Why the term 'melting pot' needs to melt away...

Why the term ‘Melting Pot’ needs to melt away,…

Aixa Pérez-Prado

The United States, often celebrated as a land of diversity and opportunity, has long been described using the metaphor of a "melting pot." This term, often used in schools and perpetuated by well meaning educators suggests the blending of various cultures and ethnicities into a homogeneous whole. While it might seem like an appealing metaphor to illustrate the country's capacity for inclusion of diverse groups, closer scrutiny reveals that the term "melting pot" oversimplifies the dynamics of cultural integration and can even be considered derogatory. A more thoughtful examination of the complexities inherent in the process of cultural convergence underscores the inadequacy of this term in capturing the multidimensional nature of the ‘American’ experience.

At its core, the "melting pot" metaphor presupposes that cultures should dissolve into a uniform amalgam, implying that minority cultures should relinquish their distinct identities. However, the richness of any ‘American’ tapestry lies in its diversity. Indigenous groups already had unique cultures, languages, and ways of knowing when immigrants arrived. Immigrant groups bring with them distinctive languages, traditions, and histories that enrich the country's cultural landscape. Similarly, enslaved peoples arrived on the American continents with an entire way of seeing and understanding the world, and an abundance of rich cultures, languages and traditions of their own.  The term "melting pot" diminishes the significance of each of these groups’ cultural heritages, and implies that identity should be surrendered for the sake of homogeneity. Why would we support that concept?

The term "melting pot" also promotes a one-sided model of assimilation, where individuals are expected to conform entirely to the dominant culture. This portrayal disregards the concept of acculturation, which recognizes that both newcomers and the host society mutually influence each other's cultural expressions. This bilateral exchange allows for the retention of cultural practices while also fostering an understanding of the host culture. By dismissing the nuanced process of acculturation, the term ‘melting pot’ perpetuates the notion that assimilation is the sole path to social acceptance. This is a dangerous message to give immigrrant children and their families. It is a message discouraging them to keep valuing their native languages and customs, their identity, very essence of who they are. 

A critical examination of the term "melting pot" reveals an underlying power dynamic, as it suggests that the dominant culture is the desirable standard to which all others should aspire. This hierarchical implication can lead to the marginalization of minority cultures and reinforce discriminatory attitudes. Instead of recognizing the equal and significant contribution of various cultural groups, the metaphor emphasizes assimilation into a single, predefined notion of ‘Americanness’, which can perpetuate systemic inequalities.

A more informed terminology acknowledges the mosaic-like nature of the United States, where diverse cultures coexist while maintaining their unique identities. The "salad bowl" metaphor, for instance, suggests that individual components (cultures) retain their distinctiveness while contributing to a cohesive whole. This analogy honors the multiplicity of backgrounds that shape the ‘American’ identity and promotes the idea that unity can be achieved through celebrating differences rather than erasing them. My preference is for the kaleidoscope metaphor, showing how beautiful individual sections can come together in multiple ways to increase the beauty and color of what we all see and experience, to enhance and add dimension to our own cultural ways of knowing. I prefer this metaphor because the joy of a kaleidoscope is in its continuous shifting of pattern, color and composition just as a culture and language are in a continuous state of change.

In summary, the term "melting pot" falls short of encapsulating the intricate process of cultural integration in the United States. Its oversimplified portrayal of assimilation disregards the significance of cultural diversity and acculturation, perpetuates power imbalances, and negates the value of minority identities. As we continue to celebrate the unique contributions of indigenous groups, forcefully migrated groups, immigrant groups,  and all diverse communities, it is imperative for the publishing industry to adopt terminology that reflects the complex and evolving nature of the ‘American’ identity. Embracing a more inclusive and respectful language should be beneficial in fostering a society that appreciates cultural differences while striving for a harmonious coexistence.




La Máquina de Papá

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La Máquina de Papá

un poema para el mes de la poesia 2021, recordando mi padre el medico y escritor, Antonio Pérez-Prado

Máquina que hace bailar tus manos, 
tango de teclas, toque y enrosque.
Máquina de cuentos y capítulos,
quejas, cariños y artículos.

Clac a tac tac, bastón enojado.
Clac a tac tac, caballo apurado.

Máquina de mentiras y magulladas,
cartas tiernas y heladas.
Máquina que mata el silencio, 
máquina que causa el silencio.

Clac a tac tac, un ferrocarril.
Clac a tac tac, picando perejil.

Máquina piola entre libros y papeles,
armando paredes, desarmando redes.
Máquina que te aleja.
Máquina que te acerca.

Clac a tac tac, se pasa la hora. 
Clac a tac tac, ametralladora.

