Talia's Blog

Talia Rivera
A mother’s life; arrived at from drugs, teen pregnancy, and jail, through faith and gang intervention.

archives

February 27, 2009
God in the Music
The saxophonist, eyes closed, worshipping, played with care. The bass player slapped the wood and popped the strings with ease. And the pianist and drummer played, as others sang words of adoration to God. Then suddenly, I felt God in the music. He placed His hand on the inside of my wrist, feeling for the rate and rhythm of my pulse. The music played as God revived me...again.
Faith, Music
February 26, 2009
A Day of Nothing
Silence sounds pleasant when noise has exhausted me. And being alone isn’t as bad as some people make it seem. All day long I lay on the living room floor, alone, wrapped in a blanket, doing nothing. I tried blogging, but had writer’s block. So I search around YouTube. I watched Halle Barry’s Oscar acceptance speech. That was fun. So I then watched Julia Roberts, Denzel Washington, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, Forrest Whittaker, and the ever so graceful Helen Mirren, who said her sister told her, “All kids love to get gold stars and this [the Oscar] is the biggest and best star.” Then I...
Solitude, The Real Housewives of Orange County, TV
February 25, 2009
I love him – I love him not
I don’t believe she understands that I was heavily involved, like a man is with a woman. I was intimate with him at a young age. I watched the warm water fill his tube and a clothes hanger swirl him solid. I watched him develop and change characteristics. I watched a blade shave him into small portions and then I watched him burn. I was caught up in him and wanted to sell him like foreclosed homes across America. I remember the first time I touched him and placed him in the hand of another woman – she was hooked and so was I. I was in this until the end; I knew there were other women who...
Daughters, Drugs, Mothers
February 24, 2009
Generational Curses
I am spilt and poured out like water from a glass tipped over. I want to dissipate into vapor, but it isn’t humid enough. So I lie spilt in a shock on the ground. I cried because she reminded me of myself. I cried because I have spent my life trying to forget what she brought back into my reality. I didn’t want to remember that night in the abandoned building, but as she spoke, the memory passed quickly before my eyes. I turned my face and bowed my head in shame. In the same way that I want to cut off all resemblance of my mother from my life, that's how I feel for her. Don’t be like me...
Daughters, Legacy, Mothers
February 23, 2009
"We all we got."
They seemed untamed and in need of a ring master. She was tomboyish and tough, with baggy blue jeans, wheat-colored timberland boots, and a hooded sweater, of course. A high-school dropout, she learned how to hustle coke, working eight-hour days, sitting on a broken bench in the projects, selling crack to the same customers all day long. Summer days were the best days. We gathered at the center of the projects. Children played in a pool surrounded by the debris of abandoned buildings and the glass of broken windows. The Latino kids played Frisbee with old tile from a kitchen floor. The...
Community, Urban Life, Villages Without Walls
February 20, 2009
Dreaming and Imagining the Possibilities
In the coffee shop I listened to two people sitting across from me talking about starting a new youth program. I remember being on the other side of the table. I remember when people listened to me go on and on about Villages Without Walls. I am not insinuating that Villages Without Walls has become a conglomerate; but I remember when it was nothing more than something that I thought about when I was lying in bed at night. But here was the problem in that coffee shop. The two people were talking to me about two different programs at the same time. I was confused. And then I thought, “...
Intervention, Villages Without Walls
February 19, 2009
I Recognized Your Voice
Imagine a mother and child. She sits on a bench at a busy playground, noisy with yelling, laughter, and crying. Her child plays--climbing the monkey bars, swinging wildly, sliding down the slide. Suddenly, another child screams. The mother instantaneously recognizes her child’s cry. Research reports that, "Just as there is a part of your brain that recognizes another human face, there's a region that can tell human voices apart from other sounds." My cell phone vibrated. I looked at the caller ID. It was AJ. “What's up, man?” I said when I answered. “Hi Talia,” he said. Immediately...
Gangs, Intervention
February 18, 2009
My son, the blogger and President-to-be
When I came home from work, my son stood at the front door with a red notebook in his hand. "I am a blogger, Mommy,” he announced. “Do you want to read it?" I really just wanted to first get in the door, undress, and get relaxed, but…. “Let me see,” I said. He had a few entries. There was one about his bed, one about lunch, and the one I want to share. It is entitled, "My President." "When I become the president I will tell people to have a bubble gum machine in every place at home so you won't be so hungry. And I'll take Martin Luther King's speech and do it over. And I'll do it." He...
Dreams, Mothers, Sons, Writing
February 17, 2009
Therapy and Bed Bugs
I did an intake with a therapist the other day. She asked me all sorts of questions. “Have you ever had therapy before?” “Are you angry?” “Yes,” I said. “I'm irritable.” Then I asked, “Is irritable the same as being angry?” “How are your eating habits?” “Do you abuse any form of substance?” “No,” I answered. Then I asked, "Do Tylenol PMs fit into the substance category?" “Why do you want to meet with a therapist?” “I need to talk with someone who doesn't know me, someone who isn't going to give me a passage from the Bible as a remedy. And it isn't because I think scriptures don't work; I...
Stress, Therapy
February 16, 2009
My Mole
I have a mole underneath my lip. A tiny birthmark, almost too small to see. When I look at it in the mirror, it reminds me of the mole that my mother also has below her lip. Sitting at the hair salon on Saturday morning, I looked at it intently. Suddenly, I began to get upset. Have you ever been so upset that you can feel your upset-ness on the inside of your chest? That’s what happened. All sorts of emotions were set off, and I wasn't sure why. My hair stylist asked how my little brother's birthday was. He turned 12 on February 13. We took him to the mall, gave him $50 to spend, and then...
