Mi Madre and Sandra Cisneros

On Thursday evening, I met one of my heroines, Sandra Cisneros. Currently touring in support of the 25th anniversary of The House on Mango Street, she stopped in Kansas City to give a reading at the downtown KC library. Not originally on her schedule, she made the stop after a request from the Latino Writers Collective, as part of their annual reading series. As a member, I had front row seats to the event, so I drove to KC Thursday afternoon with my mother.

The House on Mango Street changed the path for many writers, opened doors especially for Latina writers, and changed my life. Esperanza Cordero could be a girl from my neighborhood, my community in Wichita. Esperanza could be a friend, a cousin, me.  These vignettes did more than tell a story, they brought to me hope. If Sandra could write about her beloved Latino community in Chicago, I could write about mine.

She said this during the reading, which began around 7:00 and ended around 8:15. She read an excerpt from the new introduction to Mango, as well as a piece from an upcoming work about why she writes. Her reading was like her writing, animated and passionate. Full of voice. She was enthralling. I expected no less.

Sandra stated that "We need to write our stories, tell the stories of our communities, our people. These stories need to be told by the people who live and love these communities. Otherwise, someone else will tell them. Someone from the outside who thinks their looking in. We all have a story to tell. Don't be afraid. Tell the story."

She opened the floor to questions, repeating the questions to ensure that the 700+ could hear, then answered them fully, completely. Many times her answers were met with thunderous applause. She left the podium to a standing ovation, clutching the picture she had brought of her parents to her breast, eyes brimming, and smiling at the audience.

As members, we had hoped for more one-on-one time, but her schedule was limited and restricted. So, we waited until the hour long line of autograph seekers dwindled (she turned away not one person). And, my mother and I finally were able to meet her. She seemed touched that I had brought my mother, having lost her own mother just a year ago. I can't remember what I said to her or what she said to me, but I can hear clearly the words she and my mother exchanged. They spoke in Spanish and my mother told her that she had never read any of her books until just a few weeks ago when I had given her my copy of Mango. She also told her that she was glad she had come. Sandra was glad she had come too. Then she signed my books I had brought, one of which I decided to have her sign for my mother. In mine, she wished me luck. In my mothers, she signed abrazos. Hugs. I then asked if we could take our picture with her and she gladly obliged, throwing an arm around my mother's waist.

My mother thanked me again and again for bringing her, but she didn't need to. I knew from the moment we entered the library that the evening would be special. And it turned out to be exactly that, as I had two of my heroines together in the same room. Two women who connected when they met. Two women who have shaped my life more than they both will ever know.

Comments

[Crosby Kemper]

Dear RedSwann, it makes your friendly local librarian happy that this event meant so much to you and your madre. we want to do more like this. Let us know who else you want and thank you for your support of our partners and friends at the Latino Writers Collective. Crosby Kemper