The Family Tree My family history took place in the mid-seventeenth century, when Mexico was still part of Texas, in a city now known like Kerrville. This land has belonged to my family for centuries and still remains in our hands. There, under the hills of my ancestors, around a campfire surrounded by my tio, tia and primo, my grandfather Guadalupe Morales led us into a world we could see with our hearts and feel as if we had experienced the warmth of that fire. This was the same story passed down from generation to generation through depressions and wars about slavery, strength, faith, and perseverance. It was a story of victory and family. My family belonged to the Comanche Indians here in Texas, they were peaceful hunters, gatherers and fishermen, my great great great great grandfather Milton Morales was about 6 years old, he was sent to the river to help his mother get water. He brought the buckets and fishing rod with him. Milton continued along the path to the river. He knew this land as he knew his mother's voice. He set up the poles and began filling the buckets. In the ripples of the once soothing river, Milton saw a face he had only had nightmares about, a soot-stained face met Milton's. My great great great great grandfather found his way home, my ancestors did not all remain except his mother, father and brothers all remained in the land that knows our land. She made her way up the hill and into the clearing and there sat my eldest of grandmothers hanging up her clothes, they say she knew in a second that coming towards her was the son she thought she had lost. His father returning from the river fell to his knees at the sight of his child who returned as a