I remember it like it was yesterday. Driving down a back road in the dark, I was riding shotgun when I looked over at my dad and spit out the words I had been swallowing for the past half hour…
“Dad,” I said, cautiously, “I think I want to go to El Salvador.”
15 year old me sunk down in my seat and awaited his response.
Around the time my peers were choosing sex and alcohol as their drug of choice, I purchased a passport. It wasn’t at all a spur of the moment decision. It was something I mulled over for quite a while.
I remember holding the information in my hand and not being able to get that tiny country in Central America off my mind. Although I was only 15 and ordering my own food in a restaurant was enough to give me anxiety, I simply could…
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