-Today you were in the driver’s seat calling all the shots. When asked what you wanted to do, without a moment’s hesitation, you said you wanted to visit great-grandma’s rock (translation: go to the cemetery where she’s buried). You were one day shy of one when she died. She was at the hospital the day you were born to welcome you in her arms. She held you and played with you as much as her strength allowed that awful year cancer took over. When her body could no longer hold you, she’d sit with joy in her eyes watching you and your sister. We have talked about her a lot since she died because we love her so much and miss her terribly. You talk about her, too, and talk about how much you miss her. A few months ago, you cried at night because you missed her so much. You barely knew her but somehow your heart aches for her. Perhaps you are connected in some cosmic way words cannot explain. Perhaps your sensitive heart senses our deep longing for her. Whatever it is, your deep love for her moves me every time. I can only imagine the kind of best buds you would have been. I’m sure she’s with you always and maybe she’ll visit you in dreams, sweet girl.

-We went to the bookstore and you and your sister got chapter books. While waiting to be seated afterwards for dinner, you each wrote your names inside. You wrote your name and your sister’s because you plan to share it. Such a small gesture but it speaks so loudly about who you are.

-You ran like mad today with your sister, wind in your hair, smile bursting on your face, laughter roaring out. When you fly free with her, and that laughter erupts, I’m afraid to break the spell. You’re wrapped in this bubble of wonder and glee and loving your sister and feeling invincible. It’s the most delicate and fierce thing to witness.

-At the end of the night, you were chatting away to yourself. Then you called my name to comment on how late it was and how you were so not tired. Two minutes later I looked back and I had to sleeping kiddos in my back seat. Your exuberant energy runs up until the very last second when you just can’t go anymore.

What to say to the little girl who lights my days? 4, 4, 4, 4. Where did the time go, mama? I love you fiercely and unabashedly, hoy y siempre.

May 4th has come and gone. It arrived with bigger than life fanfare and has gone with much heartbreak. Standing on stage with this year’s Listen To Your Mother: Providence cast is the most selfish thing I’ve done in a very long time. And not for how much it took that one day but the months of preparation and planning which called on me to tap into skills and talents long dormant and some even unbeknownst to me. I’m left daydreaming of those women and their words, the clapping and the laughter, the flurry of activity backstage and the kind smiles and tears of our audience.

I don’t want to let it go. It put me face to face with my best self and I want to feel that way Every. Single. Day. I know my LTYM: Providence warriors felt it, too.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?… Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory …that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
-Marianne Williamson-

Each of us tapped into our brilliant power this weekend. 

We spend our days caring for the next generation, watering their curiosity and pouring ourselves into nurturing their interests and talents, their souls. And as a side effect something’s gotta give and more often than not it manifests itself in neglecting ourselves the same tender care we give our children. We ignore the cries of our spirit in the name of our offspring, unintended martyrs, oblivious to how poorly this serves our children. They don’t need mothers who let dreams die or who stop dreaming or who let those dreams stew for a lifetime. What they need is mothers who practice gracious selfishness. Who put their oxygen mask on first. 

Image courtesy of Egan Images by Mike Egan

This weekend I witnessed 13 incredible women stand on stage and put themselves first. It was magic. I want to honor them with a statue or  a tree or a monument or a couch with Oprah or their own TEDtalk but all I’ve got is words. Mind you in the perfect world that exists in my mind this is lovingly scrawled on fragranced stationery monogrammed with my initials in elegant yet legible script and it arrives in my cast mates’ mailboxes with a wax seal and a ray of sunshine. Instead, though, you get the 2013 version on my blog. Because I love you, women. I want everyone to know it.

Kirsten, the more I get to know you the more I fall in love with you. You are bold, outspoken, and opinionated. At the same time, a tremendous team player and a woman deeply connected to her heart. I admire your natural ability to connect people with one another and know how they can help each other, a matchmaker. You do everyone a favor when you’re present.