Beauty, Daughters, Mothers, Self-Image
February 13, 2009
You really don't know?
A week ago I received a letter from the City of Boston's Office of Human Services, inviting me to attend a community meeting to discuss a project. I RSVP'd. The meeting was in the basement of a church. There were only a few people there when I arrived. I sat down, socialized, and waited. But even after waiting, there were still only a few people. The meeting was called to order. A PowerPoint presentation was given by the Chief of Human Services. "… is working to address the needs of these young people and all youth across the city.…we are launching a project to reach these disconnected...
Intervention, Social and Emotional Issues
February 12, 2009
Universities… big profits and free land… our youth pay
Yesterday, I met with over 30 youth workers from various grassroots organizations to discuss how to close Massachusetts’s 3.5 billion dollar budget gap without our services being slashed. As we discussed ways to generate new revenue, the notion that universities are nonprofits fanned my flames. Did you know that 52% of Boston's land is nontaxable property?!?! It’s occupied by hospitals and universities. Youth workers are moving quickly, convening meetings with our youth and families, writing letters to Boston’s congressional delegation, and sitting in meetings with state representatives –...
Nonprofits, Social Spending, State Government
February 10, 2009
Traffic Jam
Tonight was clear. The headlights from the cars driving south on the expressway looked brighter than usual. I wondered how often headlights need to be changed. The taillights of the cars ahead of me flickered red as we waited in heavy traffic. I drive-and-think a lot. I thought about other routes that would get me home. What if I turn left here? I tried to envision the way. But I wasn't sure where that might lead me, so I stayed in the lane that was backed up for about a mile. A bit later, I thought about bearing right. But turning right would lead me back to where I had just been....
Traffic, Values
February 9, 2009
Nothing is wrong with me.
"There isn't anything wrong with me," I told a friend, when he recommended that I see a therapist. “I don't need to see a therapist!” “T,” he said, “you don't know how to extract yourself from street-work – drive-by shootings, gang wars, homicides, and funerals. You are going to break down physically, psychologically, and emotionally. “I won't,” I answered. Then I remembered the dizziness and fog that clouded my eyes as I passed out and urinated on myself at the mall. “You have symptoms of exhaustion – sleep problems, and constant headaches,” the doctor said. “Are you stressed?" “No,” I said...
Gangs, Stress, Therapy
February 6, 2009
Me
I haven’t been eating and it’s not because of my weight. I haven’t been sleeping and it's not because of insomnia. I’m stressed! I have been angry and apprehensive, bitter and belligerent.
Health, Stress
February 5, 2009
Same boys, different names
As I sat in class today and listened to the professor lecture about building a case statement, I almost cried. My case statement is this: Last summer, eight of the most incredibly difficult young men to reach showed up every day to sit in a hot room without air conditioning, for ten dollars an hour; except now most are sitting in cells, one with a one-million dollar bail, awaiting trials. Are they thinking, “But Talia said she was going to raise the money.” I miss telling Black to be on time and asking Vince to be nice to his girlfriends. I miss telling them not to pick on AJ: “Stop...
Gangs, Intervention, Villages Without Walls
February 4, 2009
Where’s Talia when you need her?
The days have been discouraging. The constant, endless reporting of the economy’s collapse; employees being laid off while business executives lie low. Our country is depressed. And that depression is darkening the sky, absorbing the energy. And then it knocked on my door yesterday. “Hello, who is it?” My husband told me that the IRS garnished $400 from our checking account. You know that feeling when an unexpected guest shows up? “Good to see you,” you say insincerely. “Come in. Make yourself at home,” you say untruthfully. You’re thinking, “I wish he would have called first.” As my...
Taxes, Villages Without Walls
February 3, 2009
Bay State Weather
Massachusetts weather is unpredictable! Yesterday, the sun’s shine heated up the Bay State – the pavement was wet, the ice was melting. It almost felt like a day in May, when revival fills the air, when the grass begins to grow, and the leaves begin to appear; you can just about smell the pollen. In anticipation of spring, we walked the streets without our boots, we left our gloves and hats in the closet, and we rode our bikes in the street. That was yesterday! Today, we are shielding our faces from the cold, the winds blowing the snow horizontally – again! We are deceived. Good ole Boston...
Snow, Winter
February 2, 2009
Adult Self-Talk
“Class,” he ordered, “sit down and listen.” Then he rambled on some more. My husband and I sat on the couch, watching television, not really paying attention to our son teaching his class of imaginary students. But after about a half hour of him sitting on the living room floor playing and imagining and talking to himself, I tuned in. It looked so gratifying, being able to imagine without restraint. I thought, “When does imaginative play and self-talk become insane? When do pretending and doing a monologue without an audience become a disorder requiring medication?” I sometimes talk to...
Imagination, Self-Confidence
February 1, 2009
A Blast from the Past
My husband and I were browsing for a new laptop when we ran into an old friend, Eric. He and Danny embraced each other, their eyes big and excited because they hadn’t crossed each other’s path in over ten years. I stood next to Danny; Eric looked, but didn’t recognize me. “This is Talia,” Danny said. “Talia!” Danny explained that we’re still together, after 17 years, since the days of puppy love and being high-school sweethearts (well, sort of - both of us only went through tenth grade). Listening to Danny and Eric talk brought back many memories. Eric was once exactly like the young men...
Gangs, Old Friends