The Day a Stranger Tried to Buy Me
My first trip to Mexico came with an adventure I didn’t even know I signed up for. As a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned little girl, I stood out like a neon sign in the middle of a blackout. But, of course, I was blissfully clueless about it.
There I was, wandering the streets of Mexico with my mom and my soon-to-be dad, Chuck Hucke. I was probably around 7 years old, living my best life, soaking in all the new sights and sounds on my first-ever trip outside the U.S. The air was thick with the smell of street tacos (obviously), bustling markets, and the sort of energy that screamed adventure—you know, the kind you see in movies, but never really expect to experience.
And then, in a plot twist I wasn’t prepared for, it turned into something straight out of an action thriller.
We were strolling through the market, doing the usual tourist thing—laughing, shopping, eating, being super cute—when a man stopped Chuck. He started speaking to him in Spanish, his words rapid-fire and way more urgent than I was comfortable with. Chuck's face went from “everything's fine” to “this is serious” faster than I could blink. He looked at my mom and said, “Grab her hand. Don’t let go.”
Cue panic. With a vice-like grip on my hand, Chuck basically turned into my bodyguard, stepping between the man and me. I could hear them talking, but didn’t understand a word. All I knew was that we were moving a lot faster than I liked, and the whole thing had taken a very strange turn.
Turns out, the man had offered to buy me.
Yep. Buy me. In a foreign country. Because apparently, that’s what happens when you look like a walking target.
That little adventure stayed with me for years, and I didn’t return to Mexico until I was 18. Guess Chuck wasn’t messing around with that whole “don’t let her go” thing.
Chuck, of course, was my hero so many times over the years. God definitely sent me a wonderful dad. One who wasn’t afraid to make sure his 7-year-old wasn’t getting sold to the highest bidder.
