Welcome to my blog, Dr. Marc J. Yacht, writer, poet, actor, friend! Thank you for so many hours of your volunteer work in our community.
                                                                                                    

   

                                                          Marc J. Yacht, MD, MPH

                                                          Hudson, Florida 34667

                                          Retired Director, Pasco County Health Department

 

    Guest Editorial:  Oh no, not more resolutions!

 

Have I made resolutions?  Several years ago, noting a long history of failed efforts; I decided to give greater thought to my promises.  The objectives: to make me a better husband and father, a healthier specimen, less angry, and saner.   I have had no success with “reducing anger” from a previous declaration and frankly I am sure that “irate” is now the norm among citizens who follow the daily events plaguing the nation.  It is doubtful that many are happy.

 

Ergo, my first resolution:  Thou shalt listen to the other side!

 

Watching the demonstrations and the counterdemonstrations that are tearing at the fiber of this nation, the old adage, “I’d rather fight than switch,” cannot encourage a healing process to foster civility. No one is listening and everyone is shouting.

 

And my second: Thou shalt not shout invectives at someone with an opposing point of view!   

 

 I have found it very difficult to win someone over when screaming obscenities and raising fists. Such behavior gets the deserved response.  A friend of mine solved his propensity for cursing.  He decided to penalize himself $5.00 for each profanity.  He would give his mounting fines to a free clinic. Not a charitable person by nature, he found success with this punishment.  The avoidance of fist-raising requires great discipline.

 

For the third:  Thou shalt study the issue well before forming an opinion!

 

It is very difficult to listen to anyone who has no clue what they are talking about.  Listening to TV pundits does not give one expertise.  Study the concern from all angles, then talk.

 

 

And the forth:  Thou shalt not riot and destroy property!

 

Sadly the damage is typically borne by the innocent and often a sympathizer.  Wonton destruction and looting serves no useful purpose. The police have every right to drag the offenders off to the slammer.

 

For the fifth: Thou shalt respect an opposing point of view!

 

Remember, no matter how right you think you are; you could be wrong! Remember the bet

on the sure winner that came in last. Recall that stock market pick that went south and cost a bundle. No one is right all the time.

 

And the sixth:  Thou shalt consider that everyone is right!

 

Agreeing with someone is a good start to defuse a hostile encounter.  It’s possible that the opposing party will show similar respect and agree with you. Finding agreement is a win-win and may lead to a beautiful friendship.

 

 

For the seventh: Thou shalt love thy spouse!

 

Kids will grow up. They never call or write.  You’ll rarely see the neighbors, and relatives can bring more trouble than your worst enemies.  Co-workers are fleeting and eventually you will retire.  In the end, the two of you are all you have – cherish each other.

 

And the eighth:  Thou shalt expect nothing! 

 

With such an attitude whatever you receive for you efforts or charity is better appreciated.

 

For the Ninth:  Thou shalt lighten-up!

 

Have a sense of humor, chortle and enjoy a good joke.  America has lost its sense of humor and is dying for want of a good laugh. 

 

That’s enough for this year.  It is doubtful I will keep any of them…maybe one or two.  However, I remain optimistic, which brings me to…oh never mind!

 

Accept my best wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season.

 

Dr. Marc Yacht, MD, is a retired physician.  This column courtesy of Context Florida.

  
Marc J. Yacht MD, MPH
Buy my books!
Doc's Leisure Reader www.createspace.com/900000492
Doc's Leisure Reader II  www.createspace.com/900000537
Support the print media - buy books and newspapers!
"I got no time to get old!" Yachtism

RAFTERS AGAIN! HOW MANY AND WHY?

                               RAFTERS AGAIN!   How many now and why?

Oh yes, conditions are so much better in Cuba. Who are they kidding? What are their motives? When I read some newspaper articles and hear those speaking of how much better off Cuba is today….

The empty rafts speak … and those rafters that survived the odyssey.

According to an article in The Tampa Tribune, October 12, 2014, the number of Cubans fleeing the island and attempting to reach the United States by sea grew nearly to 4,000 people this past year.

Who lives and who dies in the search for freedom? The article speaks of the danger for rafters. One of the worst Cuban rafter tragedies this year involved the 32 people leaving Cuba and lost at sea for nearly a month. By the time a Mexican fisherman found the rafters, 15 people were still alive. Two of those survivors later died. Some so desperate they drank their unrine and blood.

