Illegal immigrants from Mexico call me a Coyote. Or at least they used to.
Now, when I think back to the excuses my parents used to make, I feel like an idiot.
He finally got fed up with everything about a month ago.
I used to think that I was a real-life hero, come to help humanity.
“I’m not going home,” he said simply.
I should have known something was off by the puzzled looks on the police officers’ faces as my wife recounted everything that had happened.
Even from inside our studio apartment, 30 yards from the main house, we could hear our parents yelling at each other that night. I don’t think there has ever been a time when they would restrain themselves for anyone’s sake.
I remember often asking about my mother. Along with all of my other uncertainties, there was the lingering question of why I could never see her. I always got the same answer, “You’re too young to understand, Luke.”
Here’s something I don’t advertise on my SitterCity profile: I hate children. But I do love video games and easy money, so that makes for a pretty smooth operation when it comes to taking care of other people’s kids for a few hours.