Migratory Birds
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me...who are we kidding? Words are powerful and can lead to changes in thought, belief and action. Published author, activist and teacher, Odilia Galvan Rodriguez shares and excerpt from her book, "Migratory Birds: New and Noted Poems" and reflects on her life and how she became a superwoman.
________________________________________________________________
I grew up in a predominantly Black neighborhood on the southeast side of Chicago. I attended Catholic schools with racist nuns and though I did not know that word at the time I sure knew from their actions that we were not liked much. I have three siblings, two brothers, Gilberto, Reynaldo, and one sister Isaura. I am the oldest, then Gilbert, my sister and then Rey.
I went to a public high school, Bowen High, in South Chicago neighborhood, which had a lot more Mexican-Americans than the neighborhood where I had previously lived until the age 10. At age 10, my parents divorced after a rocky marriage.
My mother took us four children and moved to the projects on the deep South Side neighborhood of South Deering which had a diversity of people; not just Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Poor Whites or Black but also Native Americans.
The surrounding neighborhood was mostly people of Irish, Polish and Slavic extractions though there were some Mexican American families who owned their own homes after having worked for many years in the steel mills there. Wisconsin Steel was the factory that busied our area at all hours of the day and night. Torrence Ave., the main street of our neighborhood was host to a tavern on almost every corner and some blocks had two or three bars…
People who lived in the projects had the stigma of being on welfare or having only one parent in the home – usually female heads of household.
My mother who refused to be on welfare had two jobs for a good part of those years after her and my dad split up. In 1967 or thereabouts she got an assembly line job at National Biscuit Company (aka Nabisco) where she would work for 32 years before retiring.
As the oldest child, early on I had to learn how to cook, clean, and take care of my siblings. My mother worked third shift for the first four to five years there and the responsibility of getting “the kids” to school in the mornings and settled at home after school – they ate dinner and did their homework fell to me.
As a young child, I was very inquisitive, always asking questions and taking in any bits and pieces of the family history. Since children were supposed to be seen and not heard, at times, I was severely scolded for this behavior. However, being the oldest and having to share parenting responsibilities with my mom I had the benefit of her sometimes needing someone to unburden herself with, and that someone happened to be me. With all the work and the raising of four children, she had little time for friends. She told me a lot about herself and her upbringing in Texas, and traveling around the US to work and how racist the schools she had attended had been. How there were signs in public places that read, “No dogs, No Mexicans and no N’s allowed. I was horrified by some of her stories but did not show it because I wanted to know everything. The talks we had and seeing how hard she had it trying to raise us children by herself, and taking in my just how hard our lives were, I started to see the injustice in the world – that is how I learned that things were just not right. The stories my mother told me about hating her life as a child laborer and migrant farm worker and about the abuses her family suffered at the hands of the farmers and growers made me want to do something to change that situation.
Later in life I would become a labor organizer for the United Farm Workers Union, AFL-CIO and after working for the “Union” for a few years I also became a long time community activist and have never really stopped struggling for Social Justice.
As I writer, I try to reflect the world as seen by a Chicana who is multilingual and multi-cultural. At age 50+, I feel as if I have lived a few lifetimes and have a lot to share. I have written three books of poetry and my work has appeared in numerous anthologies and literary journals. One of my most favorite jobs entailed teaching creative writing to young people and adults. I think finding our voices and telling our stories is a very empowering thing to do. It is important for people to know that living in America, as a Mexican is not easy…
Migratory Birds for My Mother
you were born
to gypsies
though you didn't
want to be
every spring
when orange blossom's
perfume
filled the air
your world was packed
into a few bundles
then your family
was off
living in tents
trailers
dirt floor shacks
you were born
to nomads
though you didn't
want to be
longed to live with
the settled and the straight
work in the five and dime
go to school
play tennis
but every time
you found a friend
it was time to go
another town
another round
in a world
that made
you dizzy
you were born
to migrants
though you didn't
want to be
from Texas to Illinois
living a blur
out a car window
roads endless
as fields of crops
to be picked
by the piece
never making enough
to eat
let alone
for the trip back home
pleading for the
traveling to stop
words in the wind
whooshing by ears
of the gypsy king
you were born
to wanderers
though you didn't
want to be
when you got the chance
you planted
yourself
deep
in concrete
and steel
to make sure
you or your
offspring
wouldn't
branch out
too far
from home
you were
settled
for
ever
I was born
to a life of never change
though I didn't
want to be
same familiar streets
same people
year after year
until one sweltering
Chicago summer night
the moon full
color of sun
reflecting off
fields of green
and the sweet scent
of lilacs from
our back yard
helped me sprout wings
so that I
could fly
away
© 1993
To read more poems from Odilla find her book at www.amazon.com/Migratory-Birds-New-Noted-Poems
01/07
am