Why don’t Cubans come in other ways? According to another article in The Tampa Bay Times, October 12, 2014, for the past ten years, sophisticated smuggling networks that use go-fast boats were responsible for the vast majority of Cuban migration. Today, a crackdown on those boats and the high price they charge, which few Cubans are able to afford, stopped that operation.

“I believe there is a silent massive exodus,” said Ramon Saul Sanchez, an exile leader in Miami who has helped families of those who died at sea fleeing Castro’s regime.

A massive exodus?  And with what vessels? What are these floating devices like?

“We have seen vessels made out of styrofoam and some made out of inner tubes. These vessels have no navigation equipment, no lifesaving equipment,” said Cmdr. Timothy Cronin, deputy chief of enforcement for the Coast Guard’s Miami District.

                                                            

A Rafter’s Story:

Yannio La O, a 31-year-old wrestling coach who came to Miami after the shipwreck landed him in Mexico said, “If I had to save $10,000 with my monthly salary of $17, to make it to the United States in another way, I would not get here until I was 80 or 90 years old.”

Yannio and 32 others departed from Manzanillo, in southern Cuba, in late August, on a boat they put together in three months. They had engine trouble and their food was contaminated by a sealant they brought along to patch up holes in the hull.

“Every day at 6 a.m., or 6 p.m., somebody died,” La O said.

Are Cuba’s conditions better now? Why don’t we ask Yannio La O.

 "I would tell anyone in Cuba to come. It's better to die

 on your feet than live on your knees,” Yannio La O said.

     Art work by Tony Mendoza for the book, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen.

 WHAT'S UP WITH AMARILYS RASSLER ... (MARGGIE) ... 
        ANSWERS FOR BLOG INTERVIEW - Feel free to help me out, please. 
          Was asked to be in a blog interview. Want to help? 
 Were there answers that left you asking more questions? 
            If so, what were those?  Thanks! 

 AUTHOR QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS FOR BLOG INTERVIEW! 

Where do you find your writing inspiration?

I find my writing inspiration in modern and classic poetry and in books written to inspire writers. For example, The Right To Write, by Julia Cameron and The Courage To Write, by Ralph Keyes. Music, art and cinematography can also easily feed my muse.

What is your favorite fictional character or creature?   

Lucy Pevensie, from The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe. I feel a  camaraderie with her because she saw another world around her and characters in that world that no one else from her own family saw till much later. When I was a child, living in Cuba, I first saw spirits at the age of four. I love the way Lucy sticks with her beliefs and claims as true that which she saw even though no one else at first believed her.  

What is the one writing tool you couldn’t live without?

Definitely the internet for research and for excellent access to dictionaries and thesauruses.

Do you have any writing rituals?

Yes! I pray for inspiration, turn on a gurgling fountain, put on soft music of the culture of the character I’m creating, pick up pictures from the internet of the neighborhood most like the one in which my character lives and then I see myself there with him or her.  

What path did you take for publication?

Cuban-American, Dancing OnThe Hyphen, my first book, I self-published. I am so glad I did! It is a cultural book, with the flavor of Cuban culture. It’s prose and poetry that tells my story as one of the 14,000 children who escaped Cuba alone in the exodus of 1960-1962.  I dedicated it especially to my mother who was able to enjoy the book for more than a year before she passed away. I have also written stories and poetry that were published in the traditional way in print magazines and on an online magazine.

If you could be any character in one of your stories, who would it be and why?

I’m very close to self-publishing a second book, The Chairs, the story of the visit of two angels to the seaside town of Dunedin, Florida, summoned by the prayers of an elderly couple. I would like to be one of those angels, the one I called, the centurion. Why? I love the insight and power he has over the darkness in the spirit realm.

Are you writing anything now? Tell me about your next project!

Right now I’m working on my spiritual memoir, Beyond The Veil, the story of my traumatic trip in 1979, into the spirit realm.  I’m also writing a speculative fiction novella, a suspense-romance, Commuters. It’s the story of a Chicago detective who rescues a little girl from a serial killer, falls in love with her young widowed mother and then realizes that the demons from the serial killer have transferred to the girl. Can he once again set her free?

What are you currently reading?

Writing romance, reading romance! I’m presently enjoying Richard Paul Evans’, The Last Promise. Writing speculative fiction, reading speculative fiction! I just finished The Chair, by James L. Rubart. Super drama about a chair supposedly made by Christ and protected by a select group of women throughout the ages.

When you’re not writing, what can we find you doing for fun?