Máquina que tanto traga tu tiempo,
la culpo, te culpo, eterno destiempo.
Máquina que abrazo.
anhelo y rechazo.

Clac a tac tac, jamás olvidarte.
Clac a tac tac, mas vale copiarte.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Multicultural Children's Book Day Review of: BESOS DE SOL, ABRAZOS DE LUNA

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Read Your World Multicultural Children’s Book Day 2021 review:

Besos de Sol, Abrazos de Luna

by Aixa Pérez-Prado

I was provided a copy of Besos de Sol, Abrazos de Luna (Sun Kisses, Moon Hugs) published by Inner Flower Child Books to review for Multicultural Children’s Book Day 2021. This Spanish/English rhyming bilingual book centers on helping children to navigate separation from loved ones. As a young child immigrant who left my home country, Argentina, and the person I loved most in the world, Abuela, I was interested in seeing how this picture book might help a kid like me. Since it is a bilingual book, I have decided to write a review that mixes languages. This book does not mix languages, it provides both Spanish and English text separately on each spread.

Author Susan Schaefer Bernardo’s lyrical bilingual text, junto con las ilustraciones alegres de Courtenay Fletcher spread the message of amor that can withstand time and distance. The message that the libro delivers is that no importa la distancia, or the amount of time apart, it is possible to stay connected and send love back and forth. El amor aún se puede sentir estando lejos. I think that this is an important and valuable message for children of inmigración, divorcio, extended isolation due to illness or a pandemic, or even those children who are suffering the grief of a loved one who has passed away. 

En este libro, el sol y la luna, the wind and the rain, and all of nature work in harmony to transmit love between personas queridas. In the story, a child repeatedly questions how this works. ¿Como se puede enviar y sentir el amor estando lejos? The text and illustrations reassure the child that the connection between people who love one another cannot be broken by distance, time or forces of nature. According to this book, la tierra y el cielo are working together to keep loved ones connected. It is a loving and reassuring message for young children that encourages critical and creative thinking through questioning and imagination.

As a young child, I wondered if it was the same sky and the same sol and luna in Argentina and the United States. Abuela assured me that it was. The trauma of leaving her after emigration was heartbreaking for me. Not only had I lost my country, I had lost the person I loved the most in the world. One way to navigate this loss was by remembering that we were both under the same sky, warmed by the same sun and sleeping under the same moon. We made a pact to send each other messages via the moon by looking at it at the same time every night. Abuela blew me besitos through the moon, and I felt them thousands of miles away. This book aims to provide children in similar situations with the idea of that unbreakable love connection in a sweet and gentle way. Un libro dulce y cariñoso para la hora de dormir.

Abrazos de luna y besos de sol, yo siempre te amare con todo mi corazón.

Hugs by moon, and kisses by sun, I’ll always love you little one.

***The publisher has provided a 20% discount code off the purchase of this book by using the code MCBD20 at www.innerflowerchild.com

MCBD 2021 is honored to be Supported by these Medallion Sponsors!

FOUNDER’S CIRCLE: Mia Wenjen (Prgamaticmom) and Valarie Budayr’s (Audreypress.com)

Platinum Sponsors: Language Lizard Bilingual Books in 50+ Languages, Author Deedee Cummings and Make A Way Media

Gold Sponsors: Barefoot Books, Candlewick Press, Capstone, Hoopoe Books,KidLitTV, Peachtree Publishing Company Inc.

Silver Sponsors: Charlotte Riggle, Connecticut Association of School Librarians, Author Kimberly Gordon Biddle, Pack-N-Go Girls

Bronze Sponsors: Agatha Rodi and AMELIE is IMPRESSED!, Barnes Brothers Books, Create and Educate Solutions, LLC, Dreambuilt Books, Dyesha and Triesha McCants/McCants Squared, Redfin Real Estate, Snowflake Stories, Star Bright Books, TimTimTom Bilingual Personalized Books, Author Vivian Kirkfield, Wisdom Tales Press, My Well Read Child

MCBD 2021 is honored to be Supported by these Author Sponsors!

