Papi and the “toy” gun
“Mija, ven para ca. Come sit with your papi, por favor.”
“Okay, Papi!” I walked into the outdated living room with its barely functioning TV tuned to the cable Spanish channel, flannel patterned couches, and stained carpet. My dad was sitting in the big, brown flannel armchair.
I climbed into his lap to look at the “toy” he was holding. It was brown, shiny, and…