When I’m not writing I’m making memories with my family. You can also find me reading while drinking strong coffee at a café or cooking to make my hubby happy!

What is the best advice you have received (writing or otherwise)?

The best advice I have received on writing has come from what Julia Cameron says…

“Write because something ‘touches’ you, write because you want to ‘touch’ someone else, but most of all write to ‘get in touch’ with the divine or because the divine somehow has ‘gotten in touch’ with you.”  

You can find stories by Amarilys G. Rassler at Fiction 365. www.fiction365.com

More about Amarilys at her website: www.guavanewton.com  

Other stories, etc. at:  http://www.marggie-withheart2write.blogspot.com

www.facebook.AmarilysRassler.com

STUFFED GREEN PEPPERS ... A LA MARGGIE ...

STUFFED GREEN PEPPERS!   EASY DOES IT!

                                                                  

            

                           STUFFED GREEN PEPPERS … A La Marggie   Easy Does It!

Ten medium size green peppers

1 ½ lbs. of ground beef

¾ cup cooked white rice

2 cans Manwich – (Sloppy Joe Mix)

Small bottle of pimentos

1 cup bread crumbs mixed with ¼ cup Parmesan Cheese

½ stick of butter

½ onion chopped fine

Block of Sharp Cheddar Cheese / Shred about 2 cups

Cayenne Powder to taste

Cut off top of your green pepper and then cut out the middle. Clean each so that there are no seeds.

In big pan boil water. Cook green peppers in water till tender but not soft. When you take them out of pan they should be able to still be firm enough to stand and salute. (LOL) Well, just stand.

Place them in glass pan after you drain all the water out of them ... doing their standing thing.

In frying pan, fry your ground beef with the onion.  We buy very lean meat so I don’t have to get rid of extra grease. But if there’s grease in beef drain it. Cook ground beef and onions at medium heat so that the onions don’t get burned. Make sure beef is cooked well. Pour into meat, the substance from the Manwich cans, the cooked rice, contents of small bottle of pimentos, sprinkle the sugar over the top and also the cayenne powder. Mix all this well. Taste to liking. You might want more or less sugar, more or less cayenne. We like it spicy and sweet to make a contrast with the cheese and bread crumb mixture.

In glass bowl, microwave the butter to melt it. After it’s melted add to it the bread crumbs and the Parmesan Cheese. Set this aside.

Shred enough sharp cheddar cheese to cover well top of each green pepper for final touch.

Fill each green pepper almost to the top. Leave room for a couple of tablespoons of bread crumb mixture. After filling with beef mixture, place the bread crumbs mix on top of meat mixture in each green pepper and then add shredded cheese. VOILA!  Place glass pan (or a lasagna pan) with green peppers in preheated oven. Bake about 20 to 30 minutes at 375*. Keep an eye on the cheese so that it does not get brown. It should be melted but if oven tends to be hotter than normal ovens, watch for the melting of the cheese. Bake according to how cheese melts without it becoming toasted.  (I have one of those ovens).  Actually, everything is already cooked when you place the green peppers in the oven. They just need a touch of oven and the cheese to melt right.

I like this recipe because the Manwich helps season the meat easily. It does some of the harder work for us.

To make life easier, I usually plan a meal with white rice and make it the day before. I save about a cup of rice to use for the stuffed pepper meat mixture for the next day and that way I don’t have to make the rice just for the stuffed green pepper meal. Things go faster that way.

The bread crumbs mixture and the melted cheese add a good balance to the dish. My family loves this recipe. HOPE YOUR FAMILY DOES TOO! ENJOY!

#1.  













                                                                                  #2.   

                                                                                                   
          #3.                                                                                          #4.

                                #5.

 

 

 

                          

                      La Cantina … A bar?  No.          A gift from a man to encourage me.          

 He sat at my kitchen table and drank his espresso, his cap on a chair. He was staying a while.

 He looked around at my messy counters and the pressure cooker rattling at full blast.

“Spanish bean soup. Making extra,” I said.

“Si? Why?” He arched his brow.

I checked the food to make sure nothing would burn and came to sit by my father.

“Someone’s sick at church. Going to take food to the family.”

His forehead wrinkled. “You did, last time I came. Again?”

I poured some espresso for me in a demitasse. Should I tell him?

He put his small cup down. “Why?”

I turned to face him. “Remember when we lived in the $30 apartment in New Haven?”

My father nodded and moved his chair to face me too.