Brianne,  you are so natural when you’re speaking to a crowd. You inspire and connect and really should just do it all the time. And more than just a powerhouse speaker, you are an ingenius writer who deconstructs life in the most wonderful way and makes it all familiar even when it’s not so much. You need to be center stage because people will be held captive. They will listen. They will leave better than they arrived.

Laura, my partner in crime, your energy and joy was a guiding light during the last several months. It’s been a blessing to find someone as eagerly cheerful as I am. You are a master at your craft. You are generous with your time, your energy and your attention despite bearing more than a full plate. I admire your religious devotion to your family and natural inclination to cheer people on.

Jenn, I’m inspired by you to learn more. You are so smart and you have this ability to translate it into writing in a way that is witty and accessible to everyone. You are humble and so incredibly kind. You embraced us all like a mother hen, encouraging and supportive. So grateful for your eagerness to support Laura and I. It was one thing for you to share your story but then knowing you were wiling to go all in with us on this unfamiliar, unchartered journey – gracias.

Phyllis, your sweet and fun loving energy makes me want to hang out with you on the regular. Your story reminded me of my own, and the unique experience those of us have who are raised by parents juggling assimilation and holding onto their roots. I admire your leap to do LTYM during this time of figuring out what to do next. You’re leaning in, way in and it builds the bridges between then, now and next. And I wish I could pin point what it is but I know whatever your next project or venture, you’ll do it with everything you’ve got and blow them out of the water. You’re make-things-happen kinda gal.

Marian, your poetry was a serendipitous present during auditions. We didn’t know we wanted or needed poetry in our show as much as we did until you shared your poems with us. They speak such truth in their simplicity. I’m left awed by how much emotion your poems evoke in such few words. I was a lover of poetry from a young age then lost my way. You, my friend, have reminded me how badly my soul needs poetry. The world needs to be viewed through poetry’s lens to spotlight it’s beautiful frailty and harshness. Thank you.

Lexi, I am so incredibly proud of you for kicking SAD to the curb, for pocketing the memory of doing so for those times when it ain’t so easy. You are brave beyond words. I watched on stage as a mom in the audience wept, big thunderstorm tears, during your piece because she’d been there, is there, will be there. Your stories on raising children with special needs are a much needed embrace to other mothers with special needs children who have no one within arm’s reach to hold them, to make them laugh, to get it. Keep sharing.

Lauren, your journey is an inspiration to take on the unknown. You do it all with a natural lightheartedness that is infectious. And underneath the cheerful disposition lies a heart full of wonder and caring, willing to foresee the tough questions of the future and willing to ponder, willing to ponder.

Alicia, your honesty is like nothing I’ve encountered before. It’s a lesson to stand where you are, to not fight against the uncomfortable parts of life, to hold on proud to every story which makes up your whole. Your willingness to be so completely vulnerable during this process astounds me still – you gave us your story, your experience and were open to feedback and edits in the most humble way. It takes people many lives to be able to allow themselves to be so vulnerable.

Stephanie, holy laughter. Everyone in that auditorium came alive with laughter when you got on stage. I admit, the first time I read your piece I wasn’t sure how it would read. Then you brought it hilariously to life and there was no doubt in my mind we had to cast you. To be able to write for the stage or the screen is such a different beast than writing for print and you, my dear, have that superpower. The world needs laughter. Don’t deprive them.

Kelly, my God do you even know what you can do with words? Your piece was deeply personal while also being viscerally universal. It leaves me breathless every time. You have a gift – with your words, your gentle spirit and tender heart. Write more. Pretty please. More hearts need to be stirred and more emotions need stories where definitions do them no justice.

Jackie, how grateful I am to you for your perspective on life and your laughter. Your ability to speak candidly about motherhood, and any topic that comes your way, is refreshing and invigorating. And your fierce commitment to keeping it positive and supportive amongst women is a lesson for anyone who wants to move mountains. You give meaning to sisterhood.

