At seventeen, in a freshly-pressed cotton dress,
you rode your bicycle and frolicked in the fields,
tasted paella and chorizo for the first time,
learned tango steps with your Spanish lover.
My father, Ramon Conesa, was born in Spain and his family migrated to France when he was a baby. He went back to Spain to fight in the Spanish Civil War, and as a result, was never able to return to Spain. He met my mother, Jeanne Simoens, in a small village near Lyons, in France.