Essay - Cultural Event the Choice Miguel Wipes the Sweat from His...

Cultural Event

The Choice

Miguel wipes the sweat from his face and collapses in a heap, the wet grass leaving green streaks on ***** white, silk shorts. He pours over his soccer cleats ***** begins picking chunks of mud from between the raised nubs of his prized shoes, ***** ones he got for his birthday, the ones everyone knows his parents couldn't afford. Miguel's parents don't have enough money to buy him private flute lessons, one-on-one soccer coaching or ***** ties like mine do, but Miguel has something that I want even more than a good drop shot and a chance at Harvard Law. Miguel has ***** free*****m.

At least he comes around—the only friend left ***** the public school to do so. At first, *****re were others: Robert the quarterback with ebony skin and a f*****her who s*****ng so well in a local band that he was offered a recording deal; John, the ***** Anglo, ***** had a football scholarship, and Maria. There's too much to say about Maria, so I had better say nothing at all. At first, they ***** still came by in the afternoons, ***** my mother would make them lemonade and cookies and we would all sit ***** the den and talk about reality TV or sports, or we'd go outside ***** kick the ball around. Not anymore.

*****! Miguel! Dinner!" Each word she says is shrill and choppy, a no-nonsense voice for a no nonsense woman, or at least th*****'s what dad always says. Actually, ***** don't know anyone who I'd rather as a mother ***** ***** mom. She sounds severe, but she's sweet, she's invested, and most of all she wants me to think for myself, maybe ***** a little bit more than dad does. But the day I ***** home ***** two black eyes ***** ***** end for her. She didn't cry, yell, or scream. She just clucked at me in her severe way, ordered ***** upstairs ***** clean up, and got on the phone. The next day I was ***** newest student at the mosque high *****, a good eleven blocks walk from my house. ***** public school is only *****. I didn't want to go ***** the ***** school. Actually, ***** Imams, and my fat*****, would have a hard time even calling me a Muslim. On Sund*****ys, I go to ***** Catholic Church of our Lady. I don't think I'm really a ***** either, but I ***** ***** more C*****tholic than Muslim. That is OK with ***** *****, but not so ***** ***** my dad. But he ***** send me to the Mosque school to streng*****n ***** faith. He did it to protect *****. I guess I can understand that, but what it really ***** was loose me all of my friends, including *****. Now, when I walk past the ***** ***** or in***** ***** public park, if I dare go, they call my new school a "Madrassa." Even Maria ***** will*****g to swear that I am in league with