Now that Papá felt better, he started working for Ito again. I did too. I took the bus home after school and joined Papá picking strawberries. I got paid for picking, but not for helping my brother clean Main Street School. I missed being with Roberto. While I worked, I daydreamed about going to the Vets dances and played rock 'n' roll tunes in my head. Most of the time, I studied things I needed to learn for school. I wrote the information in a small notepad, which I carried in my shirt pocket, and memorized it while I picked. Weekends were special. Roberto joined Papá and me in the fields, and, during our half-hour lunch break, Roberto and I listened to Papá and the braceros tell stories about Mexico. One time Papá told us how he had joined the Cristero Revolt in 1926, when he was sixteen, and had been wounded in the knee and thrown in jail for six months. "See the scar?" he said with pride, pulling up his left pant leg. "The bullet is still there. Feel it." I placed my finger on the jagged mark.
