Just Rose and That’s Good Enough
As a little girl, I loved to listen to my mamá weave tales of Mexico and other places to entertain my four sisters and me. She displayed a natural way of finding the treasures and lessons of life.
Her tales captured our minds that made us feel rich in our imaginations. Even into her nineties, she never lost her gift. She was an unstoppable force when she put her mind to something. Not a person to be at odds with. She was also the keeper of our family legacy.
At six months, my parents hospitalized me because of pneumonia and bronchitis. When I recovered, the doctor encouraged my parents to institutionalize me. He believed that my illness had caused brain damage.
“Doctor, mi no give my baby away like a tortilla.”
My mamá stood her ground in my defense and refused to listen to the doctor. She packed me up and took me home. My great-grandmother once said this to her because they were so poor when she had my oldest sister that my mother wanted to give up my sister for adoption.
I’m so thankful she listened to my great-grandmother.
Over time, I thrived and met the basic developmental milestones of normal growth. However, when I spoke, I developed a severe stuttering issue. My stuttering contributed to my being extremely shy. I would hide behind my mother to avoid speaking to strangers. Just thinking about talking made my hands sweat, my heart pound, and my throat so tight that I couldn’t breathe.
As a second language student, learning to read and write was difficult. My issue was my inability to process information in the nuances of sound differences. High fevers can cause an auditory processing issue later in life. Because of my slow progress, my kindergarten teacher labeled me as a slow learner. I even had to repeat kindergarten for lack of progress, even though I started school before I was five.
Almost every year before high school, I entered a new school. One summer, when I was ten, we became
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by Rose Cordero-Gonzales
homeless because my papá got hurt and lost his job. We moved in with my grandmother. To earn money for food, I helped my mamá pick grapes that summer. Later, in the fall, he went back to work, and we moved to a new rental.
Throughout my early education, I attended speech therapy and many remedial classes. I had to learn to spell by memorizing and seeing words as pictures, not letters and sounds.
Progressing through high school, I struggled to maintain a C average grade. One of the most important things I learned because of my stuttering was to observe others. I befriended the smartest students in my classes, who were usually willing to help me with my homework. Overall, I could fit in and socialize despite my stuttering. That doesn’t mean my peers didn’t tease me. I just learned how to ignore their ignorance with the support of some close friends. I even joined the pep squad my last year as a senior.
During the last week of school, my guidance counselor scheduled a meeting to review my SAT scores.
In her most academic manner, she said, “You don’t have the scores or aptitude for college. Instead, you need to focus on more domestic skills like getting a job or getting married.”
She did not know how her words dashed my hope for college and a teaching career. The bleakness of my future shrouded the rest of my day. I felt embarrassed every time my friends asked about my college plans. Finally, I escaped their scrutiny with a simple, curt comment, “I’m still deciding.”
That day melted away slower than a snowball in December.
After school, I wandered home in a daze of disbelief. I trudged the long one-mile walk home in the summer California heat, avoiding my usual walking companions. I entered my backyard gate from the alley and sat under
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