Talia's Blog

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

archives

June 29, 2009
"More of the Same"
Thirteen years ago today I walked through the door of a church building that changed my life forever. It was June of 1996. Yesterday we celebrated the church’s founder. At the age of 93, wearing a white pin stripped suit, his wavy grey hair, parted and neatly brushed to the side, he slowly walked toward the podium. We stood and we applauded him. Nothing has changed much since that summer day in 1996. The same order of service, the same greeting to our first time visitors, the same weekly announcements, and the same prayer rendered before offering. We’ve all aged; yet still, in many ways...
Ambition, Religious Faith
June 29, 2009
"It Doesn't Matter if you’re Black or White"
The entire world was shocked. CNN, Channel Five News, TMZ announced "Pop Icon Michael Jackson is dead at age 50." Mouths dropped open, many hearts skipped a beat. The world whispered, "Michael Jackson is dead." Some pretended not to be troubled, others explicitly expressed their emotions. His appeal transcended cultures -- Austrians, Asians, African Americans, White Americans, British, Spaniards, Canadians, Irish, and on and on. Almost every age, nearly every generation, fell in love with a Michael Jackson song. "Pretty Young Thing," "Thriller," "Dirty Diana," "Beat it," "Billie Jean." My...
Celebrity, Michael Jackson, Music
June 24, 2009
The hidden me…
The secretary stood at the door signaling in slow motion. She pretended to speak, mouthing a phrase. I guessed, silently mouthing back, "Other?" "No," she nodded. She purposely pointed at me. "You," I guessed. She shook her head, "Yes." Second word, two syllables. I guessed, "Brother, mother--" "My mother," I said out loud, disrupting the meeting. She nodded her head, "Yes." "Your mother is here," she said I walked into the hallway. My mother apologized for coming to my office. Her hands were busily searching through a plastic bag. "Leah," she said, "Do you have a few dollars? Geoff...
Daughters, Mothers
June 24, 2009
Starting Over
I asked the boys to meet me at six o’clock. I sat in a chair waiting, watching the small hand on the clock. It’s now half-past six. Normally, I would call, asking where they are, reminding them that they were supposed to meet me, and when. But not today. I spoke with them twice this morning and they said they would be here by six. Last year, it took two weeks before they gained the discipline to show up to work every day, and on time. Here we are again, starting over.
Gangs, Intervention, Villages Without Walls
June 23, 2009
In between two worlds…
There is a code in the hood: you stay true to where you come from. The people expect it. Loyalty is not allowed to fade. You love that world and all that comes with it. When you are not a part of that world, then you must be an outsider. Being loyal to a community is like keeping family traditions. Every Thanksgiving the family roasts a stuffed chicken; and every Christmas the family gathers at an aging aunt’s house for a piece of traditional pumpkin pie. Don’t do the chicken or the pie or the aunt’s house and you cease to be family. In the hood, the tradition is to stay there. If...
Social Class, Society, Urban Life
June 22, 2009
Confusing
I have been searching and yet still have not found my voice. Consider the world, and I am small and easily lost. I always approach with the unconventional, but the usual and standard pushes back. Why would I do otherwise? Why live a lie? Why choose to live a stunted life, knowing that it can be full of growth? Is it wrong to desire more and expect more from people? Is it wrong that I try to project my little voice in a world of many choices?
Honesty, Writing
June 18, 2009
Quietly Not Being Heard
I’ve been trying to find my voice in a world noisy with many tones, accents, and languages, all insisting on being heard.
Individuality
June 17, 2009
Lost?
Like a word search puzzle, I scramble to find words to write. The page remains blank. Looking for inspiration in everyday life has not been easy. I’ve stood beneath trees, sat near grass, purposely pursed conversations that might be put to paper – still nothing. Is being at a loss for words symbolic for being lost?
Inspiration, Writing
June 11, 2009
The Truth
They say, "You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free." But freedom isn't free at all, it comes at a cost. The truth can straighten the round band of gold that binds a husband and wife together... when she confesses to being unfaithful. The truth can unravel the friendship bracelet woven together from a hundred pieces of string at camp ten years ago. Telling the truth can be terrifying. I know. The palms of my hand sweated as I stood before them. My cue cards were slightly damp, smudging the ink, smearing some of the words I had carefully written. I told the truth and I...
Honesty
June 9, 2009
When Kerby is ours
One afternoon in March, Kerby Revellus, 23, stabbed three of his sisters, killing two of them. The third sister, Serafina, survives with nightmares she doesn’t want to talk about. This story is heartrending. It is a narrative that never should’ve been told, a plot we never should’ve read. This morning, a Boston Globe article sought to explore what may have led to Kerby murdering his two sisters. I wish I could rewrite its end. Oddly, this tragic story gives perspective to thoughts with which I’ve recently struggled. It is easy and obvious for me to be an advocate for justice,...
Parenting, Violence
June 8, 2009
The Diary of a Wimpy Kid. . . and Secondary Trauma
Fifteen black and Latino men sat in a half circle, taking notes as I spoke about the core competencies demanded by street work. "To build relationships with proven-risk, gang-involved youth, you must fulfill your promise." I thought about the boys, then continued. "If you commit to being involved in their lives, never promise anything you can’t deliver." I quoted Fredrick Thrasher, the "Godfather of Gang Research." "Ganging is normal peer activity for adolescents within a continuum of behaviors that range from conventional to wild." "Community violence is frequent and random; and comes...
Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Gangs, Violence
June 3, 2009
Monopoly
My family plays Monopoly while I watch. I don’t play anymore. It reminds me too much of life. I’d be the boot; I’d walk in a circle for hours. I’d collect $200 every time I passed Go, but I’d just as quickly land on someone’s property and owe money--debt! Or I’d take a chance and end up in jail. Or I’d pay electricity, hospital and beauty bills, or rent and mortgage. Where is the fun in that?
Board Games, Money, Monopoly
June 2, 2009
The Woman Beneath
The nurse pulled back the curtains. I approached the hospital bed that held a mere form of my grandmother. Her shoulders were exposed. A white blanket cloaked the rest of her body. She looked like a skeleton. The nurse said, "She won’t eat or drink." It was difficult to look into the eyes of this frail failing woman. It was if we had never met. For as long as I have known my grandmother she has been like the Eiffel Tower, tall and made of tons of iron. "Nana," I said. She slightly opened her eyes. "Please drink some water." The doctor came into the room and asked if my grandmother had a...
Aging, Grandmothers, Hospitals, Illness
June 1, 2009
The Hoax
Bonnie Sweeten recently claimed that she and her daughter were abducted by two black men. Her allegations reminded me of a similar story, that of Charles Stuart’s. In 1990, Charles Stuart reported that “a black gunman with a raspy voice” forced his way into Charles and his wife’s car at a stoplight, ordered them to drive to Mission Hill, robbed them, then opened fire, shooting Charles in the stomach and Carol in the head. The Boston Police Department (BPD) searched for the black gunman with a raspy voice. They patted black men down. They beat black men blue. They disrobed their dignity...
Crime, Racism