A street called Liberty

To say I was raised in an unconventional household seems a little bit of an understatement.  

OK, it wasn't that unconventional: I had hetero parents who owned their own house, a three-story Victorian in the Castro (then Eureka Valley) in San Francisco.  My parents were teachers, my mother at the venerable public high school, Lowell, my alma mater, my father at the College of Marin across the Golden Gate.  They met as students at San Francisco State, in French Film club.  The rest is history.  Or maybe fate.  For a girl who escaped her family in Mexico City and a boy who left a tiny village in the South of France, this must have seemed fated.  If you believe in that sort of thing, I think it must have been.

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