Jessica, get yourself near a stage. At our dress rehearsal, you switched into theater mode and it’s like you never left. You’re a natural and enthusiastic teacher, from stage etiquette to social media etiquette, what you know you own. And it’s a gift to anyone you share it with. You are MayBell.

This. This is what I saw in you. What inspired me. What continues to move me. What makes me want to do it again and again.

I want to know what you saw in yourself during this Listen To Your Mother journey. What sleeping beast did we awaken? Tell me. Don’t let it sleep again.

And because I’m big on walking the talk, I’ll go first.

This process has taught me that I thrive in a group or team environment. I love the back and forth of exchanging ideas and energy. Writing is my passion and it requires solitude of me but  it’s futile if I deprive myself of the creative energy of collaborative work. I remembered I like to lead and I’m not too shabby at it. LTYM was me giving permission to myself to go forth and do. I don’t need anyone’s permission anymore. I really enjoyed the editing process. While there wasn’t much to do (hello, great writers), I found it soothing and fulfilling to provide feedback and mold something into it’s best form for our show. I deeply crave more time with incredible women who are honest and heart centered. After every single one of our rehearsals, I was lit on fire. My inborn optimism is a gift in the face of possible disaster (hello, faulty sound system). I also really love listening to people. Whatever is next, I just want to listen more. And remind people of their incredible worth.

It’s your turn, lovelies. Tell me how you saw yourself shine. Tell me what magic you tapped into that you don’t want to lose. Praise yourself for what you’ve done. We too often play our amazing selves down and I’m not sure why. It’s Mother’s Day weekend and you ladies are amongst the finest mamas out there. Be your biggest cheerleader. Go.

Dear LTYM: Providence Cast, or Dearest Truth Tellers,

Over the last several weeks, I’ve had the immense pleasure of getting to know all of you. Each of you has proven to be as smart, kind and fun as I had anticipated. The pleasant surprise has been seeing so much of myself in all of you. Each of us with a unique story to share and yet so very much connected and driven by the same things.

Watching your faces during our first rehearsal was a flashback of my own reactions to hearing your stories for the first time during auditions – pure awe.

Listening to what brought you to Listen To Your Mother: Providence echoed my own reasons – reclaiming my talents after motherhood, celebrating the woman behind the mother, sharing my mama wisdom, for myself, for all mothers, for everyone.

Your joy, pride, insecurity, fear, geeky excitement, stunned disbelief, sense of camaraderie, your holy-shit-I’m-going-to-be-on-stage-in-front-of 306-people-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into – these emotions are my own as well.

I see myself in each of you. I know our audience will no doubt have the same reaction. It’s the “me too” reaction Ann Imig spoke about. Not just because you each are bringing to the table your truth but because you each have the courage to speak as witnesses to the collective experience of motherhood. You are embracing every mother, daughter, grandmother, son, father, everyone who has, is a mother and thinks they stand alone.  

I believe you’re all breath-takingly amazing.

Which is why I’m writing you today. I have spoken to many of you individually or collectively and in some capacity you’ve expressed something to this affect -

“There must be some mistake. How did I end up in the company of such talented women?” or

“I have a better piece. The one you heard isn’t my best. I don’t think it stands up to everyone else’s work.”

Ultimately, many of you, myself included, are plagued by not enough syndrome.

My confession. Busy juggling auditions and production responsibilities, choosing my piece to read for the show was last on my list of priorities. I had some ideas before auditions but then everything seemed to already be covered or not up to par. Here’s my confession, I didn’t decide what I would read until I was driving to rehearsals. I had printed out two contenders and pulled the trigger as I pulled into the parking lot. As we gathered to read, I listened to everyone around the table. I laughed. I cried. I cried. I laughed. A voice whispered in my head, “Maybe I should just stick to producing and directing the show. These are some seriously good writers. My super short, rinky dink poem thingy doesn’t hold a candle to anything I’ve heard. I’m totally the weak link. There’s no way I can fake it amongst so much talent.”