Poster Artist: Nat Iwata

Authors: Author Afsaneh Moradian, Author Alva Sachs & Three Wishes Publishing Company, Author Angeliki Stamatopoulou-Pedersen, Author Anna Olswanger, Author Casey Bell , Author Claudine Norden, Author Debbie Dadey, Author Diana Huang & Intrepids, Author Eugenia Chu & Brandon goes to Beijing, Green Kids Club, Author Gwen Jackson, Author Janet Balletta, Author Josh Funk, Author Julia Inserro, Karter Johnson & Popcorn and Books, Author Kathleen Burkinshaw & The Last Cherry Blossom, Author Keila Dawson, Maya/Neel Adventures with Culture Groove, Author Mia Wenjen, Michael Genhart, Nancy Tupper Ling, Author Natalie Murray, Natalie McDonald-Perkins, Author Natasha Yim, Author Phe Lang and Me On The Page Publishing, Sandra Elaine Scott, Author Shoumi Sen & From The Toddler Diaries, SISSY GOES TINY by Rebecca Flansburg and B.A. Norrgard, Susan Schaefer Bernardo & Illustrator Courtenay Fletcher, Tales of the Five Enchanted Mermaids, Author Theresa Mackiewicz, Tonya Duncan and the Sophie Washington Book Series, Author Toshia Stelivan, Valerie Williams-Sanchez & The Cocoa Kids Collection Books©, Author Vanessa Womack, MBA, Author Veronica Appleton & the Journey to Appleville book series

MCBD 2021 is Honored to be Supported by our CoHosts and Global CoHosts!

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Check out MCBD’s Multicultural Books for Kids Pinterest Board!

Abuela's Wrinkles

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Abuela’

s Wrinkles

A HOLIDAY HELPER STORY

by Aixa Perez-Prado

December 2020

Abuela has lots of wrinkles.
Crinkly ones around her eyes.
Happy ones around her mouth.
And frowny ones on her forehead.
I trace them with my fingertips.
Every one of Abuela’s wrinkles is a story made of memories.

“Abuela, tell me the Happy-Empanadas-Eve wrinkle!”
“Ay, ay, ay,” laughs Abuela, “that’s a five wrinkle story! That year everyone had  agreed to make dozens of empanadas for our New Year’s Eve fiesta.”

Abuela chopped, stirred, folded, twisted and baked one hundred empanadas!
And then,… Mami called and asked Abuela to make one hundred more.
“Please, I don’t have time!”
“Bueno,” said Abuela, “no problem.”
And then,… Tia called.
“I’m too busy.”
And then,… Tio called.
“I’m running late!”
And then,… Madrina called.
“My oven broke!”
And then,… Padrino called.
“I’m swamped!”
And then,… Doña Rosa called.
“I have to study!”
And then,… Amiga Manuelita called.
“I’m sick!”
And then,… Vecina Josefina called.
“No puedo!”
And then,… Primo Cacho called.
“I burnt mine!”

Abuela chopped, stirred, folded, twisted and baked all day.
One thousand golden brown empanadas!

But by the time she finished, Abuela was so tired,…
she slept right through the holiday!

Not this year.
Now I’m her helper!
Together we chop, stir, fold, twist and bake yummy empanadas.
Ready for the fiesta!
“You’re my best helper,” says Abuela.

“FELIZ AÑO NUEVO!!” we shout at midnight.

And then,…  I kiss my favorite wrinkles.
The ones that pop up on each side of Abuela’s smile every time she looks at me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brujita Boo!

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BRUJITA BOO!

A Fall Writing Frenzy 2020 submission

by Aixa Pérez-Prado

Here is my Fall Writing Frenzy story. Another Spanish/English code-switching bilingual rhyming cuento for all the brujitas and brujitos out there hoping there will be un poco de Halloween this year! Inspired by this prompt picture and my Galician roots that filled my head with meigas and the conxuro da queimada.

BRUJITA BOO!

Brujita Boo prepares her brew, 
A bit for her, a taste for you.
Putrid potion full of snails.
Cucarachas, dirty nails,
Sapo tongues and lizard tails. 

Adds growl of perro, scratch of cat, 
Murcielago and whiny brat,
Gooey, slurpy, zombie brain, 
Earwax, mocos, tummy pain, 
Relampago and hurricane. 

 Brujita sips her steaming stew, 
Wings spring from Brujita Boo. 
Fly her over bats with fleas, 
Espantapájaros in trees, 
High above the siete seas. 

 Until her wings turn into scales, 
Her piernas, spiky dragon tails. 
Diving deep beneath the waves, 
Skulls and bones in creepy caves.
Explorando pirate graves.  

Then she rockets to the moon,
Where she hobnobs with a goon,
Werewolves prowl ‘round Saturn’s ring,
Hocus Pocus! Snip life’s string!
Los fantasmas dance and sing. 

Come and taste Brujita’s brew. 
There’s enough to share with you. 
Take a sip, it’s not too hot.
Goes down smooth, like slimy snot.
Pura magia in the pot. 

You could turn into a rat! 
Momia, ogro, ghost, or bat, 
Ven, come closer, it’s for you.
Bubbling, burbling, magic brew,
Guaranteed Brujita…
BOO! 

