What's in a name?

Today, I started instructing another writing class in partnership with Badgerdog Literary Publishing. I'm no longer with my Alzheimer's group in Westlake. Instead, I'm working on the East side at a Housing Authority complex, with a group of older adults. They're a completely different demographic: low-income, low education level and facing mental/physical challenges.

I only had two people in this first workshop. Amazing the ability of two strangers to humble me.

The two women I taught today reminded me so much of the Women's Adult Literacy Class I taught while in Ghana. The same bashfulness, the same eagerness, the same pride at picking up a pen and writing.

I was reminded today of how guilty I am (we all are) of judging people. Had I seen these two women at a bus stop or grocery store, I would have thought they were less than me. That's the truth.

But everyone has a story and no one is more important than the other. I was also reminded of that today.

We read My Name by Sandra Cisneros. We also read this poem by Eartha, a previous workshop participant:

My name looks like a globe.
My name is the world.
There is so much in it--
the flowers, the trees, the birds,
the fragrance,
the beauty that's within it.
The cry of a newborn baby,
the sound of my mother's voice.
My name smells like clay or dirt.
Soil, sod. It feels squishy and cool.
It's grainy and gritty.
My name smells like my Aunt Dora's house--
the smell of flowers and leaves and trees.
My name tastes like honeysuckle
and watermelon and fresh peaches.
My name is the color of red brown
dirt of West Texas.
My name means terra.

After reading this, Rosemary told me about how she could remember the smell of West Texas dirt. She and her twin sister were separated as infants; every six years, Rosemary would trek out to West Texas with her family to visit her. I never would have guessed....

Let me also mention that the woman who wrote that piece is completely blind. How often have I seen people walking with white canes and burdened them with my pity? When inside, they are carrying their own poetry, songs, ideas, experience, talents, life, love.

I have so much to learn.