The cast member before me finished her piece and I could choose to either read or let everyone know I wasn’t reading. I kid you not, I was on the fence until the words from my piece began to spill from my mouth. I read my piece. I’m reading in the show. You embraced me the way you embraced every story – with love and open hearts. I left that day full and overwhelmingly alive. I made the right choice.

I was reminded of the tremendous power we each have. The power we often neglect and deprive ourselves and the world of.

Shortly after, I read this post from a Listen To Your Mother cast member in another city and realized, like the author did,

“I don’t want to hide anymore. Take me in. Love me. I’m open. I am good enough. That’s right. I. Am. Good. Enough.” 

I shared the post with you all and again I was surprised so many of us share the same insecurities. I wanted to let you know you are more than enough. Laura and I welcomed you to the cast because you each floored us with your brilliance. One simple afternoon, in a tiny conference room, with nothing but a few pages of paper and your voice, you blew us away. You stirred emotions in us with your words and it haunted us in the most wonderful way days and weeks later. You dazzled again at rehearsals and left your fellow cast members changed. You will do it again in a few short weeks.

Each of your pieces is perfectly as it should be for our show. We didn’t come to the table with any preconceived notion of what kind of stories we wanted to share with our audience. Then each of you walked through the door and there was no question you belonged. 

Laura and I were so honored to bring this show to Providence. We were excited to take on these new roles as producer and director, to explore these unchartered waters all in the name of motherhood and community and womanhood. Then came YOU. And it took on life. YOU deepened the purpose for our production. YOU define this year’s production. YOU. YOU. YOU. 

Thank you for believing in this project enough to share your truth, to bare your soul before strangers. Thank you for being vulnerable. Thank you for your brilliance. Thank you for being selfish enough.

With the utmost gratitude,

Carla

Migrant farm-working families became an important presence in my life, for the first time in 1973, while I helped organize a series of presentations at Mercy University in Detroit where I taught at the time.

I had no idea, as I stood with my children in a bitter cold Mid-West winter at the door of supermarkets in support of the lettuce boycott, how much I was to learn about their plight, how inspired I would be by the dignity in their life struggles.

While the families I met were from California I soon learned about the Michigan migrant camps. As I got to know families that had lost a common language of communication, because young children refused to speak Spanish, I found added strength to contribute to  the efforts for the passing of bilingual education laws in Massachusetts, in Michigan and Illinois.

After moving to California in 1976, it was but natural to look for opportunities to collaborate in Migrant Education situations. When Alfonso Anaya, who would later become my advisee in his doctoral studies at the University of San Francisco, agreed to sponsor a program on Literatura Infantil with migrant farm-working families in Pájaro Valley, my own life took an unexpected turning point.

For three years we met, monthly, at the high school library, a place both beautifully pleasant and non-threatening to the parents, always impressed by the large turn out of parents who had worked all day in the field.

During the first part of the meeting I introduced several picture books, as well as the hand-written books which children and families had produced during the previous month, and we dialogued about one of the issues the parents had requested. Then, the families broke in groups, facilitated by migrant teachers, to work with one of the books introduced, a different one in each group. After reading the book aloud, the parents would talk about following the Creative Reading process, and would see how the content could relate to their own lives and determine what decisions it inspired. They would also share how they could present the specific book to their own children.

As a final activity each group would make a list of topics they would like to see discussed the following month.

The “miracle,” as California Tomorrow called the success of these meetings, was not only on the constant presence of the parents, their interest in the books, and the numerous meaningful books they created, but also in their willingness to face and discuss openly the complexities of their own lives.

I would leave each meeting with a sense of awe. One night, while driving alone, late at night, since we had started the meeting after the parents returned home from the fields, I felt overcome by multiple thoughts –was the generosity I experienced, the profound sense of responsibility, the caring for family and friends, the result of working on the land, of the powerful labor whose product nourishes us all? To my amazement I began to see a story, as if projected on the windshield of the car… the story was as vivid as a film, even though I could only see it through abundant tears. When I arrived to my silent home, I hurriedly wrote it all down before succumbing to tiredness. The following morning I was sure I had had a vivid dream and only regretted not being able to remember.

