Tag Archives: Storytelling

I Read Banned Books

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Introducing the Lingua Franca x Judy Blume Forever Tees!!

Banned Book Awareness Week 2023 is finishing up tomorrow but the problem grows. With the rise in restrictions being placed on classrooms and libraries across the country, I am making a weekly pledge to share titles that have made an impact on my life until we see a change in the United States of America. (I struggle to even write the country’s full name since I never imagined this could happen like it does under the dictators of autocratic regimes past and present).

This is not a few controversial subject matters, this has become an all out censorship movement.

The number of public school book bans across the country increased by 33 percent in the 2022-23 school year compared to the 2021-22 school year, according to a new PEN America report. “Banned in the USA: The Mounting Pressure to Censor” highlights the disproportionate number of bans occurring in Florida — where over 40 percent of all book bans took place in the 2022-23 school year — and shows how state legislation and coordinated pressure campaigns from local groups and individuals have driven mass restrictions on access to literature.

PEN AMERICA: THE FREEDOM TO WRITE Pen.org

The American Library Association has launched: “Banned and Challenged Books: A Website of the ALA Office for Intellectual Freedom” and has produced the following graphic:

Although all the data is alarming, the most obvious is the rise in reported censorship and the increase unique titles being targeted since 2020. Some of these 2,571 books are award winning books that have been utilized in classrooms for over fifty years.

“This is a dangerous time for readers and the public servants who provide access to reading materials. Readers, particularly students, are losing access to critical information, and librarians and teachers are under attack for doing their jobs.”

Deborah Caldwell-Stone, director of the ALA’s Office for Intellectual Freedom

For more than 40 years, Banned Book Week has hoped to shine awareness and provide “support of the freedom to seek and to express ideas, even those some consider unorthodox or unpopular”.

The theme for Banned Books Week 2023 is “Let Freedom Read.” 

As the ALA announces, “When we ban books, we’re closing off readers to people, places, and perspectives. But when we stand up for stories, we unleash the power that lies inside every book. We liberate the array of voices that need to be heard and the scenes that need to be seen…”

Let Freedom Read Day is October 7, 2023 and we can do these things (download PDF below) in 5, 15, 30, 60 minutes, and more. “Take at least one action today to help defend books from censorship and to stand up for library staff, educators, writers, publishers, booksellers, and readers!”

ALA_DayofAction_OneSheet_FinalDownload

Instagram Post #1 features Judy Blume banned books. Growing up in the 1970s, very few of us lived in households that had open conversations about puberty and sex. These books were my lifeline to making sense of my changing world and opened conversations with my peers (and the adults) around me.

Liguna Franca believes Judy Blume’s work is important too and they created a t-shirt with 10% of the proceeds going to PEN America.

I’ll be wearing mine tomorrow!

Support these Top 13 Most Challenged Books of 2022

Blood Data

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Your blood makes up about eight percent of your body weight.

When you want to be pregnant, you do not want to see blood. 

When you do not want to be pregnant, you wish for menstrual blood. 

I have been pregnant ten times. 

The first time, I was 20 years old. I longed for my period to begin. I had an abortion. 

I got pregnant soon after we threw away the contraception. It was a blighted ovum. I had a D&C and I shed blood from the surgery. 

A few months later I was pregnant again. I was using the restroom at the university where I was working on an advanced degree. The spotting started a multiple week waiting game until cardiac activity ceased.

I trickled blood from another D&C.

The total amount of blood lost during one period is usually about 60 milliliters.

That’s about 2.7 ounces, 2 shot glasses, 16 teaspoons every month. 

I couldn’t get pregnant. I spill blood through many moon cycles.

Multiple pints of chocolate milk. A few bottles of vodka. 

In Pregnancy #3, I dread every wipe, but I will shed post-op blood. I eventually get pregnant again. There is bleeding, and then there isn’t. My body knows, but it will take a few more weeks to diagnose an ectopic pregnancy.

They apply band aids over the spots where they cut through my abdomen to remove the mass from my fallopian tube.

A newborn baby will have around 1 cup of blood in its body.

My body has experienced multiple procedures and surgeries. It has been cut and stitched and explored. One out of ten people who enter a hospital will need blood, I am not that person.

Victims of severe car accidents may need up to fifty pints of blood before their condition normalizes.

I feel like a casualty that is bruised and bloodied and thrown to the side of the road. The knife of life circumstances cuts deep into my heart.

I am leaking inside.

There is no clotting agent for the sadness and loneliness that travels through my veins. 

I yearn to hold a child pumping 2,000 gallons of blood daily.

Remembering My Journey

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In early 2020, I signed up for a Memoir Writing Workshop with Irene Graham. I came to the class with plans to write the story of growing up in Southern California in the decades following the quest for women’s equality. After an outside the box brainstorming assignment, the story of my daughter’s homecoming came bubbling onto the paper. The pandemic interrupted my scheduled pace to finish my two son’s stories.

The project came back to life as I explored “Sex, Politics, and Reproduction” in a course offered by the Women and Gender Studies department at Northern Arizona University. Again, I planned to write on a different topic, but I was pulled back to my experiences with infertility and miscarriage and the stigma and shame I felt on my journey to motherhood. The culminating project shares the power of storytelling to heal and give hope for those who have experienced miscarriage, recurrent pregnancy loss, infertility, and other reproductive injustices.

