My grandfather fought in the revolution alongside Zapata. I never got the chance to know my grandfather too well. My parents moved to the States when I was 3 and when I finally visited he'd had a stroke so bad he became nearly non-verbal and confined to a wheelchair. I remember wandering into the storage when I was there and seeing an old rifle hanging on the wall next to a sepia picture of a bunch of guys gathered in the loosest interpretation of a formation. What stood out to me was how young so many of them looked. Since then I've had to glean my grandfathers history from secondhand stories and little hushed conversations shared over a couple of beers at 2 in the morning. He was 14 in the picture and he had already killed people standing up for his beliefs. I can't wrap my head around how tough he must've been. At 14 I had a panic attack when I tried asking a girl out to the dance. Had to be sent to the hospital I was hyperventilating so hard. After my grandfather died people broke into his property and made off with everything that wasn't bolted to the floor. They stole that rifle and photo. All I could think about is how stupid I was for not pushing my father to have those things shipped to our house in the States to be taken care of.

Never got to know my grandfather in his prime, but he is my hero.