When you ask some people where they are from, they’ll tell you where they were born. But that’s not how my story begins — even though if I were to tell you that story, you’d hear about a noisy little town in southern Mexico, and American parents, and how I would have been Micah if I would have been a boy.
But I always think of my stories as starting when I leave a place. So when I think back to the beginning, I think of standing on my seven-year-old tiptoes under the unrestful Yugoslavian dawn, reaching up to hug Babica goodbye.
That’s where it all started for me.
That’s where I learned to say goodbye.