One would think that going dancing should be easy. After my twenties it became harder and harder and complicated. There weren’t Ubers and I didn’t live in the city. That night in 2002 that I danced on a tiny little dance floor, muy pegado con la gente, squished in tight with the folks, in the mountains, dancing merengue and bachata, I was in love with dancing all over again.
I was a club girl, totally. The night club, the Mission in Hartford was a favorite. One of my best friends also danced there too. We probably brushed arms, legs, boobs and butts, we didn’t know each other then, but we reminisce about that time. We were both in love with the music, the people and of course the dancing. I didn’t grow up dancing merengue or bachata or salsa. I grew up with disco and r&b in the background. I won’t get into my musical tastes.
Trying to recreate that feeling of dancing in the mountains of Dominican in Connecticut, well it just didn’t work. I think there are several missing parts, family, open air and just being able to walk across the street to the Colmado, where the dance floor exists is HUGE. During Luis’ first years in Connecticut we tried to find a place to dance and yeah, no success. Let me tell you why… Entrance fee, nope. High priced drinks, nope. Competition dancers (at least in the Latino dancing world), such a turn off for Luis, nope. If we drank, we had to drive home so one of us needed to be careful, nope. People don’t want to dance til 12 midnight, nope. Not the right music, nope. Switching partners, I guess that is an island thing, nope. And on and on!
Sometimes when we come here to DR we don’t get to dance because someone passed away and therefore there is no music, nor dancing. It is the way here and I don’t question it. It is just sad for us as it is our only little coveted time to dance how we like to.
Last night, here in the mountains, I danced, we danced and it was great. And today I am sore! That is funny, as I am working hard on strengthening my bones. I want to dance more but I just haven’t done it. Zumba is not my thing lol. Either way no judgment here, but my source of inspiration showed up last night in great form! Here she is!
Duvina, as she is called, raised her family and has grandchildren who live close by but she mostly lives alone. She has a hike to get to her house but she walks everywhere. She always leaves her little sandals at the door when entering someone’s home. She is then barefoot and is maybe 85. No one really knows, nor does she.
Always a mixed crowd- all ages.Luis dancing with his mom. She loves this!
Berimon, in the red shirt, is a cousin. They both are dancing hard and mostly that is how people dance minus the hard grinding at the end of the video lol. That is the youth, occasionally you will see older folks grinding.
There is a band that plays everything. They were great at keeping the crowd going. They held a competition, best dancer wins 100.00 dollars, not pesos! And Duvina becomes one of the contestants, wow. My hero, everyone’s hero. The contest is something new around here. The guy who hired the band asked them to do it. As it is holiday time many folks who live in USA are here to be with family. Some folks who work all year, hard as hell doing the hard ass jobs that most Americans won’t do, save their money to come back to DR and enjoy it, be generous with it. In some cases it isn’t as sweet as I make it out to be. But in this case, this guy is always generous with the community. He raised the award to 300.00 and basically gave each couple dancing 100.00. I won’t get into how little people make here. As I said, generous.
Duvina and cousin Marino doing their thing!
As Christmas Eve is upon us I wish everyone health, safety, family in good health and some form of happiness even if it is just a good time dancing in your kitchen.
I feel sage yet I have only lived half my life, but I have lived…a lot. To be honest, I never thought I would make it to 35. That was my cut off age when I was a teen and here I am now, 53. My life as a child was intense and overwhelming. My mother brought my brother and me to see a counselor, maybe I was 10 years old. Thank you Mom. Although there were a few years of not seeing someone, I have essentially seen a counselor my whole life.
My brother Joe and me, at my grandmother’s house. I am around 10 years old.
How does one get to be called an old soul. My friend declared herself an old soul. People declared my younger son an old soul. I always felt like an old soul. Why?
Does carrying the burden of trauma make one an old soul, especially trauma in childhood? I don’t really have an answer but that might be the answer for me. I know there are spiritual thoughts about souls moving from one to another through birth and death and there are references to receiving an old soul.
This week has brought many emotions. I am in the lush mountains of Dominican Republic and this place can do that to me. My senses are awakened, my sage, my old soul is sensitive. The mountains, fresh air, the food, music and DR culture, yeah I am awake and I am listening. I am here at an incredible financial cost to our family, the guys will be joining me next week. Traveling during holiday time to DR is basically financially insane. However, this year is important as I have mentioned before, it is the 20th anniversary of my first trip here, incredible. Second, my son Rio is a junior in high school and after this year I can’t say when he will be here again. I want us here as a family one last time before a new chapter begins. There is no doubt Adoni will be back whenever possible, he loves the mountains.