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Why can't an astrophysicist also be a princess?

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Why can’t an astro-physicist also be a princess?

Girls, books, and the power to choose

I recently saw a t-shirt ad for little girls that read something like, “Never mind princesses, I want to be an astrophysicist!” I get the idea. We want our girls to aspire to be anything they want to be, including the most prestigious, competitive, and challenging of male dominated professions in STEM.  We want them to be doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientists, computer programmers and every other occupation of high status with good salaries so that they can be independent women who are respected and admired.  But why can’t they also be princesses? 

What does it mean to be a princess, and does that automatically negate the possibility of being a scientist, a thinker and a doer? I don’t think so. The idea of being a ‘princess’ is correlated with the idea of beauty, femininity, fortune, and comfort. Little girls like ‘princesses’ because they are pretty and have amazing clothes, fabulous hair, and live in beautiful palaces often with magical friends and even fairy godmothers with wings! What’s wrong with that? I like those things too. Does it mean that I can’t also like science, math or critical pedagogy? Does it mean that little girls can’t have books about both or even better about astrophysicist princesses making discoveries about the universe and themselves? Of course not! Our girls can and should have it all!

Does being pretty or having stylish clothes mean you can’t also be interested in marine biology or chemical engineering? No way! Why does popular culture seem to be asking our daughters to choose between beauty and brains? Can’t they have both? Why create a dichotomy so that girls who are not interested in STEM feel like they are somehow ‘less than’ those who are? What’s wrong with being primarily interested in arts or literature, fashion or design? We can still be strong, intelligent and powerful women no matter what we choose to study, or how we choose to wear our hair or clothes. Those little girls out there playing with make-up and dolls who want everything pink are just as bright as the ones building with Legos and digging through the mud with sticks. They just have different ways of learning about the world. They have different kinds of creativity and imagination that fuel their curiosity, and that is okay.

Let’s make sure that the beautiful diversity of girls out there see themselves in a beautiful diversity of books. We need more books showing diverse women and girls doing all kinds of things - without limits. We need all kinds of women to keep the planet working and those women come from all kinds of girls. Our diversity as women is our strength. We are not all the same. We do not think with one brain, we do not all want the same things, and that is okay. That is healthy, normal, and beautiful.

Let’s keep encouraging little girls to pursue their dreams no matter what those dreams are. Let’s give them opportunities to explore, discover and create the world they want to live in. Let’s give them the books they need and deserve. But let’s also remember that we can all be more than one thing at the same time and that one way of being does not automatically negate another.  We can be superheroes and princesses, scientists and homemakers, mathematicians and mothers, filmmakers and fashionistas.

Here's to all of the badass princesses and queens out there who are also inventors, scientists, healers and technicians, and to those who are not - and who don’t want to be.  Equal rights means not having to choose one particular way of life, certain professions, or certain dreams. It means being able to choose many ways of life, any profession and all of your dreams.  Let’s write and publish books that inspire and engage all shapes, sizes, and colors of girls – and boys – in ways that are powerful and authentic. And let’s buy the books out there that are already doing that for our homes, classrooms and libraries. Let’s support the writers and publishers who have recognized this need and embraced it. All those curious scientist, explorer, builder, writer, artist, and doctor princesses are waiting for us. Let’s not let them down.

    (an earlier version of this post appeared on The Thinking Cafe blog at thethinkingcafe.com)

Flopsy Bunny & Quick Kite

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Flopsy Bunny & Quick Kite: a bilingüe story

Spring Fling 2020

Flopsy Bunny spies Quick Kite.
Lunges, leaps with all her might.
Dale!
Grab Kite by the tail!

Whoopsie daisy! Flopsy fail!

Blossoms blooming all around.
Make a blanket on the ground.

 Flopsy chases Kite uptown.
Teasing Flopsy, Kite swoops down.
”Ven conmigo!”  
“Play with me!”

“Aqui estoy above the tree!”

En el cielo, in the sky,
Mariposas flutter by.

Flopsy hops, and jumps and pounces,
Brinca, salta, flips and bounces,
”Vamos, Kite!” 
“Let’s hide and seek!”

“Bueno, Flopsy, but don’t peek!”

Wind lifts Kite high in the air.
Flopsy grumbles, “That’s not fair!” 

“Vuelva Kite, come back this way!”
Flopsy Bunny wants to play.
Cola larga, 
gold and red…

Tickles Flopsy on the head!

“Amiguito, stay and play.”
“Don’t go flying far away!”

