Free Facts of Life by Gary Soto Page A

Kirby announced.
    "Yeah, I bet." Laurita told her brothers that they would have their turns, but first she wanted Mom to give it a crack.
    "Mom, say
Damascus
" began Laurita. "Just listen to the word." She repeated it slowly.
    Her mother wiped her mouth with her napkin, giggled, and uttered, "Da-mas-kaz." Her mouth, usually pliable, appeared stiff.
    No one laughed. They were proud of their mother trying hard words:
gearbox, telescope, persist.
    "Dad, try
fox terrier:
" Laurita turned to him.
    He gave it a try, his mind shifting easily as Laurita called out
semiannual, unhealthy, sparks,
and
holy-moly.
    The children were impressed, and clapped when their father not only pronounced
initiative,
but also spelled it and used it in a sentence. "I have the initiative to work and get rich in America."
    The mood the next evening was different. After dinner was done, dishes done, homework almost done, and her brothers were in the bathtub, Laurita approached her father in his recliner. His eyes were half closed, like an alligator's. But she knew he was all ears and most certainly heard her footsteps. He could hear sounds from far away and could even guess whose car was starting a block away. "Oh, Señor Montez must be going to the store to get a jug of milk," he would predict.
    Before she sat down next to him, he was asking, "
¿Qué quieres, mi cielo?
"
    "
Papi, tengo mis papeles? Soy 'illegal?'
" Laurita asked directly. "Do I have my papers? Am I illegal?" Her heart pounded for an answer.
    "
Cómo?
" he responded, his alligator eyes now wide open. "What?"
    "My papers," she repeated. "Miguel and Kirby showed me their birth certificates, but I couldn't find mine." She pointed to the desk that was like an altar, for it held a large bronze-plated candelabra and pictures from family members as far away as Jerusalem, where an aunt on her mother's side served as a nun. The desk was off limits to the kids, and was off limits to Dad as well, unless he had to fetch the digital camera hidden in the bottom drawer. It was Mom who handled all the papers, the bills, the report cards that needed to be signed, the vaccination papers, the junk mail that she read to practice her English.
    With a large hand he pulled at his mouth and studied his daughter. He sat up in his recliner, buttoned the top button of his shirt, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked like a man ready to talk business.
    "
Claro qué sí,
" he answered.
    "But I wasn't born here, was I?" she asked.
    "
No, míja, naciste en Mexico,
" he answered and patted his lap, a signal for her to hop up and cuddle her old bear of a father. "You were born in Mexico. In a little house on a
ranchito.
"
    "What if
la migra
gets me?"
    "No ones going to get you." He chuckled. "You got to remember. You're a citizen of the world." He explained that boundaries were just lines on a map and what was really important was being nice, being productive, staying in school, and honoring the country where you live.
    After that, Laurita understood that she was both
Mexicana
and a citizen of the world. She had rights no matter where she lived, just as music had rights to move from country to country. Or like the folk dances they did in summer school. Or like the food they ate: one day Mexican, the next day Chinese. Why not?
    Laurita wondered about birds.
Are they illegal?
she mused. They spent winters in Costa Rica but flew north to Wisconsin for summers, where they mingled with local birds. Or humpback whales: One week they were near Baja and the next month, if they swam fast enough, were in Alaska.
    She was a citizen of the world. That's who she was.

    One day Laurita's mother had to go to Kmart to get a few things. Laurita rode with her to the store, her mother grimacing at a rock song on the radio. It was turned low, but her mothers face was pleated with disgust.
    "
¿Que horible!
" she complained.
    "It's not horrible, Mom!" Laurita turned it down, but after two blocks her mother sighed and