You're not really from here. By which she means I can't trace my blood- line to rows of bodies laying brick or tending animals, passing like dark threads through tufted fields of cotton in fields owned by her great- grandfather; neither can I trace my ancestry back to the likes of her people sitting on their porches, surveying their kingdom—thousands of acres; cabinets stacked with porcelain; heavy furniture carved with scrolls and pineapple flourishes. She's proud her people were enlightened and had the grace to let their slaves go to church on Sundays, besides allowing them learn to read and write. But had my people come to work in these parts at that time, likely we wouldn't have been good for anything but hauling lumber or cutting tobacco in the blistering heat; our grandmothers and aunts, only for polishing the floors and washing the laundry. When I stand in front of my classroom each term, are these the only things my students see? In 1611, in the country of my birth, the first universty opened its doors nearly a hundred years before that famous one in Connecticut. I remind myself that In 1887, the bilingual poems of a woman from a dusty Ilocos town went on exhibit in Madrid. I never mistake lightening for lightning.