“Where are we going, Papi?” Ramon clung to his father’s belt.
“But it’s a school-day, Papi.” If there was something — other than Jesus — that his parents held sacred, it was education. Though poor, his parents always managed to supply what he needed for school. In turn Ramon was expected to learn well and listen to his teachers. Skipping classes went against everything he understood.
“It will still be a day of learning,” Papi pedaled steadily over muddy paths, narrow roads, and into the city.
Ramon held on, in awe of his father’s ability to find his way in the maze.
A grand peach-colored building manifested.
“A palace, Papi?”
Ramon shook his head. Museums are for the dead.
“We’re native Paraguayans, son. El Cabido is dedicated to our heritage. Our music. Our crafts. Today your school is the history of who you are.”