Flopsy snags Kite by the tail.
No lo suelta, off they sail!
Hold on Flopsy!
Hold on tight!

 Friends forever, Flops and Kite

XYZ: Love's a Curiosity!

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A Valentiny Story by Aixa Perez-Prado 2020

X and Z were best friends.
Until Y came between them.

“What are you doing?” Y asked X.
“Making a valentine for Z.”
“Why?” asked Y.
“Because I love him.”
“Why?” asked Y.
“Because he’s zany and zesty. But don’t tell Z, it’s a secret!”
“Why?” asked Y.
“You are too curious!” said X, and rushed off.

Soon Z came looking for X.
“Where’s X?” he asked.
“Can’t tell, it’s a secret,” said Y.
“X doesn’t keep secrets from me!” zapped Z.
“Why?” asked Y.
“Because we’re friends.” 
“Why?” asked Y.
“Because she’s extraordinary, and I love her.” 
“Why?” asked Y.
But Z didn’t answer. He zipped off looking for X.

When X saw Z coming, she headed for the exit.
She didn’t want Z to see the valentine.

When X finished her valentine, she went to find Z.
But Z saw her coming and zoomed away.
He didn’t want to be around someone who made him feel like a zero.

X was sad.
Z was mad.
Y felt bad.

‘Oh my,’ thought Y….(sigh).

Y stretched her two arms wide.
She put one around X, and the other around Z.
“You love each other,” she said, “Did you forget that?”

X and Z were best friends.
When Y came between them.

Review: Zombies Don't Eat Veggies!

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Zombies Don’t Eat Veggies!

A book review

by

Aixa Perez-Prado @professoraixa @aixasdoodlesandbook #readyourworld

Zombies Don’t Eat Veggies by Megan and Jorge Lacera (2018, Lee & Low Books, ages 4-8) is a story that somehow manages to weave in themes of identity, belonging and cultural values while simultaneously tackling critical thinking strategies, the undead and gastronomy. What? 

I was gifted this book in order to provide a review for Multicultural Children’s Book Day 2020. As an academic specializing in multilingual/ multicultural education, critical thinking, and diversity studies, I have frequently been asked to review academic texts rather than children’s literature. However, as an aspiring Latinx kidlit author myself, and voracious consumer of picture books, I was very happy to oblige.

When I received the title that I would be reviewing, to be honest, I wasn’t thrilled. I had already heard positive comments about this book as part of the kidlit community and more specifically the Latinx kidlit community. I knew that it was regarded as a fun book featuring diverse characters. But I wasn’t that enthusiastic about reading it. I am not the kind of person who automatically finds zombies appealing, much less zombies who don’t eat veggies. In addition, as a diverse author, I often find books that are supposedly ‘diverse’ to not be diverse in the ways that I think are interesting or authentic. 

I don’t find the use of kids of different skin tones going about their day as if they all had the same skin tone -with everything that entails -particularly appealing. I don’t find myself as a child immigrant, or my linguistic and cultural minority students, very well represented in these books. The characters don’t seem to go through the kinds of subtle discrimination and ‘othering’ we went through as kids. They rarely face the internal struggles that so many of us did when we felt that we didn’t quite ‘belong’. The books I sometimes hear are ‘wonderful’ often leave me with a feeling of ‘meh’. They may be beautifully illustrated, poignant or funny, but they don’t make me think. More than anything I am looking for books that feature diverse characters and their circumstances that make kids think. I am looking for books that create empathy and celebrate multiple perspectives, books that value diverse ways of knowing and being. It turns out that vegetarian zombies and their non-vegetarian families are just the ticket. 

Mo, our main character, an adorable little zombie, is obsessed with veggies. He grows them, he nurtures them, he loves them. His parents, on the other hand prefer conventional zombie fare – brains and other assorted body parts. They are traditionalists who enthusiastically serve up hilarious heaps of Latinx zombie delicacies such as arm-panadas and brain and bean tortillas. Que rico! Little Mo does not like these foods, he wants to eat carrots, onions, turnips and cucumbers. His parents are appalled. Rightfully so, this kid is breaking their cultural norms! He is like a kid with immigrant parents that just wants to eat the blue box mac and cheese like all the other kids, but his parents keep serving him arroz con pollo. So unfair! It’s veggies he wants, while it’s dori-toes they serve. The parent/child roles are somewhat reversed, at least to a non-zombie way of thinking. The kid seems to be making what we humans would consider ‘healthier’ choices. As a non-zombie I defer to any actual zombies who can provide more information on zombie cuisine, nutrition and cultural values #zombievoices.

