Holy Family Catholic Church was practically next to our house. Masses were held in both English and Spanish.

Father (later Monsignor) LaPieza was our parish priest; he hailed from Spain. I never felt that he understand the Mexican congregation he was assigned to minister to. He would sometimes run out carrying a canister filled with holy water when he heard us squealing while we were playing outside. He did this because, as he said, he thought we were being demonized and he felt a need to exorcize us.




The playground of Holy Family Elementary School. I sometimes looked out my classroom window that faced the border highway, looking across into Juárez wondering whether there was another school like this one on the other side. It would sometimes occur to me that perhaps some of the kids over there did not even go to school.




A view of Ciudad Juárez, México from my elementary school. It was the same view we had from the back windows of my home. We often had "visitors" running through our yard who had crossed over from Juárez. Occasionally we would wake up and find clothes gone from our clothesline if we left them hanging overnight. It was annoying, but at the same time, we understood whoever took them must have needed them.

It made me feel lucky and at the same time embarrassed that I often took for granted what we had in the U.S. side of the border.

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