If Only Mama and Daddy. . .

Children know what's going on with their parents; it's just that they can't understand what they know. We affect them with our unhappiness. If only we can be happy and whole--our children can be free to relax and enjoy the wonder of childhood, their freedom and innocence intact.  If only we would devote ourselves to wholeness for ourselves and our children. Below you'll find an exerpt from Saint Sullivan's Daughter, a novel full of a child who longs for happiness and wholeness--and her parents: one who makes the choice for happiness, the other...well...read the book and find out!

When Ceci was still five, magic leaked out of the sky, not really like rain, but just as quiet and regular. Nobody was there to help her catch it. So Ceci ran into the house to tell Mama and Daddy, “It’s raining and the sun is shining! Come see!”

They were fighting about something, so they shooed her outside. That’s why Ceci had stood out in the rain, the shining drops drenching her hair, tears stinging her cheeks. If Mama or Daddy had come out to see that shiny rain, things might have been completely different. Maybe they could have been happy. 

Parents as Bridges

In the following passage, the elderly curandera Rafaela meets with Barry Sullivan in a barrio tavern.  He is just beginning to face difficult choices ahead. She speaks of parents as the bridge from heaven to earth-- a sentimental, yet powerful picture of the vulnerability of children in the world. Adults must stand on this bridge between heaven and earth as the Guardians of childhood.

           

“You might be done with the saints, but they aren’t done with you. They yearn for you to wake up to your responsibility. You wait on a bridge between heaven and everything else—spanning dangerous waters. Like the guardian angel.”

           The room chilled around Barry, as he remembered the picture Ma gave Ceci.         

            “From the moment of conception, Barry, our purpose is to guard our children from harm. Every parent is to be a bridge between heaven and earth. A child only knows heaven. Crossing into the world with all its trouble, the child is in peril. The parent is like that guardian angel, offering a hand to guide the child over the broken places. Our love makes it up to them for having to leave heaven.”

            “How—how can a lousy, no-good man do the work of an angel?”

            “Full intention, Barry, that’s what it takes. You can’t be a parent part-time.”

            “That’s the same axe Carmen grinds. Listen, I have to work, Rafaela!”

            “Everyone works, but not so far from their children. Until Cecilita is stronger she needs you close by.” She tapped her heart. “Right here! Later, she will be strong enough for you to go sometimes. Please stay with her now, amigo. Care for your daughter. Help her heal. . .not from a distance, but close up!”

Saint Sullivan's Daughter is available from the Abbott Press Bookstore and other online vendors.

The Magic of Childhood

World over, children envision life through the kaleideoscope of innocence and imagination.  Trying to create meaning of the adult world and their own emotional responses, children turn to magical thinking. Ceci Sullivan is Saint Sullivan's six-year-old daughter. More than imaginative, she is somewhat of a visionary. Her responses to the stress of her parents' dysfunctional marriage, her mother's abuse, and her father's emotional inavailability are magical, but poignant in their childish wisdom. Within her visions are protection and warning. 

Ceci's great-aunt's antique wooden statue draws the child to the old woman's altar where Ceci experiences a small miracle. An excerpt from Part One of Saint Sullivan's Daughter:

"Santa Barbara, my mama is always mad and my daddy is--well, he's late--and it's my birthday. I just keep waiting." Ceci's hands tighted around the edge of the shelf, and she stared into the sad saint's eyes, until in one of them a teardrop formed. Down the side of Saint Barbara's nose it rolled and fell onto Ceci's thumb, cold a warm, light the wintergreen oil Pilar rubbed on her knees at night.

A shiver climbed Ceci's back and shook the teardrop off her finger. She was suddenly afraid. Never had she monkeyed with anything so important as a saint. But that was not all. Something was coming--something worse than being spanked or yelled at.

There could be very bad things in the world; she had watched the news with Daddy, seen the blurry movies of people crying about fires and earthquakes. The news wasn't as real as this feeling, balled up in her stomach, the size of an apple. Something was coming--what Tía called a catastrophe--a beautiful word Ceci loved until she learned its meaning.