With this sticky and icky family conflict, Mo begins to wonder if he is even a real zombie. He questions his identity, his sense of belonging, his ‘fit’ in his own zombie family. Now he is very much like every immigrant kid, or kid of immigrants, who does the same thing. We question ourselves, we wonder, we worry that we aren’t quite right. Rather than despair, Mo sits down to have a think. What is he to do? An idea suddenly shoots out of him with all of the energy of a blender full of chopped veggies on full power mode with a badly secured lid. He will use his own personal secret kitchen (every kid who reads this book will want one) and critical thinking skills to persuade his parents to love veggies as much as he does! Mo is a flexible thinker, a problem solver and most importantly, he is persistent. All essential talents that will serve him well in life. 

Mo comes up with a brilliant plan to make a veggie filled traditional Spanish sopa that looks a lot like a bowl of lumpy blood. He reasons that this cleverly disguised concoction should be irresistible to the parentals. He works diligently on his recipe and ultimately presents his dish with a new improved name,  instead of gazpacho he calls it, ‘blood bile bisque’. Mo understands the power of labels (more critical thinking). His parents are intrigued, they try it. Pero…NO! They gag. Que asco! They taste the veggies and they are not amused. Once again, they must forcefully remind their son that “ZOMBIES DON’T EAT VEGGIES!”

And here is where the book really grabs me. Mo does not respond by slinking away, or learning to love brains, or giving up his identity. He does not somehow convince his parents to love veggies. Instead, he asserts his identity as a zombie who is ‘different’, but still, ultimately, a zombie. He reminds his parents of all the parts of zombie identity that are close to his heart and because they love him, his parents listen and learn to accept him just as he is. He belongs with them, even if he is not like them. Just as in every immigrant family, they make room for new ideas and values, languages and customs, while keeping a place for the old. They make room for each other. 

I don’t know if the authors of this book set out to write a story that helps immigrant kids, and the kids of immigrants, find themselves in a funny and pun-y way. But that’s what they did. I immediately thought of all the times I was told that I was not a ‘real’ Argentinian by members of my own family because I didn’t want to eat asado or flan. It hurt. I wanted to be a real Argentinian, but I also just really wanted a peanut butter sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie for dessert. Was that too much to ask? I didn’t have books with zombies like Mo to show me how to stand up for myself, how to reason and demand to be accepted and appreciated for who I was. But I would have loved to. With this book, a whole new generation of diverse kids can identify with and feel empowered by one little zombie - and not because he likes veggies. 

The choices, the foods and the set-up of this story are creepy-funny. The illustrations are wonderfully whimsical, both charming and deliciously disturbing. Kid readers will squirm and squeal in delight at each page turn. The interweaving of Spanish words and short phrases throughout the book is seamless and smacks of the reality of living in a bilingual household. I highly recommend this book for educators, parents, and kids of all backgrounds, especially those living with more than one culture in the home. Bonus: there’s recipes in at the end! I enthusiastically give this book a Zombiereads rating of five turnips and toenails (that’s a five star rating for you humans out there).

 

Multicultural Children’s Book Day 2020 (1/31/20) is in its 7th year! This non-profit children’s literacy initiative was founded by Valarie Budayr and Mia Wenjen; two diverse book-loving moms who saw a need to shine the spotlight on all of the multicultural books and authors on the market while also working to get those book into the hands of young readers and educators.  Seven years in, MCBD’s mission is to raise awareness of the ongoing need to include kids’ books that celebrate diversity in homes and school bookshelves continues.

MCBD 2020  is honored to have the following Medallion Sponsors on board

Super Platinum

Make A Way Media/ Deirdre “DeeDee” Cummings,

Platinum

Language Lizard, Pack-N-Go Girls, 

Gold

Audrey Press, Lerner Publishing Group, KidLit TV, ABDO BOOKS : A Family of Educational Publishers, PragmaticMom & Sumo Jo, Candlewick Press,

Silver

 Author Charlotte Riggle, Capstone Publishing, Guba Publishing, Melissa Munro Boyd & B is for Breathe,

Bronze

Author Carole P. Roman, Snowflake Stories/Jill Barletti, Vivian Kirkfield & Making Their Voices Heard. Barnes Brothers Books,  TimTimTom, Wisdom Tales Press, Lee & Low Books,  Charlesbridge Publishing, Barefoot Books Talegari Tales

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Co-Hosts and Global Co-Hosts

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FREE RESOURCES from Multicultural Children’s Book Day

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La Bruja


la bruja.jpg

La Bruja

A spooky Spanglish story for Halloween - Latinx MG

Sit down, sientate, there’s something you need to know if my mom is marrying your dad. It’s for your own good, so listen. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that I think you should be prepared in case something happens. I’m not saying it will, but it might.

