m a Daughter - Volume 1
A Brief Tome of Poetry and Essays from a Daughter's Heart
By Margie Jimenez
Copyright 2012 Margie Jimenez
Contents
Introduction
Discrimination
Odes from a Daughter
Abandoned
Even If
Disappointment
Broken Promises
Days of Weeping
Pancho and Other Creatures
"My Last Name is not Con Edison"
“Dime con quien andas y te diré quién eres.”
Death & Grief
Death is a Veil
I Remember Her as a Fighter
Introduction
“Odes from a Daughter” is a compilation of my writings. Some of it is poetry and some of it is prose written in essay form. All of it has been written to honor my dear late mother, Norma Echevarria-Nater.
My mother, Norma grew up in Puerto Rico and immigrated to the United States when she was just an adolescent. She married and divorced before she was 30 years old and thereafter raised two young daughters on her own. Being a parent was her greatest joy in life. My mother who never knew her own father, having lost him while she was still an infant, felt his absence heavily her entire life. As such, her greatest desire was that her own children would experience what she never could - the steady presence of a loving and caring father. Unfortunately, this was not to be.
Her marriage didn't last long and our biological father's presence in our lives was inconsistent. In spite of that she tried really hard to make their relationship work, even after their divorce because her goal was always to ensure that we knew we had a father whether or not he chose to play that role in his children's lives.
Interspersed within these pages you’ll find verse and text that relate to some of her story, but bear in mind this is also my story as well as my siblings. You’ll find words that speak of familial dysfunction, rejection, abandonment, and affliction. She also had many moments of great joy and contentment like when her grandchildren were born but those I'll save for another tome.
Ultimately my goal in writing this is to not only remember and cherish our memories of her but also to heal. To release through the written word the pain, hurt and familial negativity that marred hers and our existence.
I hope to follow this up with Volume 2, which will contain a fictionalized account of my mother's life as told through a character I've named "Nati".
My mother’s journey on this earth ended on the 25th of June, 2005. She was 70 years old. Our beloved Ma is now in the presence of Almighty God awaiting those of us whose journeys continue on.
Discrimination
She was born in Puerto Rico. La “Isla del Encanto” or Isle of Enchantment as it’s known to the gringos. She took after her European ancestors with white skin, fair hair and big luminous green eyes.
She was an American citizen by birthright as Puerto Rico is a commonwealth of the United States and so she immigrated to its shores while still in her teens. She arrived, as so many did before her, speaking only Spanish. This lack of native language skills became a liability for her, an excuse for others to categorize her as less than or not equal.
She never wanted to leave her beloved island of birth but her mother and her grandparents had given her no other choice. They decided for her that this was the place where she would make her life. They hoped she would in some manner attain the American dream.
Pursuing her education in America was especially difficult for her. The language barrier made it almost impossible to assimilate well in school and so she abruptly dropped out at 16.
Determined to make the best of it and in spite of her lack of academic credentials, at 17 she sought to model. She was a beauty then. She could have totally pulled it off but when she opened her mouth to speak it was over before it had begun. Her accent was thick, laborious for others to understand and the powers that be could not see her beauty or potential for modeling beyond her speech or lack thereof. They, the gringos, non-Latinos who had initially expressed interest in her and slightly opened that door of hope, now shut it forcefully. True, her “fair skin” had given her the opportunity to try to model but her thick Spanish accent, difficult to decipher had shut the door on her dream. She called it “ethnic discrimination”.
Pressing on she burrowed herself into her community. Most of her neighbors were Latinos like herself. She appreciated these recent immigrants who brought their rich culture with them. They shared their traditions, their culture, and their food but mostly she appreciated that they brought and kept their language, the beautiful Spanish language of her ancestors and of her Latino culture.
She stayed in that community called “Manhattanville”, a place located on the fringes of black Harlem. There she married and birthed her two children. In 1963 she went to deliver her second child at the former Sydenham Hospital in Harlem, the closest municipal hospital at the time. She described it as one of the worst experiences of her life.
There, within the walls of that medical institution, charged with providing her care without judgment, she experienced a near-tragedy. The administrators, nurses, staff, none of them white or Latino treated her as less-than. At a moment in time when the fight for civil rights was vigorous, in fact it was the order of the day; my mother became a victim of intolerance because of the color of her skin.
She described being treated with utter disdain as soon as she arrived. They pegged her as the enemy and treated her as such. Immediately, she was separated from her family as her mother forcefully protested this action. Placed on a gurney, she was taken to the Maternity floor but instead of placing her in a room, she was left alone in a dank and dirty hallway, ignored even as she endured the throes of childbirth. Lying there, she cried - for her mother, for her husband, for some compassion and mercy. For many hours, she cried but her wails were ignored. By the time she was ready to give birth, she was in anguish. She felt like giving up. Her tears had run their course. She felt her life ebbing away.
She doesn’t remember much after that, only her mother’s recollections that her maternal concern and persistence surely saved her daughter’s life that day. Her mother, all four foot nine of her roared up like a raging lioness demanding to see her child, finding her in that hallway, listless, pale and in grave condition. Ultimately, she survived the experience but for a while it marred her faith in her fellow man.
Why was she treated this way? She had her theories. She says it was because she did not look like them - a Latino, who was not tawny colored, but white. She called it reverse racial discrimination as she had never, ever experienced before or since.
Maybe that is why she determined to treat others as equals. She never tolerated any type of discrimination or injustice after that experience, towards herself or towards others. She would live her life to show in deed and action that we are all created equal no matter the color of our skin or what language we speak.
She was our inspiration. She was our hero.
Odes from a Daughter
She is just one of many daughters born into dysfunction, affected by strife, afflicted by pain. Hers, a life of suffering, dejection and despair, her lot. Does she seem
familiar to you?
She is just one of many daughters suffering loss, not to death, but to… abandonment. Her father casting her off like second-hand goods, rejection and desertion the result.
She is just one of many daughters. With two parents once,
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