As I am making my rounds visiting family here, with people who have cared for me since I crossed the threshold of their doorstep, before Luis and I even considered marriage, I am struck by the absolute love and loss that has passed since my last visit 2019/20. I want to add this community is small, I am walking here and there, or a short motorcycle ride to see people. Upon seeing me, she, a cousin of Luis, begins sobbing. I am surprised at first but then I am not. We both have shared many tears in the past about this or that, important words shared between two women who have lived life. So I sit and listen as she shares the loss of her father, the loss of herself over and over to her children, to her larger family and now to her mother as she is in the last leg of her life and bedridden. And somehow even through my broken Spanish from my very first trips we always seem understand each other. And I listen.
That same night during the middle of the night I received a message from a young person in their early 20’s. I guess I can call this person a former student even if that time was short. I always reached out when I could. That person felt they could share with me their fears and their current health situation. The information shared with me left me speechless and brought me to tears. I read their message and then said I would listen.
That same morning the overwhelmingly public showing of love and sadness over the of loss of a delightful, dancing and humble person, tWitch, who touched so many people via several sources including The Ellen Show and Tik Tok. Because of the manner in which he died by suicide, so many people are devastated and are also saying out loud “I am here to listen”.
But are we listening, are we? Coincidentally another friend, also former student, just wrote in social media today and said “I asked you to be here and check in and you all said you would but you didn’t.”
Thank you for saying it out loud.
Teaching has given me many students to listen to. Somehow the darkroom….always the darkroom …allowed students to say what needed to be said in their manner… the cave. Recently, a former student offered to write a recommendation for my application for teaching positions. She had no idea that writing the recommendation became a reflection on her life over the last 21 years. I could see it, hear it, feel it in her words, my heart was so full. She said “it was great to reflect on all that I gifted to her” and part of that gift was listening. And now she “listens too” in her profession as a social worker.
I have started so many blogs and have not finished them during this last year. I am just signing off on this one and not lingering over whether it sounds right, etc. Please, open your hearts and see the signs and listen. I will continue to do what I can, and you should too, my old soul is demanding it of you.
This month marks the 20th anniversary of my first trip to the Dominican Republic. I would like to reflect on this in my blog so my boys will know the details. My life changed forever in a few short weeks.
A view from Los Marranitos looking down into valley near my husband’s town. 2015
In March of 2002, I innocently took a trip to the Dominican Republic. It was a big deal. I say innocently because I somehow arrived at my destination by sheer will power and good intentioned people or pure luck. I experienced the most profound emotional connection to the earth and a group of people that would eventually become my family. I literally became grounded.
My desire to go to DR came about because of Julia Alvarez, a Dominican writer. She spoke at Miss Porter’s School where I was a teacher at the time. She spoke about a coffee farm in the mountains and the little El Centro she and her husband created. My eyes teared while she spoke, ok yeah, I cried several times during her conversation. Ms Alvarez has a way with words, after all she is an award winning writer. She moved me deeply and the DR called to me. A few years later I wrote to Ms. Alvarez and asked her if I could stay at her little community center, El Centro and she said yes. I had initially set out to investigate this place because I was planning for a future trip to bring a group of Porter’s girls to make art. It took me years but I did finally bring a group of Porter’s girls to the mountains of DR.
Kids who worked with their families at La Finca Alta Gracia. Julia Alvarez created El Centro to help bring in more educational opportunities for the children of the families working on the coffee farm. 2002
During spring break of my school year I flew to DR. I had invited my cousin to go with me. She and I are the same age and have similar interests. I had never really been anywhere outside of the country on this kind of journey. Our first stop was Sosua, a beach town that has the most precious inlet with shade from mangrove trees. I am not going to lie we had a great time. We met a couple of Dominican and Haitian guys who were in party mode. At the time the dollar was worth 54 pesos, it has gone up and down and 20 years later is still the same 54 pesos- not shocking. We stayed in the beach town for a couple of days and then headed to the mountains to Los Marranitos where El Centro at La Finca Alta Gracia was located. My cousin’s trip would be shorter than mine and soon I would be by myself at El Centro. She only had a week off from work. I didn’t desire to be by myself it just worked out like that.
In reality because of that time by myself, I experienced an intense self awakening. It sounds hippy but it is the truth. Although I didn’t know it at the time but in the months afterward the flood of emotions clued me into the fact that I was changing.
