There is something so inviting about a blank piece of paper
Like the bare pages of a brand new journal that will soon be filled
There is something powerful in just the right pen or pencil
We each have something to say, a story to tell, a song to sing
Whether we fill pages of colored paper or tag it on a wall
This is my story and my song of how I started reading and writing
And expressing…
My Father, Miklo, was an avid reader and writer
His writing was holy to him and it was not for publishing to the world
He wrote his inner most thoughts and secrets on pages with and without lines
Sometimes in Spanish, most times in English and other times in Japanese…
When Miklo went to the library, his own personal church
He would bring back stacks and stacks of books
Often he would drag along his youngest child, his Jazz Kid
And plop her down in the Pittsburg Library and say, SHHHH!
Loudly enough to make others turn around and look…
Once a Librarian, with a capital “L”, glanced at what I was reading
She immediately seized the book and returned with a Dr. Seuss book
I accepted this, as she was a Librarian and Miklo had made it clear
That those Librarians were the equivalent of Priests
And I was not to be acting out in his Library Church…
However, Miklo was soon in a full on shouting match with the Librarian Priestess
Can you say, blasphemy, little girl…you can? “Well, shut up, kid!”
She apparently felt that Dr. Seuss was more appropriate for a 4 year old
Than the books Miklo had picked out for me himself…
“Mr. Sutherland, there is no way your daughter can read those words!
She’s only Four!” Only Four and already with the discrimination
But before we left the Library that day, Miklo had me reading for her
And having shamed her, he managed to get me my own library card out of it as well…
It wasn’t until I entered pre-school that I realized
That other kids my age didn’t already know how to read and write
While other kids were learning letters, I was reading Beverly Cleary
While other kids were learning, “See Spot Run”
I was already reading Judy Blume and Nat Hentoff books…
These books made me so happy, I started to write my own stories…
They were mainly tall tales of an extravagant order, but they were mine
And Miklo would pour over them and critique them all…and he was quite harsh
Mostly though, he was happy that it kept me from running through his garden
But that never stopped him from showing them off to other people…
Since then I have been in my own personal heaven with my reading and writing
My favorite types of books to read are the kind that take me somewhere else
Out of my little barrio and into another person’s neighborhood
My favorite stories to write are very simply the ones I wish to read, but cannot find
Like Miklo though, not all of my writing is for public consumption
In fact, a blog would probably incite the words, “Sell Out”, from him…
Long after I stopped sharing my stories and poetry with him
As he could be cruel and mean in his critique
There were still times when he would find pride in my writing
When I was part of an underground Chicano newsletter
He was overjoyed and ready to grab his pistola
And yell, “Viva La Raza”, in the streets…
When I later wrote plays and musicals for Chicano Teatro
Miklo was always there in the front row, which was a very rare thing
For he was a man who for the most part, couldn’t be bothered with others
Even if they were his own children, for he had his own life to live
And a stack of books to read and then return to the Library…
Always those stacks of books, all over la casa…
One of my most embarrassing memories of Miklo
Now makes me laugh to the point of tears
Throughout my high school and college years I played in many Jazz Bands
And at every Jazz Festival, Miklo would be up in the front row
He would sit there all day, with his nose in a book while band after band played on
Then when our band would come on, he’d put his book down and listen
And people would always say, who’s that guy reading in the front row? Rude…
The only thing I think Miklo ever refused to read were the manuals to appliances…
Miklo and I had quite a turbulent relationship
There were definitely times when I hated him
But I have never forgotten that this is the man
Who taught me to read and to write long before Kindergarten
Who taught me respect for Librarians and the Temple of Books
And who got me my very own Library card at the age of four…
He instilled in me a love of the written word
And gave me the key to the secret world
You can only enter through reading and writing…