What a surprise to find the written text of what would become The Gold Coin. A story of generosity and of redemption through the work of the land.

At the time I had several books published in Spain, in Peru, in Argentina. But under the encouragement of my daughter Rosalma, who suggested I had tapped in some sort of universal truth and insisted that I should try to get this book published in the US, I went on to collect rejections. It was 1990 and the letters I received said things like “this seems to have been written by a Hispanic” !!! or “American children would not be interested in a story like this” !!! or “the feelings behind this story are alien to this market.”

There were very few Latino editors at the time. Ana Cerro, a young assistant editor at Simon & Schuster was one of the few, and she recommended the publication of The Gold Coin.

What a joyful surprise that after winning the Christopher Award the story would indeed be included in all the reading series published in the several following years. And what a joy that today the presence of Latinos, both as readers and authors, receives some recognition even if far from what it deserves.

While the first, The Gold Coin was not the only text inspired by my continuous work with farm-working families in numerous districts.

Some of the poems I wrote after being in the fields became Gathering the Sun, magnificently illustrated by Simón Silva, who grew up in Calexico, among the carrot fields where his family worked. The book is dedicated to eight of my doctoral advisees, all of farm-working extraction.

In 1991 my ample poetry anthology Días y días de poesía was published with a  dedication to the children and parents of Pájaro Valley.

El vuelo de los colibríes (1995), which regrettably is yet to be published in English, is a story based on migrant experiences.

Imágenes del pasado co-authored with Isabel Campoy includes my essay Teatro campesino: ¡Qué florezca la luz! inspired in moments spent in San Juan Bautista.

In the biography series of Gateways to the Sun/Puertas al sol, Isabel and I chose to include biographies of César Chávez and of Luis Valdés.

Now, several years later, the farm-working experience reappears in the middle grades novel, Dancing Home, which I co-authored with my son Gabriel Zubizarreta. Once again, not as a conscious effort, but as a natural result of what has been a constant presence in my reflection and action.

The privilege of knowing and working with migrant farm working families and of learning alongside my doctoral students of farm working origin has been an enormous gift, and I continue to grow from it.

The Author

Alma Flor Ada, Professor Emerita at the University of San Francisco, has devoted her life to advocacy for peace by promoting a pedagogy oriented to personal realization and social justice. A former Radcliffe Scholar at Harvard University and Fulbright Research Scholar she is an internationally renown speaker in issues of bilingualism and multicultural education.

Alma Flor is the author of numerous children’s books of poetry, narrative, folklore, personal memoirs and non fiction. Her books have received prestigious awards; among many: Christopher Medal (The Gold Coin), Pura Belpré Medal (Under the Royal Palms), Once Upon a World (Gathering the Sun), Parents’ Choice Honor (Dear Peter Rabbit), NCSS and CBC Notable Book (My Name is María Isabel), Junior Library Guild (Tales Our Abuelitas Told). She is also the author of a book of memoirs, Vivir en dos idiomas, two novels for adults, En clave de sol and A pesar del amor, and several professional books for educators, including A Magical Encounter: Latino Children’s Literature in the Classroom, as well as a wealth of educational materials. Her work, in collaboration with F. Isabel Campoy in promoting authorship in students, teachers, and parents is the content of their book Authors in the Classroom: A Transformative Education Process. Alma Flor Ada has been awarded the American Education Research Association [AERA] Hispanic Issues Award for Research in Elementary, Secondary and Postsecondary Education and the California Association for Bilingual Education [CABE] Life Long Award.

The Giveaway

L4LL has put together a wonderful collection of Latino children’s literature to be given to a school or public library. Many of the books were donated by the authors and illustrators participating in this blog hop. You can read a complete list of titles here on the L4LL website.

To enter your school library or local library in the giveaway, simply leave a comment below.

