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For the First Time It was late December when my father told me that he had planned a family rip to Mexico, and that we would be leaving in a couple of days to my mother’s hometown Gomez Farias, Michoacan. I really wasn’t excited about it, so I told him that I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay at my sister’s house here in Watsonville, but my dad didn’t like the idea of me staying here alone, so he said, “Well if you don’t go with us to Mexico, then we won’t go neither.” “O.K. then, I’ll go with you guys.” It was Saturday night, and we were ready to board Mexicana airlines in San Jose International Airport when I told my parents, “This is the last time that I go to Mexico with you guy’s.” Then my mom said as she got comfortable in her seat, “Stop crying. Just sit back and relax, your going to have the time of your life in the next two weeks to come.” It was about two o’clock in the morning when we finally got to the airport in Guadalajara. On our way out into the lobby we saw my uncle Kiko and my grandfather Lupe waiting for us. We weren’t able to talk to them until after the police finished asking us some questions and searching our luggage.