He knew he was, always felt more or less so, but sought finally to clarify the vagueness of his national identity. By birth, he was an American. But he knew his soul held something else, something fundamental, as well.
He felt handicapped, not fluent in the language. He traced his ancestry, read books of the old country, listened to his father of stories told by his father. During this research, he acquired some music from his ancestral home. Listening to the passion of the voices and the guitars accompanying them, he knew. And now he knew clearly.
“I am Spanish.”