The view on the way up from Jarabacoa to area Los Marranitos. 2015
How can I describe what I experienced? At the time it was hard for me to verbalize it. I can now. It was the smell of pine wood walls, the dry air, the very cold nights, the hot- noon time sun, the breeze, the smoke from food being cooked over an open wood flame, the woman singing Bachata in a tone that I would understand as time went on, my serious lack of understanding the Spanish language, late night walks in total darkness- there was no electricity- at all, drinking very cold Presidente- a beer, dancing the most passionate Merengue, smelling night time blooming flowers(myth?), working with clay-earth straight from the ground, meeting the most generous people, forming friendships with children of which I had been known to do- but this trait travelled with me….How can I be that magical person that children want to follow, here, there and everywhere? Developing such a deep sense of belonging that I would return again in June and then November. I felt a connection to my Puerto Rican roots. Things I understood by food made by my Nana and stories told by her translated to there. Yes, I know I am talking about two different islands and cultures but the similarities were/are undeniable.
Image from my contact sheet. El Centro is in the middle of this photo, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic. 2002
I fell in love with a people, a culture and a land- 100%. And when asked about my trip I had no words to express or describe it. I cried, like literally for two months straight, a pure fountain of agua.
As a young person I always wanted to be a world traveler and I did so through National Geographic, through art, books and movies. I was 32 when I travelled to DR. I was well travelled within the USA but not outside of it. There are several names to call what I was feeling but no need to name anything. I chose to print my photographs, and return as soon as possible.
Pre Google maps and cell phones and translators I had made my arrangements with a young woman via email. She was a volunteer from Julia’s school where Julia taught in Vermont. I got the directions from her, printed it and brought it with me. Simple, right? No not simple at all, but so much fun. Because we didn’t know better, we took a taxi from the beach town to the mountain town of Jarabacoa. Who does that? I will try to not make fun of myself but the fact that we arrived safely is remarkable. Then from Jarabacoa we got on the back of a truck, una guagua, looking like hikers with our huge back packs, yeah we hiked. But it seemed silly to be in hiking gear when we were surrounded by people living- not hiking- in their daily lives.
Images from my contact sheets, La Finca Alta Gracia, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic, 2002.
After reaching another stop, which was the correct stop, however we didn’t know it, we got on the back of mopeds and travelled another 20 minutes further north near Manaboa. The reality is that there were multiple places called Alta Gracia. Eventually we made it back to Los Marranitos. I now know this place like the back of my hand, so it seems odd to recall those first days with such confusion. We had finally arrived to El Centro and the reality was that this place was super isolated, even more isolated than the little surrounding communities. If you didn’t have a dirt bike or motorcycle it took 20 minutes to walk to El Centro. I was in pretty good shape at the time but it was a serious hike in and down and hike up and out. It was a coffee farm in the mountains.
Image from my contact sheet, La Finca Alta Gracia, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic. 2002
This day of travel from the ocean side into the mountainside was unforgettable. Traveling in ways I have never experienced before leading us to experience the most grand vista with breath taking views. And it was the first day of the rest of my life.
A few things have happened since that first trip.
One of my favorite pictures of my family, Río, Angelo and Adoni, Los Dajaos, Dominican Republic. 2014
I married a Dominican man, Luis Manuel, muy sincero, cariñoso y hermoso también
We have two children together, born 2006 and 2007
We both learned a new language and became bilingual
An airport was built in Santiago making travel easier for us
The Porter’s community, we lived on campus, accepted Luis and because of this he grew
We built a functioning bathroom at his parents house-no more outhouse, we also bought property and built houses in the DR
I shared my photographs taken in DR in multiple places like Woodstock Center for Photography and Lightwork and others
Luis, opened a successful Painting business in 2006, he came here like many immigrants con nada
Cell phones arrived and eventually cell towers and because of this the mountain communities are changed forever
With my help Porter’s invited the Spanish ceramist Angels Tello Pardo, whose little school in the mountains of DR helped women make a living making Taino Pottery, to the school to share her passion and craft with the students
We had children who have grown up in the mountains of DR, they are bicultural and bilingual
My husband became a citizen of USA
Because of his Visa status he was able to bring family members to the USA
I finally brought Porter’s students on the most amazing trip to the mountains
Electricity was installed on the roads by the government
The road to Los Dajaos, my husband’s town was paved
I have seen the babies I photographed in those first years have their own babies
I have also witnessed death- regular and devastating , sickness and disease like HIV
I have the most beautiful photographic images etched into my memory unlike no other experience
We have worked so hard to make sure our children know what it means to be from the mountains of DR
I have so many photographs but they existed secondary to my feelings. I spent years going to sleep every night, breathing deeply and thinking about and visualizing the mountains. I did this with a smile on my face, it was my meditation. Earlier I had said I became grounded. After a year of multiple trips to the DR, for the first time in my life I felt like “Everything is going to be all right”.
