“Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.” - Maya Angelou
She has the tiniest little voice. I sat next to her at our friend Lesley’s café, sipping cup after cup of wonderful, rich, café latte; catching up with girlfriends on work and family and life. Loud laughter and quiet musings; sharing story after story as the hours ticked by. ‘This is me,’ our words say aloud. ‘This is who I am. This is who we are.’
Mel’s daughter is a tiny little thing. Nestled under blankets and warm, cozy Snugglies, her car seat envelopes her petite little body. That is, when she isn’t being passed around by several dotting “aunties” who love to hold her close, love to feel her silky smooth locks and smell that magnificent baby smell that our now teenage sons used to have once upon a time.
She had fallen asleep. Despite the loud din of the café, she had had enough and closed her eyes somewhere in the midst of the discussion that centered on how many Weight Watchers points were in a large slice of sausage and mushroom pizza and just how on earth one could be expected to eat only one slice anyway.
And then I heard it. Just like the Whos on the dust speck calling out to Horton, she began to peep. “I am here. I am here.” Tiny baby peeps. Soft, gentle sounds rising up from this little creature. “I am here. Pay attention. I am… here.”
I remember when my sons’ voices sounded like that. When we hung on their every word. When no matter what we were doing, who we were talking to or what we were saying, suddenly that wasn’t as important as the tiny little peep that was trying to find its place in the world.
And over time those little voices grew. Louder and stronger and more confident. They grew from the tiniest of peeps to an often not so dull roar. ‘This is me. Pay attention. This is who I am.’ And we do.
There are, however, people all over this country who have lost their voice, forgotten what it is like to stand up and speak out and have people listen. Men and women with voices that are not heard, voices that began much the same way as yours and mine, but instead of growing louder and stronger and more confident, grew silent, because no one would listen.
On Thursday evening, as we gathered together to write, I borrowed a prompt from the author of Becca’s byline, “Seven things I want you to know about me.” I wondered what would come of it, wondered if it was too confusing or vague or unclear.
I needn’t have.
“I’m tall, but that’s OK. I’m also shallow. My appearance affects my behavior and visa versa. If I slouch about, I’m likely to be depressed.
I’m a friend. I make myself reach out to other people. I don’t do it naturally though. I want to be on friendly terms with myself, deciding between what I actually need to say and what I just want to.
I tend to isolate. Growing up with my family meant intimacy was hard to come by. Thank God for the pets we children had.
Negativity plagues me. I can be immobilized by dark moods, adjusting to limits on my physical body – strength, stamina associated with aging gets me depressed as if nothing can be enjoyed the way it once was and I sit and stew.
My muses are the outdoors and music. Cabin fever drives me outside to the wonders out there. Music is in the air and goes through me.
I’m a boat nut. I enjoy a boat as entertainment rather than transportation. My boat is my favorite recreation.
I like woodworking. The boat is wood. When I put the pieces of wood together, a concept, joining with the water, becomes concrete.” - D.S.
“I was the child of a military man, better known as an army brat. My nature is airy and mercurial and moving every two years fit my nature.
I always had a very vivid imagination but I kept my thoughts private. I dreamt of princess castles and knights in shining armour and cowboys and Indians.
When I as a young girl, Barbie was my best friend.
The happiest day of my life was the day my daughter was born, the day God entrusted me as her mother.
Roses were never so sweet as when mother used her own Wilton magic tools to shape her icing roses with all the precision of a master baker, each petal, each leaf perfectly shaped and placed on the doll cakes she made me and my sister for our birthdays.
When I was a young girl, living in Japan, a Japanese lady I didn’t even know opened her jewelry case on a rain ride Mom and I were taking to Bepu and allowed me to choose any pair of earrings that she had. I couldn’t understand it. I though I had misunderstood. Who was I that she would be so kind.
Comfort came in the form of the Mickey Mouse Club. No matter where I was or what I was doing, when it was time, I ran to sit in front of the TV so I could sing along with Cubby, Darlene and Annette.” - J. B.
“I have red hair like my mom and my grandmom and my great grandmom.
I love playing my guitar and writing songs
I am a mother of 7 kids that I miss very much.
I am sober and take my meds no matter what my head says.
I love the summertime near the water like the beach where I can be free no matter if my family is around.
I love my quiet time.
I am going to learn how to use the computer, learn how to work on them and build them so that someday I can make money.” - M. A.
Reading aloud. Reclaiming their voices. Through years that have been unkind. Addiction, job loss, family problems… homelessness. Voices that have fallen silent. ‘This is who I am,’ they say.
Small peeps on their journey to grow strong again.
Image from here.
