Before literature became a part of my life, there was language, and my father was a master of both. He created my love for expression and connection through words. My parents both stressed the importance of articulation; however, my father best exemplified how self-education and representation were also keys for success. In many ways, my father was my most influential teacher.
Some of his earliest lessons came disguised as whimsical bedtime stories. My two older sisters and I loved hearing the adventures of the three little princesses with great bravado and creativity. We were unaware of the lessons in each story that taught us moral concepts such as honor, loyalty, and integrity in ways we could emulate. When faced with obstacles, the princesses used critical and clever thinking, encouraging us to do the same. I began to search for these challenges in daily life as the youngest, yet most ambitious princess. The predominant lesson remains the most important to this day: my father taught me there are creative ways to learn and to teach.
Confidence and ambition were tools my father taught me while spending days at work with him. Each day he wore a suit and tie, rode the train into the city, and worked in a large office building. He held a position as a computer engineer at a leading company before such technology became mainstream. My father did not have the formal training and degrees of his coworkers. Nonetheless, he managed to excel at improving coding and machinery. His success came from research in books, magazines, manuals, and the forms of electronic communications available at the time. I remember the scattered computer parts and keyboard clicks of his trial-and-error late into the night followed by the joy of his success. My father’s coworkers always spoke highly of him during my visits, eager to ask questions and advice, and express gratitude for their unified growth. “Each one teach one” were the words passed down through generations and encouraged to live by.
When I learned to read, books became avenues to knowledge, adventure, or any escape from the tension that often filled our home. The introduction to poetry was different than other types of literature because it expressed complex emotions that were not often spoken or written about. Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree led me to The Light in the Attic; this collection of short stories and poems connected to feelings previously unidentified. A Missing Piece spoke to the loneliness that seemed to fall like a heavy weight on my family all too often. Although painful to understand, it was one of the lessons that taught me how similar human suffering is for everyone. Poetry is literature with its heart on its sleeve.
When my father became aware of my interest in poetry, he introduced me to Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, by far the most inspirational piece of literature I’ve come across. He recited the lengthy tale with bassful dramatic flare similar to the way his uncle had when he was a boy. I practiced reciting it as well, but could only display the dramatic flare. The voices of great men like my father and James Earl Jones would never be obtainable for me. However, my father had already sown the seeds of determination into my spirit. My need to express the emotions I felt could not be silenced easily. Writing my own poetry provided release, but the confidence to recite such intimate work then eluded me.
Joy Harjo’s memoir Crazy Brave spoke to me as a beacon of hope to overcome difficulties in life and spirit such as with family, fitting in, and expression. Understanding the need to refuse silence empowered me, as Harjo writes: “I was entrusted with carrying voices…to release into the world, to be of assistance and inspiration… It is this way for everyone” (Harjo, 20). Our stories develop from those before us, feature those we interact with, and continue on through those they reach. The writing process helps create healing that cannot be compared to anything else, to send such work into the world requires bravery. As a writer, I intend to be just as courageous in sharing my story.
One day our voices will be gone, leaving behind memories and too rarely literature. My father had dreams of sharing his skills with others such as doing stand-up, hosting on the radio and podcasts. He wanted to record his stories vocally and visually in books for his grandchildren and others. However, my father never achieved these goals before his passing. I am obligated to tell our family’s story, to honor my father’s unachieved goals, and to continue teaching in a creative way. Hopefully the literature I produce has an impact on those who can influence change for voices that remain unheard and create better outcomes. My father will be remembered as my most influential teacher, and his legacy will be preserved in literature.
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