The deadline to enter is 11:59 EST, Monday, April 29th. The winner will be chosen using Random.org and announced on the L4LL website on April 30th, Día de los Niños, Día de los Libros, and will be contacted via email – so be sure to leave a valid email address in your comment! (If we have no way to contact you, we’ll have to choose someone else!)

By entering this giveaway, you agree to the Official Sweepstakes Rules (link to http://www.latinas4latinolit.org/p/blog-page_1366.html). No purchase required. Void where prohibited.

¡Buena suerte!

An amazing group of Rhody bloggers have come together with La-Z-Boy to host a sit-a-thon for Belle a sweet, fiesty and lovable two year old I’ve known since she was a wee babe. Quiet appropriate for the blogging bunch, don’t you think? Sitting for a cause? The weekend will be filled with lots of family friendly activities and every penny from donations and our auction  will be given directly to Belle’s family. You can find a line up of the weekend’s events here. This is her story.

On New Year’s Eve just this past December, I called a friend of mine to see if we were still going to the movies to watch Les Mis. Her daughter, Belle,  had a terrible stomach bug and had  been sick on and off since Christmas, like so many kids that time of year. I wanted to make sure she didn’t need to cancel to nurse her baby back to health. When she answered her voice was shaky.

Leukemia, crying, me sobbing, are they sure, she’s staying in the hospital for the next month, spinal tap, chemo, she’s just two.

I didn’t know I could be so instantly shaken by a phone call. I had to pull over. Wasn’t Belle just fine a few weeks ago when we had a playdate? She was fine over the summer at the playground. She’s been fine the entire two years we’ve known her. This can’t be. Her mom cooks everything from scratch and cloth diapers and believes in feeding her kids healthy and sneaking in a cake pop here or there. Her brother is fine. No child deserves this. Not her. Not them.

I went to the hospital that night and saw their brave faces. No tears just strength in the face of the unthinkable. The beauty to emerge from this has been the overwhelming support this little girl’s family has received since that fateful day.

Meals planned for months on end, bracelets sold in her name, fundraising events, prayers, visits, donations, a photography session, toys, clothes, love.

It is inspiring to witness a community rise to the occasion for one of its own. And by community, I don’t mean just individuals who knew this family but strangers whose only tie to this family are a compassionate heart and, perhaps, being a parent themselves or knowing someone who has fought the same fight. The road is long ahead of them and, unfortunately, expensive.

This is the cost of a one month hospital stay for a two year old with leukemia. This family is more fortunate than most because they have health insurance. However, and it’s  a big however, they are still responsible for a portion of the expenses incurred. After her initial one month stay, Belle went home and adjusted well to life back in familiar surroundings. Then she went back into the hospital, caught a fever and needed to stay another week. She went home again and today finds herself once again in the hospital, with no idea how long her stay will be. This is Belle’s family’s new normal. The cancer will not up and leave one day. It’s a long, arduous process of helping her body fight, day by long day. Doctors tell them it’s at least a 5 year journey they’re on before they can, with any certainty, declare anything our hearts are wishing for.

To put into perspective the financial needs of a family fighting cancer, you have to consider all the expenses they face. There are the expenses they’ve always had – a mortgage, insurance, food, clothes, fuel, car repairs, home repair, pet care, school needs for their kids – all the things us non-cancer fighting folks always have to deal with. Add to that the cost of cancer – out patient chemo, unexpected hospital stays, medications, time off from work, unforeseen procedures and complications, unexpected arrangements for your other child while you take care of your sick daughter, and a list of things I can’t begin to imagine.

Rhody Bloggers for Good are determined to help Belle’s family by raising money to support them on their journey. We’ve set our fundraising goal high and believe every single donation counts. There are two ways to lend a hand. First, come on down to our sit-a-thon the weekend of April 6th. There will family friendly activities and an amazing array of auction items. The other way is by making a donation to Belle’s donation page.. Every single penny counts.

Donate Here