An Aztec Prince, story, Saguaro, Volume 3, a bilingual literary journal of the Mexican American Studies and Research Center at the University of Arizona, 1986
Out of the womb I was dubbed "The Chinese General." It was Fresno, '55. I guess it was my slanted black eyes, toothless gape and the purple splotch covering half my head. My father had a way with words.
You see, right from the start I didn't know I was Mexican. Although my mother—the darkest of my grandmother's litter—was, I didn't think about such things, my father was white and Texan. Anyway, I was just a kid. Sure, my skin was brown, but we didn't speak Spanish. My father didn't like it. I figured I was white. Fresno was farmworker country. Cesar Chavez, Delano, right next door. We lived in the suburbs. When I was two we moved to Glendale. Blacks couldn't own property in Glendale, couldn't be on the street after five.