Every summer, Da takes me and my sisters to Border Town because he lived there when he first moved to Heartford. It wasn’t called Border Town, then. Back then, it was known as Soulville because lots of blacks lived on Park Street at the time. Now the locals call it Border Town. It’s where Park Road turns into Park Street. Corner stores turn into Bodegas. Yes turns into Si and English turns into Spanglish. Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, and Portuguese hang in doorways of apartment buildings or out the windows, as do their flags. It is colorful in summer –fruits and flags adorn storefronts. Names they are used to sound beautiful and new to us – Adoracion, Caridad, Guadalupe. Pretty women with pretty curls line sidewalks. This is the real reason father brings us here. Ma says so. Sometimes she comes; sometimes she stays home but tells Da to pick her up some Dominican shampoo from the beauty supply store because the ones near us don’t sell it. It smells better she says and makes her hair thick. But Da says he comes for the food, the sounds, and to see how much it has changed. “Back then, when Border Town was called Soulville, soul food restaurants lined the street. Every face you saw was black and the last names, too – Judkins, Wilson, Jenkins. Everybody felt like kin. I miss those days,” Da tells us every time he brings us to Border Town, pointing out his old apartment building and old hangouts.