“Mom, I don’t want to go back to my dad because he wants to have control of our lives,” a daughter tells her mother.

“I know, but I love him, and you know he loves us,” she replies.

“Then why does he hurt us?” her daughter asks. “I know you’re scared, I am too. We don’t have to be.”

This mother was a victim of domestic violence and didn’t feel she could leave her husband. Her eldest daughter took action, moving herself and her mother to a shelter so they could have a better life.
In cases of domestic violence, victims often feel they have no other option than to endure the cruelties inflicted on them by their spouse or family. Sometimes, they fear for their life or the lives of their children and sometimes they fear deportment.

On the third Friday of each month, several Latino men living in Johnson City and Kingsport, Tennessee, get together to cook meals that remind them of their past.

Although the group has no official name, the men have called themselves “The Machos” and have dubbed their meetings “Cena de Machos.” Antonio Rusiñol, one of the members, says it is not a serious title, since the term “macho” has negative connotations in the United States as well as in his home country of Argentina.

“We just jokingly called it ‘Cena de Machos,’” Rusiñol said. “[It means] more like ‘dinner with the guys.’”

In minor league baseball, athletes come from thousands of miles away in hopes of making it to that next level. They only have a few months to prove themselves or be sent back home… back to square one.

The Johnson City Cardinals rookie team has many fans that support them throughout the summer season. Young kids look up to the players because they’re the only baseball players in town beyond the collegiate level.

The side of the Cardinals that most fans don’t see is the athletes coming from outside the U.S.

When many people think of Latin America, soccer is the first thing that comes to mind.

For Latin American students attending college in the U.S., soccer can be a common ground – a way of finding familiarity in a new setting.

A mother and her child are waiting for their two-year checkup at East Tennessee State University’s pediatric clinic when José Zepeda and a resident pediatrician enter the room.

“How’s our little girl?” said the doctor.

¿Cómo está la niña?” said Zepeda.

Muy bien!” said the mother of the child in question.

“She is very well,” said Zepeda to the doctor, glancing at the little girl with a smile.

The mother does not speak English and the doctor does not speak Spanish, but the seemingly endless questionnaire of things like, “How many servings of fruits and vegetables does she eat per day?” goes over with ease.

“There is an art to interpreting,” said Zepeda, a certified medical interpreter at ETSU Pediatrics. “My job is to help two people who cannot communicate with each other come together and be able to care for this child. That is why I love doing this.”

Page 3 of 9