Me and Luis Manuel in Los Dajaos, Dominican Repunlic. 2002
In December of 2002 I found myself in the emergency room as I thought I had malaria. Malaria? Yes Malaria. According to the CDC travel center, I had to take malaria prevention medication during my trip to the mountians of Dominican Republic in the spring of 2002. After meeting peace corp folks while I was there, I decided to ditch the medication at their recommendation. And I didn’t take anymore upon my subsequent trips in June nor November or ever again. I was 32 at the time. After doctor visits and bloodwork, the source of my feverish night sweats and malaise was clear. I was in menopause. And to add to the gut punch, my ovaries were measured, they were tiny the size that belonged to a woman of 45 years of age. Imagine my confusion. I was also told I would never have children. If you know me, I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what I could and couldn’t do. Never mind the fact that I never wanted to have children, or get married for that matter. For the record, I want to share this as I have never written it down. This is my story.
Me and Luis, summer, 2003. Los Dajaos, Dominican Republic. *before filters.
In the summer of 2002 I met Luis, my husband. In October of 2003 he flew to JFK, NY from Dominican Republic and we began our life together. There are many beautiful details about how our life started but this story is not about that. I did not travel to DR with the intention of falling in love, yet I did and here we are.
I know my story about infertility is not unique. I also can’t say that anything of what happened is scientifically perfect or willed out of desire or mere luck. My heart goes out to all the women whose story is different, I see you. It became abundantly clear that I am my mother’s daughter. She too had early onset of menopause in her 30’s. I never thought it would happen to me too, she didn’t either. There was no one guiding us to say “hey maybe you want to think about this”. Although, I probably would not have listened if someone had.
Even if I had wanted to do the in vitro thing I couldn’t because there weren’t any eggs to use, so I was told. At the time I was into yoga and meditation and my teacher suggested acupuncture. I scoffed at such a thought, I am a wimp around needles. However, love changed my tune. I was married and we wanted children, I wanted children. A long time friend’s sister is an acupuncturist in West Hartford, CT. Soon after my first appointments with her I was addicted to the feelings of energy and calm that became my body. Number one, I was stressed, number two, my menastral cycle was short and number three, my blood was thin. My stress was internal and deep.
I made changes, I began a heavy root, dark greens and stewed meat diet to strengthen my blood. I had been a vegetarian for about 10 years. I will not get into those details nor belittle my life in my 20’s. If I wanted to give my body a chance to produce a baby I had to change. I drank medicinal teas, received acupuncture twice a week and worked on being less stressed. And of course in order to have a baby there is sex. I took my temperature daily, took notes and timed sex to help make a baby, fertilize an egg that was said to not be there. In 2005 I miscarried.
There are very few photographs of me pregnant or things that people do to remember or record a pregnancy, just my words. I am not superstitious but clearly I acted in superstitious ways. And the reality is when I look back on the situation my artistic self, my photographic self wanted nothing to do with the moment. I compartmentalized things, for my safety.
I remember a thoughtful conversation with my head of school, she was genuinely concerned for me and my health and of course for women. She was the head of the beloved all girls boarding school, Miss Porter’s School, her name, Burch Ford. I admired her and her dedication to girls and the school even when I disagreed with her and some of her actions. She truly wanted to know if stress was the root of my situation. She wanted a definitive answer. I didn’t have one to give her. But in 2021, I think we all know that stress is a factor for many ills, and my family has sure had is share of generational trauma, deep rooted stress.
The day that the doctor called me to tell me there was nothing else they/we could do, I had intended on calling them to share that I was pregnant again. Two years in the making, that little heart beating on the monitor was a sight to see. My pregnancy was amazing, I walked on clouds. Mostly, it was regular and uneventful. What helped it stay that way was the doula that we hired to help me. A favorite student of mine recalled that I was a total bitch during my pregnancy, that is not how I remember it.
At the time my mother was in Florida and my mother in law, in Dominican Republic. I wanted to be sure that I had someone in my corner. Luis’ English was ok and all of this baby stuff was so new. There were no close friends who were having babies. The doula was my life line, she helped me not be afraid of a wonderful and natural moment. The day that Rio was born we had dropped my mom off at the airport early in the morning, she missed his birth. She had been visiting for my baby shower.