It’s about the witch, la bruja. I was about your age the first time I saw her. Real, live and in person. It wasn’t my imagination. You may not believe it, but it’s la pura verdad, completely true. I don’t talk about it much because adults think I’m trying to get attention. I’m not. If I wanted attention then I’d want the good kind, not the kind that makes people think I’m weird. You think I’m weird, don’t you? Never mind,  I don’t really care what you think. 

I didn’t feel like going to bed that night. I hated bedtime like most little kids. At the time, I slept in a bed with my Abuela. That was back when I lived in Argentina. We lived in the middle of the city in a dark old building with creaky floors. You could call it spooky I suppose, but I thought it was perfect. It was right before I came to the USA.  

I didn’t know I’d be leaving home forever then, I had no idea. I thought I was just going to visit my mom, your future evil stepmother. Ha, ha, just kidding. Es una broma! Stop looking so scared. She’d left the year before. Basically, my parents were getting divorced but nobody bothered to tell me that. It’s wrong not to tell a little kid her parents are getting divorced right? Adults sometimes think it’s too much for a little kid to understand. But you know it isn’t, don’t you? 

The day I saw the bruja for the first time was before I knew anything bad was going to happen. Divorce, being forced to leave my home. All that fun stuff. So don’t think that I conjured la bruja up from stress or anything. Adults think seeing witches in real life is either stress, or a great imagination. Don’t believe them, no lo creas! It isn’t that at all. Adults just can’t handle things they can’t explain. But you know there’s things they can’t see right? There’s so much they don’t know. 

My Abuela was the best. She cooked all the most delicious foods, empanadas, milanesas, tortillas. Plus, she told great stories. I used to spend all day with her, listening to her stories, cooking with her, doing errands together that ended up with me getting ice cream. I wasn’t a stressed out kid, I was a happy one. I swear.

You probably think that I made the bruja up in my head but I didn’t. I’m not crazy. Do I look loca to you? 

            The first night I saw the bruja Abuela got in bed and told me to get in too, pero no, I refused. I just stood there on the floor right next to her side of the bed. I wanted her to tell me another story or play with me but she didn’t. She just pulled up the covers and turned her back to me. It made me mad, you know? Why not tell me one more story? Uno mas? If adults would only cooperate with kids once in a while things would be so much easier.

            I was pretty stubborn so I decided I was just going to stand there the whole night to make a point. My point was that I could stay up all night if I wanted to. It was a dumb point now that I think of it, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. I just stood there in my pajamas with my arms crossed. I was waiting for Abuela to turn around and talk to me, tell me another story – solo uno mas.

            I was getting really bored standing there when I noticed the doorknob on the side door beginning to turn. Our bedroom was right across the hall from that door. We always used that entrance during the day, but I wasn’t expecting anybody to open that door at night. I remember just staring wide eyed  as it slowly creaked open. I didn’t move a muscle, but my heart was racing.

            Nobody opens a door that slowly unless they are up to no good, right? Obvio. So I was scared but for some reason I didn’t reach out and try to shake Abuela awake. It was like I was frozen to a spot on the floor just across from the slowly opening door. I stood there motionless, dura, watching, as the opening gradually became wider and wider. Despacito, despacito.

            Finally, it opened wide enough for me to see who was on the other side. That’s when I saw the witch. La bruja! She looked exactly like you’d expect a witch to look. Her skin was grayish and her nose had at least one hairy wort on the end of it. She was wearing all black and she even had the standard issue pointy witch hat. She was hideous and terrifying. Horrorosa!

            Somehow I was able to leap right over Abuela and in to my side of the bed in one swift motion. It was like I flew. Volé! I immediately shot under the covers without making a sound. And Abuela didn’t move a muscle.

            After a few seconds, I peeked out to see if the witch was still there. She was. She had come right in to the bedroom and was standing almost at the same spot I had stood a moment before. My heart nearly bust out of my chest, pum-pum, pum-pum. ! But still I couldn’t make a sound – silencio total. It was like I’d forgotten how to scream. All I could think of doing was closing my eyes and hiding under the covers. 

            The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning. The bruja was gone but Abuela was still in the same spot - stone cold dead right next to me -  muerta!. I swear! Te lo juro! At first I thought she was sleeping but when I touched her she was cold. You might be thinking that I dreamt the whole thing but I know I didn’t. You can’t dream someone dead can you? 

A few months later, I saw the bruja again.  Suddenly, there she was walking right up the stairs of my new house in the U.S. It was just after my mother had sent me up to my room for being bratty. I was pissed. It was bad enough having to move to another country, but now I also had to go to a new school and learn English with a tutor! I hated English, and I didn’t want to go to a new school. I just wanted to go home. 

