We moved to Florida from Puerto Rico in 1978, about a year after my father’s death. I had just finished fourth grade in our Catholic school and transitioned into the Broward Country public school system. During that first year in Florida, I attended a Spanish and English bilingual classroom. Our convertible classroom sat in the corner of the school, and the few dozen students spanned all grades from the school. My sister and I spent the entire school day in this room, except for recess.
David, a boy outside of our bilingual program, befriended me during recess. We could barely communicate, but still he demonstrated a genuine interest in me. As our friendship grew and the holidays approached, I asked him what his plans were for Christmas. His face grew stern, and he responded, “I’m Jewish; I don’t celebrate Christmas.”