That evening my water broke during dinner while we were in the dinning room at Porter’s, my job. It was a surprise to say the least. The moments leading up to this birth were unforgettable. My midwife said to hang tight and she would see me in the morning, ha! Back at our house, Luis was nervous and I was rooting in my bed trying to get comfortable. He offered to make me tea and proceeded to boil water in the serving tea pot not the boiling tea pot. It was at that point I decided we needed the doula. Luis was a nervous wreck. She arrived around 10:30pm. Rolling and rooting in my bed, I didn’t really have signs or contractions to say the baby was coming anytime soon, also no pain. But some time after 11pm I announced the need to go to the bathroom. That moment, me sitting on the toilet, I screamed… “the baby is coming!!”.
The miracle of Rio is that he arrived, I became pregnant against stupid odds. He also came into the world with lighting speed. I couldn’t make it to the birthing center to give birth naturally with the doula and midwife. We rushed to the emergency room at UConn, a 5 minute ride, speeding of course. It was below freezing temperatures and I needed all windows down, I was panting like a dog. The doula pleaded that I don’t push. She was afraid, as she shared with me later, that I would have the baby in the car. It was too cold that night. I was wheeled into emergency and told again “do not push”. The doula was miraculously at my side, poor Luis was parking the car and when the doctor arrived they were ready for me to push. A few pushes later baby Rio arrived. Luis missed his birth while parking the car.
A birth happened and it was incredibly uneventful and yet beautiful. My doula asked the emergency doctors for me to birth in the way I wanted, naturally. As time was of the essence, there was no time to be hooked up, or medicated or anything for that matter. All I could do was deliver my baby, our baby, naturally and in minutes. His name is Rio Jose, named with an earth name and named after the Joe’s in both of our families. Rio arrived that night of January 15th at 11:58pm to be exact, he came two weeks early. As UConn is a teaching hospital, our birth story of speed became the whispered story, many came in to see me and Rio.
Adoni, 5 months old. Farmington, CT on the grounds of Miss Porter’s School, 2008. Photographer, Solangel Patino.
Was there emotional turmoil at this time in my life, sure. But I choose to remember the beauty, trust me this is not easy to write about. We were deeply in love, acupuncture kept me calm and focused, and our doula gave me freedom to know that I could birth naturally. Our second baby came 22 months later. This time we were prepared. When my water broke we drove immediately to the birthing center. This birth lasted 3 hours. My water broke at 6:30pm and Adoni Cedar was born on that night of November 2nd at 9:30pm. So call it what you will, a miracle or two, faith, acupuncture, eating meat, or LOVE.
Trigger warning…for me. I registered my 14 year old, Rio for public high school. While filling out the form I was brought right back to his first year of Kindergarten, where it all started.
Río at his Kindergarten graduation. Happy kid.
The summer before kindergarten when I registered Rio, I proudly filled out the questions that asked if he spoke another language with the answer yes. When asked if we wanted the paperwork that goes home to be in English and Spanish, I said yes. When asked what language he spoke at home I answered English and Spanish. This is true, he is bilingual since the birth of his words. And there folks, is when it all began, the crumble of what I thought Kindergarten/school should be and what it actually was.
By some law here in CT to protect children, my son was tested in his first week of school because I checked a box that said he spoke another language at home. Harmless right? Well there began what I considered the problem. He failed the test, and then was taken out of his classroom for extra help, daily. None of this I knew until 1.5 months into school. Principal also said to me that most kindergarteners would fail the test. And there I was in the principal’s office crying. Could I say then what I was crying about, no, but I knew deep down something was not right.
Rio wearing his favorite shirt to our first NYC performance, STOMP. This is the shirt he was asked to remove while in school because it was considered inappropriate.
I want to preface all of this with “desire” and “need” to homeschool. We desired to homeschool but our reality would not permit that. I was employed full time at Miss Porter’s School, an all girls boarding school in CT and our family lived on campus and for the most part I liked my job and loved my students. Rio attended the local public school with all of his daycare peers, also my peer families of my employment. Our desire to homeschool was dreamy, like we will spend our winters in Dominican Republic. However, I never thought what happened to Rio at school would drive me to quit me job and decide to homeschool my kids. And in the end it was a need. By February I told my head of school I was not returning, after 14 years of employment, my beautiful, talented and amazing students who kept me returning year after year, nothing was going to stop me and our new family plan. I made a dramatic decision, even revolutionary. It changed our lives forever.
