Oscar Cásares
Stories
I still remember the moment I discovered that a world existed outside Brownsville. I’ve been trying to explore it ever since.
But not without some difficulty—even though I’m a third-generation Mexican American.
My father, who had grown up on a farm, used to talk about his family’s killing a pig for the tamales, but this was back in the twenties.
My dog, Flaco, sleeps on a bed from Pottery Barn, gets three walks a day, and very nearly had his teeth cleaned for the princely sum of $208. What would my father say?
An exclusive excerpt from writer-at-large Oscar Casares's forthcoming first novel, Amigoland
They say you can’t go home again—especially when pretty much your entire family has moved away.
Brownsville’s first federal judge was a legendary figure in my house. So legendary that I never believed my father when he said he knew the man.
The border fence cuts through a Valley farmer's property, upending his family's life.
A jogging path along the Rio Grande was a treasured, secret place—until it became part of the front lines in a war I still don’t understand.
The grand opening of a new H-E-B in McAllen drew crowds—including several who showed up to hear a native son read from his collection of locally set short stories.