That time the witch looked different, kind of cartoonish. She was two dimensional, like a drawing come to life. But she couldn’t fool me. I knew it was her by the way she stared me right in the eye. Her gaze has the power to paralyze. I can’t speak, I can’t scream, I can’t even run away. I can only close my eyes and cover my face with whatever is available, so that’s what I do. Eventually she disappears. That same day my English tutor fell down the stairs and cracked her head open, spilling her brains out all over the floor. She died, obvio. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Here’s the thing, the last time I saw her was this morning. It was right after I woke up. I’d been up all night thinking about the upcoming wedding. My mom and your dad.  A guy with a little kid and the dumbest moustache of life - ridiculo. No offense. I am not exactly happy about the whole thing. I already have a father, I don’t need another one. Especially not one with a moustache like that! And who wants siblings? I don’t, do you? Sit down, sientate! I’m not done. 

The bruja was in the mirror when I went to the bathroom, staring right at me. Again, she looked completely different, this time she looked kind of like I’d look if I was a witch. While we were staring at each other I tried to say something  but I couldn’t. This time I didn’t cover my face though. It’s like we were having a staring contest or something. Finally  I gave in and closed my eyes, but just for a second, solo un segundito. When I opened them again she was gone. 

Hey, what’s wrong with you? It’s creeping me out the way you’re just sitting there looking at me like you’re frozen or something. Are we having a staring contest? You look pale. Maybe you should lie down. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I can stand here right next to you all night if I have to. Or as long as it takes. 

Tell me a story, spin me a yarn….

SoHo
in
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Cuéntame un cuento

“Con esta moneda me voy a comprar un ramo de cielo y un metro de mar, un pico de estrella, un sol de verdad, un kilo de viento, y nada más.” Maria Elena Walsh

post originally appeared on The Thinking Blog

https://thethinkingcafe.com/the-thinking-blog/tell-me-a-story-spin-me-a-yarn

Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu. - Ha Jin, Waiting  

What? Every summer? How could he possibly divorce his wife every summer? Tell me more!

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. - C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Well, now I want to know everything about him.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. - Anne Tyler, Back When We Were Grownups 

Are you in my head Anne Tyler? Did you write a story about me??

 “Sometimes, I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” – Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

I want to know what those are, right now, you have captivated me with one simple sentence.

“Here are three useful things to know about naked mole rats: 1. They are a little bit rat, 2. They are a little bit mole, 3. They are all naked.” Mo Willems, Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed.

And suddenly I am fascinated by the idea of a naked mole rat, something that I had never heretofore had the slightest interest in learning about. I can almost feel the naked-mole-rattiness sliding under one on my palms. It’s a little bit creepy.

You know that sensation you get when you’re listening to or reading a great story? That magical moment when you forget about everything else around you because you have been sucked in to story land?  That’s your brain on stories. 

A good story is one of the most valuable things that we can share with one another as human beings. Stories transport us to another time and place, another reality, even allow us to temporarily take on another identity. A great story keeps us riveted to the storyteller because we are literally in her grasp, at least our brains are. 

Have you ever experienced your mouth watering when you’re hearing about a delicious meal? Your hands tingling when listening to a description of the feel of velvet or silk? That’s the brain conjuring up deliciousness, sumptuousness, and silkiness based only on the description not the actual taste, smell or touch. When we are listening to or reading a great story, the active parts of our brains are the exact same ones as those that would have been activated had we been there ourselves.Our brain has fit us snugly in to the shoes of the characters brought to life by a skilled raconteur, plopped us in the setting,  shoved us in to the action. The story becomes part of our mental landscape.

 I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story. - Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome(1911)

Of course it was, because when we hear stories from others we shape those in to our own way of thinking and knowing. Each person tells his or her own unique version of the story, every person lives the story as their own. The stories that connect us are flexible, vibrant, alive. It is almost as if we are all listening to the same music, rhythmically synching our brains together, but each dancing to that brain song it in our own distinctive way. 

Telling stories gives us the power to get others to feel what we have felt, to understand the thoughts that live in our heads, even to help shape and the thoughts in their heads. By sharing stories we plant the seeds of ideas, convey the ache of emotions, and generate the joy of surprise. By telling our stories and listening to the stories of those who are very different from us, we increase the chances for empathy, the probability of thoughtful communication, and the strength of appreciation for the diversity that makes our planet a colorful patchwork of people and their stories. 

Every single one of us is a storyteller. We need diverse stories, tell me yours, I’m listening….