lost her job at the factory because of a downturn in production. Even though a trip to Mexico would mean a risky border crossing on her return, Ofelia explained that if she did not find another job soon, she wanted to go home for the holidays. If not in December, she would travel back home in May. “Ricardo doesn’t want to go home at all, but I do. I cannot wait to go back. But I would just stay for three months or so. This way I would have time to warm up to my son again so I can bring him back with me.”
LIFE WITH GRANDMA AND GRANDPA
October 2004. Ofelia did not go back that year or the next. I first met Germán and his grandparents in 2004, when I visited their family home in Oaxaca. I had vague directions from Ofelia’s brother, who had told me I should look for the house across from the basketball court. We first drove by the ice-cream shop and arcade, where a skinny, shirtless boy was hanging out with four older men, and then doubled back after realizing that we had been in the right place and that the young boy must have been Germán. His grandmother, whom I had talked to the day before to confirm my visit, was not there, Germán told us brusquely.
Germán’s grandfather, also shirtless and in grubby pants, lay on a petate (a woven straw mat) on the dusty floor of the arcade. He instructed Germán to bring us chairs. Once seated, I was uncomfortable, feeling evaluated by these men and unsure what to say. Germán’s wary eyes monitored me closely as well. I struggled through the awkward silences in conversation with Germán’s grandfather, Don Francisco, who had worked in New Jersey for a number of years.
It was not until my second visit that I fully appreciated Don Francisco’s gold-tooth smile when we spoke more comfortably. He described himself as a homebody, explaining that he had spent most of his eight years in the United States either working at an industrial factory job or holed up in his room watching TV. Don Francisco also explained that he was the first in the family to leave for el norte. He had been quite successful working abroad. The family used the money he sent home to move from a house in a nearby rancho to one he built in the town of Las Cruces. He and his wife were also later able to purchase the store where they currently live. They owned a number of cattle and also a palm tree grove. “I like life in the United States better than here, because here it is so hot. And there, things are more orderly, and they are cleaner,” Don Francisco told me. He came back only because his sons migrated, and once they were no longer in Las Cruces to work his land, it began losing value.
Doña María was more outgoing than the reserved Don Francisco. On subsequent visits she admitted that it had been hard living with Don Francisco again after he came back from the United States. “I didn’t get used to it, and I’m still not,” she said, laughing. Doña María, a woman filled with an often-contagious exuberance and energy, was well respected in town. She introduced me to the directors at the local schools, all of whom she knew personally, facilitating my research in the schools. On my visit during the town feria, a number of indigenous women in town who did not speak Spanish were selling their wares. They all frequented Doña María’s shop, because she was one of the few who readily allowed them access to the bathroom and to water.
On that first visit, I learned little directly from Germán, who was then ten years old. He did, however, scoff when I jokingly mentioned expecting to see him in New Jersey in a few years, which suggested he did not expect to join his parents there. He also seemed suspicious of me. On the last day of our visit, when we went to the beach, I mentioned to Doña María that Germán looked more like his father than his mother. Germán looked up from his soda at me warily. “So you really know my dad in the United States?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “He was once in my English class and played soccer with some of my friends there.”
“And what is his name?” Germán challenged me. He looked rather surprised when I successfully answered “Ricardo.”
March 2005. Five months later when I visited, I learned more directly from Germán, who was still playing it cool but was noticeably excited when we arrived. On this visit he warmed up to us considerably, playing affectionately with my son, Temo, and talking more openly with me. He agreed to an interview. When I asked Germán if he remembered living with his parents, he answered, “No, because I was two when they left me.”
“Do you remember anything about them?”
“Just from pictures.”
“Why do you think they left?” I asked.
“To go where the money is,” Germán explained.
Germán said he spoke with his parents often, usually once a week, and that he liked talking with them on the phone. “I mostly [talk] with my mom, not so much with my dad because he works.”
“How do you feel when you hang up the phone?”
“Sad . . . because they are on the other side.”
Germán told me he wanted his parents to come back to Mexico. When I asked, “Would you like to go over there to be with them?” he answered decidedly, “No, I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?” I wondered.
“Because it is cold.”
“What’s that about? When it’s cold, you wear gloves, a hat . . . ”
“It’s just that I am used to living here,” Germán explained.
“So you prefer that they come back?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want to go there?”
“Nah, I am all right here with my grandma.”
I asked Germán about his sister; other children had complained about their U.S.-born siblings. Germán denied feeling jealous, said he loves his sister, and even talks with her on the phone. He could not tell me how old she was, however, and called in to his grandmother for an answer. I asked him, “Do you feel closer to your mother or your father?”
“Both the same.”
“Do you feel like you need your parents, or are you okay the way you are?”
Germán did not hesitate in answering, “I feel like I need them.”
“Why?”
“Yes, I need them because they are my parents.”
Doña María told me later that Germán did feel uncomfortable about his U.S.-born sister and that this was one reason he did not let his parents send for him and insisted that they come back to Mexico if they wanted to see him. “Once he said to me, Gram, I think my parents love Stacy more than they love me.” Doña María confirmed repeatedly on both my visits that Germán did not want to join his parents in the United States. “[Germán] talks to his mother about once a week. You know, they want to take him there. His father says they are ready to send for him. But he doesn’t want to go.”
I was not sure if Doña María was holding on to Germán. After all, Germán seemed highly affectionate with his grandmother, especially given his rather independent manner. Moreover, Germán seemed to enjoy being the only child in his grandparents’ home. Clinging to Germán, however, did not seem to be Doña María’s style. Doña María had many friends in town and a clear identity independent of caring for her grandson. She often chatted and joked with those who passed her store and was frequently out doing errands. On a day-to-day basis, she often acted indifferent to Germán, going about
