He was 12 and his sister was 14 when their mother told them they were leaving for the United States. It had been only two years since the Cuban Revolution, and fear had spread that the new government would strip parents of custody of their children or send them to the Soviet Union. Before they boarded a plane to Miami, their mother handed his sister a guitar and gave him a box of candy. Eleven days later, sitting on bed number eight in a shelter in Kendall, Frank Rodríguez felt hungry.

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