A while ago my dear friend Hugh envied my life in a multicultural community after I told an anecdote about the pakistani owner of a Subway I frequent. Yesterday, while I waited for my Dad to finish an echocardiagram, I played peekaboo with a cute little hispanic boy. "¿Donde esta tu mama?" I asked him in my best broken spanish. His little face became very sad and he crawled back to his abuela. One of the older men in the group told me, using his best broken english: "She has heart attacks." "Lo siento," I replied.
Great. Heartache in two languages.
In that moment, I wish I lived in Indiana.