Coincidentally Rio’s entrance into high school is during a Pandemic, Covid-19 and Black Lives Matter movements, so we are raw, sensitive and I am looking at and reviewing things with the eyes of a hawk. The registration form again asks the exact same questions and I quickly find myself going back and changing my answers. All so that he will fit the norm of what is versus the reality of our home life- bilingual. How can we be proud, recognized as normal and human all at once? What I learned that year from Rio’s school even in 2011 is that he was sized up and judged before he even had a chance. I guess I was braver than the generation before me that refused to teach its children to speak Spanish, me and all my cousins the result of 100% assimilation caused by racism.
Rio Fernandez Bilingual, Father from Dominican Republic, Mother half white and half Puerto Rican
It didn’t matter that I was employed at one of the most prestigious schools, it didn’t matter that Rio actually spoke English and spent his whole little life in an English speaking daycare, it didn’t matter that he too was a loved child in his daycare and he was given the stamp of approval- ready for Kindergarten. None of it mattered, thankfully his self esteem was not destroyed that year. As I worked in all girls education I learned about what works for girls and what works for boys, also what doesn’t. What had alarmed me and had me in the principal’s office when his teacher had no time for me was the simple fact that he was being removed from the classroom daily to get reading help. Many said, come on, what is the problem? He is getting help where when he needs it.
My issue was, I didn’t want him removed from the classroom. Everything I had read said it would cause future problems, especially with self esteem and that was my major cause of concern. Here are a few negative things I remember about that year.
Teaching kindergarten at second grade level, too rigorous for a 5/6 year old
Removed from the classroom daily, seen by peers as different or less than, humiliation
Being asked to change his “inappropriate” shirt, humiliation
Being asked to stop singing an “inappropriate” song in front of his classmates, humiliation
Asked to read and saying a word incorrectly, laughed at by his group, humiliation
Not feeling supported by his teacher, abandoned
Spring baseball, happy. This was during his Kindergarten year.
Some of these points could be seen as part of life and growing up, I get that, but all bundled together weighed heavy on him and us. In late fall of that year he was playing with a group of friends right after school and they all fell to the ground together and he fractured his arm. That winter while we were in Dominican Republic, 6 weeks after the initial fracture, he slipped and fell and broke it in the exact same spot. The Dominican doctor angry asked us why he didn’t have a cast on him. Me, horrified as they, the doctors here in USA, said he didn’t need a cast. Río had a removable plastic cast and they said after 6 weeks he could remove it when not playing. It was a freak accident, he slipped on a wet floor. A lot happened to Rio in 4 months at 5 years old. It wasn’t even January yet.
Dominican doctor, “kids are monkeys, we always put a cast on them”. Our doctor here in USA, broke a sweat when cutting of the “thick” Dominican cast.
When looking back on this time with both boys, homeschooling and all of it, I would not change my decision. New to homeschool moms and dads, grandparents and guardians you will get to know the real you and the real them during this time- be ready to have every single thing you thought to be true questioned, turned over and possibly thrown right back in your face. And the truth is I am flexible, go with the flow and a spontaneous person. All of this did not matter. Two independent, stubborn and non conforming, self starter adults expected their children to be conforming, easy and submissive- not.
The image on the bottom is summer time before Kindergarten, the other two images are from the fall after Rio’s first year of Kindergarten. It is hard to not read into the drawings. That fall was very difficult too as we changed everything, we moved houses, towns and no more school or old friends.
Everyone wants to know why now, why on earth would you send your kid to public school now? Simple, he wants to go. We have been looking into attending school and prepping for freshman year for the last two years. He is an athlete among other things and wants to participate in seasonal sports. Connecticut laws do not allow homeschoolers to participate. There were other paths but we have arrived at this moment. If we wait this year out in terms of thinking of health, we are propagating fear. Masks are in our present and future.
In this current moment of quarantine we are having more movie nights. I convinced the family to watch Stand By Me. At first they had too much to say about how it is old, and who cares and all the typical kid stuff, and not enough guns for Luis. Soon after the movie started they became invested, the characters were relatable.