“Every day I came from school to that empty apartment. Every day going up those steps to the apartment I knew there wouldn’t be anyone to greet me. My sister and I alone, ‘til you and Mami came home late at night from your second job. Cleaning offices.”  I paused to search Papi’s eyes. His eyes looked soft. Interested.

“I know you had to do it. To bring Abuelo and Abuela here.  But I miss Mami being there like she was in Cuba.”

My dad pushed back his chair a little and leaned back.

“I got a gift, Papi. What I wanted. To be able to be with my children when they come home from school.  And I’m so grateful. I wanted to give back something since I have the time. So I cook and bring meals to sick people from church. It’s my way of saying thanks.”

My dad stared at me for a minute or two, then, he looked around at the pressure cooker and at counters cluttered with groceries for the meal to be made.

He smiled one of his big wide smiles. “I know. I know what you need!”

The next week my father came with bag in hand and a déjà vu smile.

“Mira. Aqui. La Cantina. You do good for people,” he said, as he drew out of a bag a tower of metal pans, stacked and kept together by long metal bars. La Cantina, a Cuban icon from my childhood. My parents used to take food to my grandparents in one of those cantinas, a Cuban way of transporting food, a treasured memory from the land of azure seas and royal palm trees.

I gave my dad a kiss and held back tears till he left. Did I ever communicate to him the great encouragement of his words and actions?  I look back now and think, not enough.

But the story doesn’t end there. Today I made food to bring to my daughter who has three children and a new baby. A mom who well deserves a rest from chores.   

I often call her house asking for her and one of my granddaughters answers, “Mom’s not here. She cooked food for someone at church who’s sick and went to deliver it.” 

                                                                                           

                                              

C.S. Lewis ... Did Your Know?

           C.S. LEWIS DID YOU KNOW?


            My Week With C.S. Lewis ... Did you know? 

1. C.S. Lewis had a dog that died when C.S. Lewis was 4. At that time he announced his new name to be "Jacksie," after his dog. Friends and family called him "Jacksie," or "Jack," most of his life.
2. He fought in the Battle Of The Somme, with over 1 million casualties. He was sent hom in April 1918 wounded.
3. At the age of 15 Lewis becomes an atheist. He converts to Christianity at 33 in 1931.
4.He married when he was 58, and continued to raise his wife's sons after her death.
5.He died one week before his 65th birthday on the same day President John F. Kennedy died.
6. His friend, J.R. Tolkien was so critical of the book, "The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe," that C.S. Lewis almost didn't finish it.

A Writer's Adventure ... Toppling Into A Writers Conference ... Fighting Fears

    A Writer's Adventure ... through the looking glass!  Toppling into a writers conference.
           
                                                               

         
    I was a bit nervous when I wore the outfit. Then I heard the lady in back of me in the cafeteria line say, "When you do this, this dress up thing you gotta own it." Enough. No matter what the comments I would own my outfit. Actually, I had such good feedback. Even those who gave me the WHAT look after I told them what I was trying to depict agreed I had done a good job dressing up.    
         
  On May 17, 2014, left for Asheville, North Carolina. Arrived at Blue Ridge Conference Center with not like butterflies but more like dinosaurs fighting in my stomach. What was this going to be like? Needed to place myself in front of agents? Agents that would represent me to publishers if they were interested in the work I showed them. Wanted to place proposals for two books before them. One, a novella, Commuters, the story I'm working on dealing with demonic transference ... the story of an African-American police detective who falls in love with a young widow mother of the little girl he rescued from a serial killer. The same little girl who gets tormented then, by the transference of the demons from the killer to her. Can he somehow rescue her again using his Haitian grandmother's techniques for deliverance?  And then, the second book, my memoir, Beyond The Veil, the story of my confrontations with evil spirits when I ventured, in 1979, into occult realms. Something light. Right?

               The conference's title abbreviation is BRCWC. The Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference. I thought it a very good place to go for learning and presenting the work. After all, who better to believe in the existence of the demonic and the power of God over demons.
           
                Was the trip worth the money, time and effort?  You bet! Over four hundred people attended. Met wonderful new writing friends. I entered the Novella, Commuters in the contest and it won third prize. It's quite a feeling when you're sitting at the banquet that last night of the conference and they call out your name. I entered a Flash Fiction story into the contest and that won second prize. It's quite a feeling when you're sitting at the banquet that last night of the conference and they call out your name for the second time! Affirmation is necessary for this writing life.
             
