I saw on the news that George Newall died.  For most people, including myself, this name is unfamiliar.  It wasn’t until I read the footnote when I was saddened by this event.  George was a composer for Schoolhouse Rock!  In my childhood, my Saturday mornings were filled with short clips from Schoolhouse Rock interspersed within the regular cartoons.  They were pockets of actual learning filled with smiles and committed to memory through a catchy tune.

On an otherwise ordinary trip to Target, I browse through the t-shirts and find a gem with the Schoolhouse Rock logo.  I simply had to have it, and it’s among my favorite shirts.  Though honestly, many times, I forget that I’m wearing it.  On those days, I get unexpected smiles and compliments on it.  People tell happy stories of their childhood, much like mine, filled with tunes that persist today in our memories.  We don’t dread getting those songs stuck in our heads; we treasure them.

Continue reading “We, the people…”

My dad passed away shortly after I turned nine in Puerto Rico; my mom carried on without him.  The four of us, my mom, my two sisters, and myself would move to Florida less than a year after that.  My mom barely knew any Spanish and didn’t know any English.  We moved to the United States with no family here and a handful of friends.  We were poor.  My mom worked two jobs, and all us kids worked by early teen hood.  All us kids attended college.  My mom never remarried in the twenty-nine years after my father’s death.

Continue reading “Woke literally means enlightened”