In 2020 and all the way back to the days my kids were born, a kid’s freedom to run and roam is long gone. This movie gives glimpses into the life my boys love. Maybe today in USA if a kid lives on a farm or near woods they are lucky. Some would even call this a crisis of this generation, kid do not have freedom to roam. The picture above with Adoni was taken by me but the meeting happened by accident. He told me he was riding his bike down in an area of town that has been closed off for people to get exercise during quarantine. He didn’t exactly lie but on his way home he went exploring. I had decided to go for a walk and there he was. He was riding his bike on a route I walked a million times when I was a kid, the train tracks. He wanted to show his friend (with social distancing in mind), the route to my grandmother’s old house. This was a bold move on his part. He screamed to me, “hey I was getting my phone out to call you” yeah right.
Adoni and I went back to explore. He has a mask on.
My boys know my story about my own cross with death near these tracks. Maybe in a different post I will write about my story.
Adoni and his cousins in mountains of Dominican Republic. Over the course of a month they collected thousands of coquito nuts, organized, donated for dulce, cracked and ate and most importantly played a game where they won and lost them. The game is similar to marbles. In order to play they have to remove the outer shell.This is a few years old, but a favorite photograph of mine shot in Dominican Republic. Rio, cousin Angelo and Adoni in the back.
Rio and Adoni are lucky because we live two lives in two different countries and there are different freedoms in each country. Their age now is giving them more freedom, living on a dead end street and homeschooling also give them some freedom. But in the Dominican, mountains and family and climate have created a vast place to explore to be a kid and create a stories, ones that might even be a story line for a movie.
It is not a magic thing, but it all happened so fast it felt like magic. Will there be a grand ending? We know the answer will not have any magic. I am writing this post to officially say goodbye to the people we didn’t have a real chance to say goodbye to. We just up and left- like radical. Although most of the boys will never even see the post I am writing it anyway for closure.
We left the Dominican 6 days ago and I feel like I have a hole inside. Rio maybe feels something but he is so 14, in his mind, he is elsewhere. Me, I am stuck with all these faces and relationships that we were building with coaches, trainers, trainees, baseball loving youth, apartment mates, new friends and some family who live in the city of Santo Domingo.
Rio catching.
In the photo above, Ramon Delgado, the trainer and Pedro his assistant along with the boys watch Rio. So about 25 days with these guys, one can’t deny a relationship forming. We intended to be in DR for 3 months or more.
Genaro, an American Dominican kid training like Rio and Rio.
Remember when I had said Rio hadn’t even seen the ocean. That weekend with Genaro he had gone to a dance party for kids, then next day they went to a private club by the ocean. So yes he did in fact see the ocean before we left.
Rio as catcher and Pedro giving advice.
Our roommates, Katy and her helper Altagracia, helped us figure out the city. Katy helped me learn how to be on my toes and be safe. Our cousin Mariel helped us too. I was looking forward to being able to say that I lived in the city, and we survived! It has been many years since I had a roommate and certainly a new experience for Rio.
Alta and Katy.
And with this I say goodbye, con Dios. I really hope that we will see everyone again. The latest I have read about COVID-19 is that we will be looking at months-many months before we even see something called normal again. There is no magic in that.
Rio arriving at practice with a kid who shows up every morning just to hang out and get things for people if needed. Sweet kid.
Not sure if you believe in signs but this morning I woke and the last sign arrived in a message to Rio’s phone via WhatsApp. With in an hour I purchased tickets for us to fly home to be with Luis and Adoni. On one hand I had romanticized our experience here in DR. I truly believed we would be fine in DR, Rio doing his baseball and me making sure we were all set. I too was working out at the gym with a trainer. We were going 3 times a week. Although I thought we would be able to do much more during our days here in DR. At best all we could muster was his practice and the gym during the week, movies once a week and maybe going away on the weekend. And Corona virus is not really on the island, after all there are only 5 cases, so they say.
My hair, I washed it yesterday and there was a clump of hair in my hand. Oh, something isn’t right.
We had plans this weekend to go to our house in the mountains, our nephew who lives in the house is sick, like really sick, I learned this last night. Also our ride fell through. Side note, I felt that if we need to go to our house in the mountains in case the virus took over we would be safe there. I was not feeling that after learning about these details.
The ominous message that came on the phone from unknown person. It said get ready, buy a water, candles and food, after the elections on Sunday, on Monday everything is going to close down.
You know when you just don’t feel complete or right, also Rio commenting that he really wanted to go home. At first listen, I thought he was feeling that way as the baseball thing is HARD. But think about it, we are a homeschooling family, we are together all the time. Now granted, my kids need to have growing pains and experience tough things. But maybe in a time of crisis it is not necessary. And lastly and maybe most important, Adoni is a healthy kid, but he is also my allergy kid who has asthma. My son is immuno-compromised. I want to be home with him. Our town and state are closing things left and right. The USA is also banning certain countries from flying into the country. I decided I don’t want to be stuck here in DR, living the dream.
