The end of my first visit after 11 years of not seeing my father was drawing to a close, Anna had planned a birthday party for all three of us because our birthdays were all in a row.

Anna had been in Sacramento for almost four weeks by the time I made the trip north from Palm Springs. It was the first time we had ever been separated. Dad and I pulled in the driveway from the airport and Anna came running out to greet me, bouncing with excitement.

The morning of my Dad’s arrival, I could tell mom felt concerned about what might come of his visit, because she sat quietly looking at the floor in deep thought. Throughout our childhood we were told several stories, as to why she could never let us see him, one of which was, “He told me, he would take you away to Greece and I’d never see you again.

We settled into our new life in Palm Springs, the Morongo Indian Reservation was quickly fading into its proper place, oblivion. I was halfway past my 13th birthday, we had nice friends, Mom got a job cutting hair downtown, and I loved our new school Raymond Cree. I even had my very first crush: his name was Jerry Lindel, and I thought he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen, but Anna said, “He was homely and a geek.”