Period

Period: The periodic sentence, characterized by the suspension of the completion of sense until its end. This has been more possible and favored in Greek and Latin, languages already favoring the end position for the verb, but has been approximated in uninflected languages such as English. [This figure may also engender surprise or suspense–consequences of what Kenneth Burke views as ‘appeals’ of information.

My name is Pedro Montoya Gonzalez Skipski. I am Mexican-American. My mother is Mexican and my father is from New Jersey and moved to Texas when he was a teenager. He ran away from home in Morris Township, near Morristown.

When he came to Texas, without stopping or look for a normal job, he became a Coyote. He smuggled Mexicans across the border somewhere near Ciudad Juárez. He got caught about once a month by ICE. He knew all of the agents where he “worked” from their Army days together, and they let him go.

He had a four wheel drive pickup. He transported four “passengers” at a time in the truck’s bed. He would cover them with a tarp with holes punched in it so they could breathe. That’s how he met my mother.

She was a brown-eyed beauty who would not get in the bed of the truck. She said she was insulted and wouldn’t ride to her new home like a pig going off to slaughter. My father was so taken by her boldness and tenacity that he let her ride up front in the cab with him. They made it into the States without incident.

They fell in love in the cab of the truck. She pulled her harmonica out of a dirty old red napkin and played and sang Dylan’s “Freight Train Blues” and a string of Box Car Willie classics, finishing up with “Streets of Laredo.”

When I was 15 Dad died when he got lost in the desert and drove his truck at 50 MPH into an arroyo that was 12 feet deep. He died instantly the coroner said. I think he suffered before he was found by another Coyote.

Now, I live between a rock and a hard place—between my abuela Jacinto Margarita Gonzalez my mother Zoe Carmen Gonzalez Skipski. Jacinto spent her days watching Tv and smoking. She went out once-a-week to meet with her social group—a bunch of Mexican ex-pats who wanted to give Mexico back to Texas. They spent their time buying guns and plotting, and dancing the Texas “Bullshit” dance—the “Cotton Eye Joe.” They voted for Gregg Abbot. They were insane.

My mother Zoe spent her days drawing pictures from her “mind.” They looked like spiders with human heads and were all named “Charlotte.” She tried to sell them at the farmer’s market and was scoffed at for years until GW Bush discovered her and she became famous and works as an Instructor in fine arts at Juarez Community College.

I’m what they call a self-loather. I hate my mixed heritage—mostly the Mexican half. I work for ICE. I eat only Chinese and Japanese food. Since my Dad died, I’ve been plotting to blow up every Mexican and Tex-Mex restaurant in Texas—from “Laredo Pedro’s” to “Taco Bell.” I am beginning my rampage on the next San Jacinto Day. Dallas is my target. I will hit “Roja Verde’s Tex-Mex Eatery” first. They exemplify all all that’s wrong about mixing cultures. I would always ask my mom, “Why don’t they call it ‘Mex-Tex’ in the right alphabetical order?” She would tell me to shut up and eat my crispy puffy taco and drink my “Modelo.”

Get ready to read about me on Tuesday April 21, 2027.

But, to some extent, I’m changing my mind. I’ve been thinking of myself as Mestizo lately, like: Zapata, “El Inca” Garcilaso de la Vega, “Pancho” Villa, or Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón. I visited Kahlo’s house in Mexico City and was deeply moved by here art work and ideology.