Today at church Mother was crying. A couple months ago Pastor had taken her off the Praise band and she always being reminded that she couldn't play piano anymore as we sat in the front row, right in front of all the instruments.
Anxious to calm her down, I suggested we go to the bathroom together. We walked outside and through the courtyard, but ran into Carmen before we got to our destination. She was very concerned about Mother's tears.
"What's wrong hermana?" she asked.
Choking back her sadness, Mother explained.
Hermana Carmen exclaimed and interjected in all the right places throughout the story. She was a good friend of ours and we knew each other well. Her round face is always quite fierce in a comforting, protective way, and she easily smiles.
As we talked on the side of the courtyard, Carmen's young daughter, Dulce, pulled on my sleeve.
"Tir-sha," she whispered, mispronouncing my name, "why is your mommy crying?"
I guessed that the prospect of an adult crying alarmed her. I remember clearly that it had frightened me when I was little.
"Oh, she's just sad that she can't play the piano anymore. You remember when she used to be on the stage playing the piano, right?"
She nodded. "But why can't she do it anymore?"
"Pastor told her not to because he didn't want her there anymore."
Dulce's three-year-old cousin chimed in. "Thas rude!" She grinned and stomped around. "Rude rude rude!"
Dulce threw me a dubious look and gestured at her cousin. "No... she don't know what she saying." She stared at my mother for a second, then her face lit up with an idea. Spinning around, she grabbed her cousin's arm and beelined for the middle of the grassy courtyard.
I left them to their childish shenanigans and jumped back into the conversation. Carmen was telling mother about her experience when her old pastor told her she had to choose between marrying the man she loved or staying in a ministry. Mother and I were astounded that a pastor would ever do that. But Carmen advised mother to settle things with our pastor and get to the bottom of the situation.
"Otherwise, it will be like an espina here," she exclaimed and pointed to her heart. "Hmmm... what is that en Ingles?"
"Thorn in your side?" I suggested. She nodded.
Dulce appeared at mother's side, beaming and holding up a fistful of wild dandelions. He
Anxious to calm her down, I suggested we go to the bathroom together. We walked outside and through the courtyard, but ran into Carmen before we got to our destination. She was very concerned about Mother's tears.
"What's wrong hermana?" she asked.
Choking back her sadness, Mother explained.
Hermana Carmen exclaimed and interjected in all the right places throughout the story. She was a good friend of ours and we knew each other well. Her round face is always quite fierce in a comforting, protective way, and she easily smiles.
As we talked on the side of the courtyard, Carmen's young daughter, Dulce, pulled on my sleeve.
"Tir-sha," she whispered, mispronouncing my name, "why is your mommy crying?"
I guessed that the prospect of an adult crying alarmed her. I remember clearly that it had frightened me when I was little.
"Oh, she's just sad that she can't play the piano anymore. You remember when she used to be on the stage playing the piano, right?"
She nodded. "But why can't she do it anymore?"
"Pastor told her not to because he didn't want her there anymore."
Dulce's three-year-old cousin chimed in. "Thas rude!" She grinned and stomped around. "Rude rude rude!"
Dulce threw me a dubious look and gestured at her cousin. "No... she don't know what she saying." She stared at my mother for a second, then her face lit up with an idea. Spinning around, she grabbed her cousin's arm and beelined for the middle of the grassy courtyard.
I left them to their childish shenanigans and jumped back into the conversation. Carmen was telling mother about her experience when her old pastor told her she had to choose between marrying the man she loved or staying in a ministry. Mother and I were astounded that a pastor would ever do that. But Carmen advised mother to settle things with our pastor and get to the bottom of the situation.
"Otherwise, it will be like an espina here," she exclaimed and pointed to her heart. "Hmmm... what is that en Ingles?"
"Thorn in your side?" I suggested. She nodded.
Dulce appeared at mother's side, beaming and holding up a fistful of wild dandelions. He
