First Christmas Eve back in LA

This was the first Christmas Eve we spent in Los Ángeles, California after moving permanently from Guadalajara, Jalisco in México. I was four years old, my brother was eleven and my sisters were in their teens. To be honest, I barely even noticed we were in a whole other country. Maybe because for me, I was going back home, to my birthplace. Or maybe because Boyle Heights felt enough like México, anyway. Regardless, I was young and as long as I was surrounded by my family, I always felt at home. But was it home for them? Was it home for Dad, who lived moving around since he left his town La Cañada in Guanajuato, México as a teen? Was it home for Mom, who struggled for years to feel at ease in the States, so she would cross back and forth, with three little girls by her waist? Was it home for my sisters, who had to adjust and re-adjust every time they went back to school whether in México or the States? Was it home for my brother, who was used to playing soccer with the neighboring kids in the alley behind our house in Guadalajara? I’m not sure if it was home then, and I’m not sure if it is home now. But I do know, that this is where most of us continue to root. Maybe not Dad, I think he wants to go home…