Today is international women’s day and although this post has been in the works for a while now I thought it appropriate to publish it today.
When I first experienced this idea of the “salon” in DR, I honestly didn’t understand why. Why would I go through so much trouble to straighten my hair when in no short time it would be back wild and frizzy. That was my understanding of the salon-putting rolos-curlers in the hair- an addiction to have straight hair. Well I am partially wrong. I missed the part called family and women doing things together. Let’s think about the salon as a woman’s world and woman’s work and most importantly companionship.
My grandmother Rena and her sisters.
My grandmother and her sisters set their hair with curlers, slept with those damn things, and this happened regularly. I thought of it as quaint, something from the past, but I missed the point. What an ass I am/was. In my defense, my mother never did her own hair in curlers and certainly never taught me to do mine. I was also a teenager in the 80’s when everyone who had straight hair got a perm to make big hair. My perspective has been about the art of it- the finish, not necessarily the process – and companionships. My grandmother, the one not looking in the picture, had 5 sisters and they had a beautiful bond and one that lasted. Maybe I am romanticizing it by saying that they confirmed those bonds over and over by doing each other’s hair. My great aunt Freda is still alive! She will be 94 this year, beautiful soul, she is the one pictured far right.
1987 high school yearbook
Here in DR, it seems to be a right of passage of women to learn how to put hair en rolos, one female member of the family passes it onto the next. I totally understand there is the immense history of hair straightening here and Dominicans are the best at it. The roots aren’t necessarily from a good place, and I really can’t bring up rollos with out mentioning the roots. See the link below, a trusted friend Ruth, shared this link with me.
My salon experiences over the last couple of months here in DR. They were Joyful and full of family and companionship even if I didn’t understand every word.
At this moment I would prefer to think of the salon as self care and comfort. So I will announce that I have had an awakening about self care and salons since the summer of 2019 when my cousin did my hair for the first time. Thank you Andrea. It has only taken me 18 years to figure it out, or my entire adult life?! I say 18 years because I have been traveling to DR since 2002. As my friends know, I am not a regular attendee of salons, nor do I do my nails at salons. How regular of me, or boring or conservative with my money, call it what you want but it hasn’t been my thing.
Me volunteering in the Bodyshop at Wasteland 2019, California.
I am an artist and I think it is time that I allow myself to enjoy self care experiences versus thinking about the art of it all. I worked at Miss Porter’s School, an all girls boarding school. I was the photography teacher there for 14 years, I loved my job. It is interesting to know that the other part of my job was heading the costume, hair and make up crew. I was in the position of doer, not receiver- 14 years!!! Don’t get me wrong, I always saw what I was doing as art, start to finish and I was proud of my work. So to bring this post full circle, I have always been in the position of companionship but not always receiving the care or allowing myself to take it in fully. And for some reason, this year, family is what brought it up for me in a way I hadn’t noticed before.
Can a 14 year old go deep, know his reasons for doing things, feel passionate? How do we as his parents help keep him motivated and do the thing he said he wants to do? Is it really our job? How do we help him to not throw in the towel because this thing called baseball training is super hard? And let me remind you we are on a tropical island a couple of blocks away from the ocean. He hasn’t even seen it yet since our arrival 3 weeks ago.
We have a cousin who is one of Rio’s biggest fans, his name is Checo, he is in his 40’s. He is pretty persistent with his feelings about Rio and baseball. This is what he said, in Spanish of course but I will translate. Rio is tall, elegant and beautiful. He has the capacity to play baseball therefore he should play. Not everyone has that opportunity or is gifted the ability. Rio is loved by everyone here in Los Dajaos, DR ( where Rio’s dad is from) and Rio loves everyone back. His ability to love the children here is felt by everyone. Checo said a reason for Rio to play, his motivation should be to give something back to the community of Los Dajaos, do it for the children.
Rio in 2017 playing with one of our cousins.
All in all, my thoughts over the course of this week can’t be jotted down in a blog and maybe should be left right where they are- in my head. Rio said he had a tough week but in the end he is happy. We slept in today and went to the gym. He is currently playing Fortnite online with his brother in USA. Rio will finish his weekend by hanging out with a new friend tonight, a Dominican American kid who is here doing the same thing as Rio.
With Love, Marlo and the Boys 