Miami by William Capozzoli

"Sit down," Oscar told me. He turned on the television and a DVD, "I'm going to show you the real story of what that bastard did to Cuba." I'll check it out for a few minutes, I thought. The redness in face would probably go away. "It was so beautiful before he took over," said Oscar. The movie began. The scenic view of the countrysides, the eloquence of home dining and the life in Cuba looked beautiful. "My Grandfather had a farm just like that. And lots of baseball fields and stadiums." I wondered what percentage of Cubans lived so lavishly before the revolution. I kept my mouth shut because I have a Guevara shirt at home and you can draw a fight on the street in Miami for wearing one. I asked, "Have you ever been back to visit?" Oscar frowned and bit his tongue like a kid in a tantrum, "Are you kidding me? I would never support that villain. My family's fortune was stolen. If I could strangle him in his hospital bed with my hands, I'd go. My grandmother cried when my grandpa told her they had to leave Cuba for the US. She said she would never leave her homeland. So he told her they would just be taking an extended vacation, under the hospices of Mr. Maverick, the American whose factory in Cuba they managed, and when it all passed and things returned back to normal, they would return." However many years its been since 1953, Oscar's entire descendant family still lives in the US. They never returned.