoSergio TroncosoHispanic AmericanImmigrant FictionEl Paso TexasHispanic Identity Book:The Last Tortilla & Other Stories Source: The Last Tortilla & Other Stories
“I made many decisions, some awful and others brilliant, but I found ways to keep that openness in my soul that meant more to me than breathing. I told them over the years what I was doing, how I was trying what no one in my family had ever tried to do. When I was failing, I admitted that as well, and they listened politely. I also knew that’s all they could do. One lonely night in Connecticut, I pulled myself from a window’s ledge. No one else next to me. Another day I chose to do something someone like me should have never accomplished, and yet I did, and kept going. I learned to recognize when others, like Jean, were much better than me, because they had faith in my soul. I believed in very little, but I kept going until I would get tired or defeated, and then I would take time to discover another wall to throw myself at. I was, and I am, and I will be, a peculiar kind of immigrant’s son. I got old, and that made everything better, including me.” StoriesImmigrantsStoryShort StoriesImmigrant ExperienceSergio TroncosoImmigrant FictionShort Story Writing Book:A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son Source: A Peculiar Kind of Immigrant's Son
“It’s a great honor, m’ijo. We know that. I’m sure everyone in Ysleta is proud of you. But this is who you are," she said, for a moment scanning the dark night air and the empty street. A cricket chirped in the darkness. "God help you when you go to this ‘Havid.’ You will be so far away from us, from everything you know. You will be alone. What if something happens to you? Who’s going to help you? But you always wanted to be alone; you were always so independent, so stubborn." "Like you.” CultureEducationImmigrantsLatinoHarvardAssimilationHispanicImmigrant ExperienceChicanoSergio TroncosoImmigrant Fiction Book:From This Wicked Patch of Dust Source: From This Wicked Patch of Dust
“Julia, is everything all right?” her father said in a raspy voice. “It’s three in the morning, m’ija.” “I’m sorry. I have to talk to you; it’s something very important. Papá, Mamá, I’ve made a decision, and I wanted to share it with you. I’ve decided to convert to the Muslim religion.” “What?” Pilar screamed. “Are you out of your mind?” “Julia, what are you saying?” “I want to be a Muslim. I’ve even chosen a new Muslim name, Aliyah.” “Julia, are you drunk?” “No, Papá, I’m not drunk. I’ve thought about this for a very long time. I think it’s the right thing for me, a way to follow God.” ReligionFamilyImmigrantsFamily LifeReligious FaithLatinoAssimilationHispanicImmigrant ExperienceFamily SagaChicanoSergio TroncosoImmigrant FictionReligious Conversions Book:From This Wicked Patch of Dust Source: From This Wicked Patch of Dust
