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"WE'RE MOVING," MY FATHER ANNOUNCED. He liked keeping us off balance, didn't even let us know where we were moving.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
With every move, we took only our clothes. No furniture. No appliances. No dishes. We had only each other.
Each move could have been a beginning for us. But for the change of place, we were captive under the watchful eye of our father the jailer, whose mistreatment became more intense with every move. No one knew us.
Sleeping on the floor had become routine. We didn't care if we had a bed or not; whatever space we had, we had to share anyway. What I feared most was the loneliness and isolation. I became morose and shy. Every move made it that much more difficult to make friends. As it was, our movement was restricted to the house, with our only escape being the walk to and from school, if we were registered to attend.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
When I was about 12, we moved once again. This time we went to the city.
Source: HighBeam Research, Daughters betrayed: in her new memoir, a Chicana recounts the sexual...