Where I Belong by Marcia Argueta Mickelson
Girls who were born in Guatemala can never be president of the United States. This is all I can think about every time I see Mr. Brody in one of his yellow button-downs. He crosses in front of me in the hall and turns into his classroom. As I watch him enter, I catch a glimpse of the huge U.S. map that covers his windows. I guess the oversized map he treasures so much is vastly more important than the sunlight we might receive on that side of the building. He never actually said the words, but it’s the message I came away with. Freshman year, he asked for volunteers to run for president in a model election. I volunteered, only to be told that he wanted to make the elections realistic, with only natural-born citizens. I wanted to point out that it couldn’t possibly be realistic because none of us were thirty-five. Of course I didn’t say that, because I still wanted an A in the class. I did get the A, but I never quite forgave Mr. Brody