She lived with her landless family on a sugar plantation in a neighboring town.
Her weathered Father was a campesino, with wrinkles on his face for all of the times he sowed, tended and harvested the sugar cane in the hot, hot sun.
There was a kindness in his eyes that welled up from the deep feelings in his heart as he worked to keep his family alive.
His hands and feet were calloused and gnarled, for they had been blistered and broken and used as tools all of his life.
He worked from the time he walked beside his papí on the plantation until now in the time of his mid-life life when he walked the same land, the land of the wealthy land owner, the land that bent his back to make it appear as if he were continually genuflecting to God, or to the land owner, or to the land itself.
She listened to his life, for she was a gifted girl who listened intently to the lives of people and knew, simply knew, the inner workings of their minds and hearts, the true meanings of their actions and words.
In that listening, she heard the life of her papí speak.
"I am a human being.
No person is better than another.
My family has a right to food, shelter, clothing, school, and medicine.
We are human beings.”
These words grew in her.
They were watered by laughter she laughed with friends in her neighborhood.
They were watered by tears she cried as she lay in bed each night, hungry from only one meal the whole day.
These words grew into action.
These words grew into love.
“I am a human being.”
No comments:
Post a Comment