Reproductive Potpourri: Stories of Reproduction is the blend of my personal journey, academic literature review, and insertions of all three of my children’s birth and homecoming stories.

Click here to read Three Angelfish in long form. Or enjoy the upcoming posts of individual chapters.

Angelfish Two

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“If you love someone, you must be prepared to set them free.”

-Paul Coelho.

On a winter Tuesday morning, in January 2001, I was at the office desk preparing my notebooks for the new semester and my return to graduate studies.  When the phone rang, I was able to grab it on the first ring to avoid waking up a napping toddler.  It was the adoption agency, and there were two life-changing statements: a birthmother of a baby boy has chosen your family and Abbie’s paternal birth family wants to open the door for a relationship.  The school binders will remain closed for a later time in my life. 

Just as every live birth has a different story, so does every adoption story.  The Birthmother wanted to meet us. When we arrived at the same agency parking lot a couple years later, it had a different kind of anticipation.  Will she like us?  Will she be ok with her decision?  I walked through the door with a huge and open heart, and I met a woman who was experiencing robust emotions and a young teenager holding her baby brother.  When they put that baby boy in my arms, I locked eyes with him, and he imprinted on my heart.  The birthmother struggled and began to cry and went for a walk with the caseworker, the daughter stayed with us and we got to share a few minutes.  Alex took up residence in my heart too.  

The next two days flurried and flew and settled, like snowflakes in a storm, as we prepared and celebrated and planned for another homecoming. An hour before pickup, as I was folding the freshly laundered baby boy clothing, the phone rang. My stomach dropped and my heart lurched.  I knew before I answered it.  This was not going to be easy.

The birthmother had called to say she was going to be late. The agency would ring us back with an update.  I knew then that there was heartbreak ahead.   I was thrown back into the same uncertainty of infertility. Will the lab results show the pregnancy is progressing? Or, will the phone call reveal that we were back on Miscarriage Main Street? The minutes felt like hours.

 I sludged through the early afternoon forcing myself to maintain a glimmer of optimistic hope that she simply had a flat tire or a dead battery for her ride to sign her legal termination papers.  That was not the case. She never showed up that Friday afternoon. When the agency called at the end of the business day, my bruised soul bubbled with a slow burning stew of uncertainty and confusion.  I had been to this place before, but I had not prepared myself.  I thought the days of my body betraying me were over.  I had not planned for this treachery. This loss of a child hurt more. I had held his warm body and felt his weight in my arms.  

When our case worker called on Saturday with a report it went like this: She showed up with a friend who did all the talking and declared: “She has decided to parent and Alex and I will help her.”  What She failed to share with her helper and 13-year-old daughter is that the baby was a ward of the state.  She and the baby tested positive for a variety of drugs at the birth, so She would have to go to court to petition to regain her parental rights.  The baby would leave the receiving care family and go to Child Haven, a county facility, until further notice. Our case worker did not believe that this story was over and delivered me an IV drip of hope, to be trickled into me, until the court hearing.  She inquired: “Are you done with this birthmother, or if this goes a different way, are you and Tom still open to this adoption?”  There was not a second of hesitation; “he will always be a part of our family”.   My response begins my healing journey.  

Over that weekend, I reflected on maternal love and I gained deeper gratitude for my gift of motherhood.  Although this moment mimicked my previous miscarriages, this time I had a 2-year-old daughter to fill my arms and our busy life passed the time much differently than our other losses.  I was confident there would be another child in our life.  

After packing up the infant layette, I chose a stuffed animal from Abbie’s menagerie and drafted a letter to the birthmother to create space for the future.  My message was simple and vulnerable.  I fully supported her decision and reinforced that the best place for her children will always be with her.  I thanked her for the opportunity to be part of her life.  I closed with a pure and open-hearted message that her son would always have us loving him from afar.   As I dropped it off at the agency door, I released any remaining negativity and looked forward. 

My circle of support was there for me.  I caught them up at our bi-monthly gathering and shared the vast amount of growth and clarity I had gained in a few days.  I felt transformed and illuminated with a peaceful glow.  When I turned my cell phone back on there was a message.  We were told to come pick up our son the next day.

She went to court and the judge was not forgiving.  It would have been a minimum of nine months before she could petition to bring him home, until then he would remain a ward of the state.  Alex would now be observed by the authorities and be subject to the same requirements to maintain custody.  She asked the adoption agency if Tom and Mary would be willing to parent and when she went to sign the papers she was given my letter.  Our case worker reported that after she read it she burst into tears, of relief, and shared that my simple note gave her peace in her decision to choose us.  It is my belief that my feelings were only temporary discomfort compared to the excruciating pain of her journey.  She knew that going to court for him would put her daughter’s future in jeopardy. In reflection, It is easy for me to see now, that a short window of time for me, provided her a path filled with fewer regrets.  

Luke Canyon was born on January 2, 2001 and weighed 7 pounds and 9 ounces.  The three of us brought him home on January 26th and we became a family of four. Luke, in Latin, translates to “bringer of light – luminous”.  His coming home story ignited a part of my heart and it shines brighter.  His birthmother gave him the name Canyon.  Finding our home was a collaborative effort of unselfish love and trust by all.  By letting go and having faith, I learned to keep a spotlight on the here and now. Be Present. Value the chrysalis. Like an iridescent butterfly, the future will unfold and free itself when it is ready

  • Family of Four January 26, 2001
  • Luke 2.5 Years Old