Lady, I need two suns

I recreated this painting from a picture I drew as a child. I added two suns because of a story my professor told about a young girl who told her with considerable attitude, "Lady, I need two suns." I didn't have this girl's attitude, but I did need the extra sun. And thankfully, I think I had five or six. I had a strong mother. A giving church. A faithful God. Many compassionate teachers. And a government that - at least for my family - worked. Welfare, food stamps, housing, even therapy. We had a chance. We barely got by. But we did. And thanks to these things, my mother and sisters and I lived in the light. My heart, though, was in the shadows. Because even when you have physical security, emotional hurt is a deep wound. Hence why I drew this picture. If it weren't for the light that I did have, I would still be in the shadows - unable to heal the emotional wounds caused by my father because of every other terror in the way.

Children today face one horror after another in our world. Poverty, abuse, terrorism, violence, homelessness, war, hunger. The list goes on. Too many children are left in the shadows caused by these crimes and made invisible by our reluctance to face the responsibility of society to care for the weakest among us. Our children need light but we turn away our eyes.

Written on this painting is my commitment, and my challenge, to erasing the shadows and the invisibility that clouded my childhood and continue to haunt millions of children today:

I choose the light. Hope. You will not put me in the dark. Perseverance. I will not be invisible. DIgnity. I will not be silent. Courage. I will stand up. Truth. I will stand up for the child that I was. Thrive. Who once used this art to beg for light. Freedom. I will stand for the children now in the shadows who we pretend do not exist. Justice. Who we hope someone else will save. Love. Or worse - that they will just go away. Humanity. I will stand up for the future of those children that should be full of life and love and potential. Faith. I will live everyday for peace. Change. It is not a dream to me. Equality. It is an obligation. One Race. I will put as many suns into the world as I can until the shadows run away. Light. I will NEVER GIVE UP. I will choose peace. I will choose love. I will choose to listen. I will choose to see. I will choose to stand up. I will change the world. Choose with me.

The Perfect Guacamole

Guacamole. I love the stuff. In fact I love all things avocado. Some blame it on my California roots. I think its just cuz I like green things. Seriously. Anything green is yummy. Except peas. Not huge on the peas.

But back to the guac. It’s my go-to item for simple potlucks – you know the game watching or movie nights, or that end-of-the-semester party in class that’s always way more awkward than you thought possible. I could just buy the stuff. Goodness knows a package of ready-to-eat guacamole would be cheaper than home-made with the outrageous prices of fresh produce these days (tripled in NYC). But I just can’t bring myself to do it. In fact, I avoid store bought guacamole as much as possible and will only hesitatingly consume restaurant guacamole even if it’s made in front of me.

I’m not exactly a guac snob but, well, maybe I am. And with good reason.

See every time I take my freshly made guacamole to socialize, I get bombarded with compliments, accolades, and the inevitable recipe question. I don’t mind the praise – it does take a modicum of effort to whip that delicious goodness together, after all. But I always find myself turning five shades of red and averting my eyes when that question comes. My aversion and slight chuckle are typically taken for a hesitancy to give away my secret. You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to, I always hear. It’s always been odd to me that people don’t want to share recipes – as if you’ll lose some social standing if someone else has the privilege of making that delightful treat. So I quickly explain that I have no problem sharing, it’s just that you’re really gonna be surprised.

A few years back I actually participated in a guac-off. Yes, a party entirely centered around eating and comparing guacamole. The table was loaded with at least a dozen bowls of whipped green goodness. You could smell the cilantro, see the fresh tomato, and practically be overcome by the beauty of fresh avocado. I quickly hid my bowl at the back of the table and let the voting begin. The entries were anonymous so there could be no kissing up to the boss (it was a work event) but I was still slack-jawed when my guacamole was crowned king. Seriously? As I was handed my prize – a deep burgundy bottle of wine – I was faced with the age-old question…what’s my secret? I knew from listening in to conversations throughout the night, that people had worked hard on their guac. They had scoured the books for the perfect combination of avocado to salt, had sought the ripest most delicious tomatoes, had sprinkled on lime for an extra kick, and spent hours mashing and tasting to perfection. I’d whipped mine together in about five minutes.

See, I learned to make guacamole from my mom. It’s just one of those things that has always been a staple in our household. On movie nights, afternoon picnics, and even occasionally as an entire dinner entre (seriously). We love guacamole. And my not-so-secret recipe was probably found on the back of some free single parent quick fix recipe magazine. I call it single-mom guac. So yea, I laugh when I get the question. I tell people they’re going to laugh too. It’s not a secret. And it’s not difficult. It’s the most basic recipe in my collection:

Avocado
Salsa (mild is best)
salt.

Mix to taste and serve.

There you have it, the amazing, award-winning, single-mom guacamole. And it’s gooood.