After the news of my father’s death, life was a blur for a few months. We had a funeral that one of my dad’s Puerto Rican cousins from New Jersey helped to plan. It was uncomfortably showy for me since he hardly attended any church. Then, there was a trial that released the man who shot my father. Mother was so afraid after the verdict that she pulled us out of school and tried to figure out a way to leave the area. Dad had isolated her so thoroughly that she had no place to turn. Now we were without friends and structure as we waited to see what mother and the other adults would do. It was as if we were in exile.
The prophet Isaiah spoke to the exiles on behalf of their God when he said, “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” (Isaiah 43:19)
My mother’s hometown in Texas felt like a desert. It had less than 5000 people. The town I left had a population of 90,000. In that Texas town, there was little to do as far as enrichment or entertainment. And there was a racial-ethnic divide that I had never experienced before as a Latina. I hated the place. After the chaotic and destabilizing events, it was hard to see the good coming out of returning to our mother’s hometown except that we were no longer near the assailant who was released. I was very angry and even more determined to find my way out of the family and the trauma we were trying to overcome.
Looking back, I realize that talking to someone like a counselor would have been helpful. Unfortunately, minority communities have often felt misunderstood and unfairly characterized by mental health clinicians who are not culturally competent and aware of the problems black and brown people face. Therefore, seeking mental health services is stigmatized in those communities. The idea is to just keep going and work out problems on your own. Seeking help outside the home would label you as weak or “crazy.” This is unfortunate because traumatic events impact the victims and their families. Finding a caring professional to talk to can help victims and survivors of trauma cope. The National Institute of Mental Health offers valuable information and referrals to anyone in distress after a traumatic event.
The one thing that saved me was my attraction to performing arts and music. Sometimes, going to church and saying my prayers helped in my private moments. Before the death of my father, I was in the Girl’s Chorus at school. It was nice to sing in a group, and the teacher was kind, but I still wanted to find ways of expression that were artistic, so I gravitated towards the drama club. Little by little, I began with poetry reading and duet acting. As I grappled with techniques for learning lines, I also learned how to read a poem with expression while not being overly dramatic. Soon, I began to get parts in plays that were strong supporting roles like a mother or a queen who was worried about her daughter, the princess. I think my height and my vocal quality were influential in my being cast in the more mature roles. In my senior year, I progressed to district finals in the poetry competition. This was a validation of my efforts.
One day, I was told about a two-week drama camp at a university (Stephen F. Austin State University) that took place over the summer. It cost $120. Since I didn’t have the money, I got a job cleaning houses like my mother. Then I applied to the drama camp and was accepted. The two weeks that I spent there were exciting and glorious because I was doing something I loved and was beginning to feel like an actress. The regimen was disciplined with morning exercises, morning scene work, a lunch break and afternoon rehearsals for the one act plays we were cast in. I was cast in two very dramatic parts and won a small scholarship to attend the school sponsoring the event. For me, this scholarship was a sign that I had the aptitude for performing. While my extended family criticized me or ridiculed my aspirations, I believed with all my heart that God was really doing a new thing in my life and maybe I could be someone. For now, I had to finish my senior year and make plans for college.
I ended up going to Stephen F. Austin University in East Texas, and chose to major in theater arts. I had to select a minor as well so (ironically) I chose Spanish because the school said a language could replace a math class. This was good news since I always struggled with numbers. I also struggled with formally learning Spanish because I was criticized by mainstream classmates for my lack of knowledge as a “native speaker.” It was so infuriating that I did the bare minimum and began to disconnect even more from my ethnicity. So, I identified as an aspiring actress and I was able to grow in that role.
A door opened at school. There was an opportunity to audition for a scene that would be performed at the Modern Language Convention in New York City. One of the professors had written a paper about a French playwright and was scheduled to present it and a duet scene at the event. I was extremely fortunate to have gotten one of the parts, as I was a sophomore and there were more experienced actresses competing with me.
When we were in New York, I felt like I was transported to another world. How cool it was to be in a city where there were so many different groups of people who spoke other languages. No one was hassling me because I blended in! We saw two Broadway plays, Dracula and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. The magic of live theater enthralled me. When we performed at the conference, two Catholic sisters complimented my performance, which was gratifying. Soon we returned to school, and reality.
I eventually graduated from Stephen F. Austin and returned home because I couldn’t find any theater groups having seasonal auditions nearby. My mother was very controlling again. I convinced her to let me stay with relatives in California to take my shot at living my dream. It was my only way out. I prayed that God would help me as I would go to find my place in the world. I needed to move away from the past and try new things so I wouldn’t stay in confining and oppressive patterns. What transpired was a change in plans and a new path with two men who would become part of my life (my husband and Jesus). The next essay will conclude this series on how we can find our way in life.
