Summer in San Juan, 1985

The summer I turned twelve, Mom took Elena and me to San Juan for three weeks while Dad stayed with the shop. It was the first time I understood that half of who we were lived on an island I had only seen in photo albums.

We stayed with Tía Luz in Santurce. The roosters started before dawn. Elena learned the family songs. I learned to swim properly in water that wasn't a city pool.

Dad flew down for the last five days. I have a photograph of him standing on the malecón in a short-sleeve shirt, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen him in Queens. Mom says that trip is when he finally stopped apologizing for his Spanish.

We still talk about that summer whenever the family gathers.