               Costume Party!
                We were encouraged to dress up in an outfit of the genre or topic of what we write. So ...
 I came up with an idea for the fight between good and evil. Spiritual warfare. Notice in my picture there's more white than black. God wins! It was fun putting on the paint. I had forty-five minutes to change and work on my face after all the writing workshops. I thought, if only my grandchildren were here to see their Nana!

                 Well, enough for one day. Will share more soon. Thanks for stopping by!

          

A selfie in my room. Getting the nerve to go out.

With new friend, a writer born in Finland

Dare to meet me in a dark alley?  SPIRITUAL WARFARE! 

A Mother's Oscar!

            Mother's Day Post
       Ever got The Prize? Humbling ... but here's my Oscar! Can't desire anything else from my son.  
       
         
          I was thinking about how you do keep a connection... and so I express my thoughts in this poem, since you like poetry.



Mom,


You are the cord unbroken

Which reaches to my past

You are the story unspoken

Things come and go so fast.


You are the cord unbroken

A healing agent too

A pleasant happy memory

For all those loved by you.
  
You are the safe connection

Which speaks to here and now

You are the cord unbroken

And so, Mom take a bow.


You are the cord unbroken

As months turn into years

In good times and in bad times

Through trials and through tears


You are the cord unbroken

Where dreams and destiny fall

You reach into one's future

Through prayer's holy call.



You are the cord unbroken

With you we are a team

That runs onto a field

That runs into my dream.


You are the cord unbroken

Who lends but never borrows

You are the cord unbroken

Which leads to my tomorrows.



Thanks, Mom.


Eric

                Nicholas Sparks ... an inside and intimate look.

                                           Nicholas Sparks 

  She was young and beautiful, the college student sitting next to me.

       "So, why are you here?" I asked. "You're a writer, a reader, or both?"

       "I love everything he writes. Reader," she said. 

        Over 1,000 people waited for Nicholas Sparks in a packed auditorium at the University of South Florida's Lecture Series. He would speak about the fortunate breaks in his writing career, what inspired him to write his different books, how he met his wife....

    

SOME INTERESTING FACTS SHARED BY SPARKS AT THE TALK.

       

     1. Nicholas Spark wrote his first novel at the age of 19 after injuring his foot. While recuperating, his mother said, "Do something." So he wrote. According to him, "It wasn't  good." It would be years down the road before he would try this again.

     2. He wanted to go to law school but wasn't accepted.

    

     3. He met his wife at Spring Break at Sanabel Island, Florida on a Monday night. Tuesday night she didn't remember him but he told her anyway that someday he would marry her. 

  

 4. His first published book, The Notebook, was based on the love affair and marriage of his wife's grandparents. He found out about it the day after he and his wife were married when they visited them. The grandparents were unable to go to the wedding because of illnesses so Nicholas' wife asked him to put on his tuxedo again and she dressed in her bridal attire and  they went to see them. That's when her grandfather revealed the story of how his wife's mother hid letters he had written her and many other elements that Nicholas believed made a very sweet story. Thus, The Notebook! 

   5. What inspired Message In A Bottle? 

        His father and mother went horseback riding. His mother fell off her horse and hit her head on a rock, hemorrhaged and died. His father became very despondent and wore black all the time. After seven years he found someone else he could love. He tells Nicholas about it and Nicholas is very happy for him. Then his father falls asleep driving; his car hits a tree and he dies. Many similar  elements play a large part of Message In A Bottle.

  6. What inspired A Walk To Remember?

       His sister. She is the girl in the book who carries her Bible to school and gets sick and dies. His sister dies of a brain tumor. She carried her Bible to school and the one thing she wanted was to be married. She marries a fellow that at first had no desire to be with her. (Seems familiar?) He loved her and even proposed marriage to her on one knee. Incredible! 

   7. How did he get his agent?  

       He bought a book on how to get an agent. Wrote a query letter. Sent it out to 25 agents. One agent wrote back but is not one of the 25. He asked her how she got his query letter. "The agent you sent it to died. They gave me her mail," she said. This twenty-six year old woman was fresh out of law school and had never sold a book to anyone in her life. She calls him with an offer. She sold his book for a million dollars! Incredible, but true! 

   8. Nicholas Sparks has five children and speaks very lovingly about his wife. 

   9. Sparks had eight of his books made into movies. (Gets to help pick out actors to do the parts in the movies.) 

  10. He's inspired to write books by situations of members of his family or stories of friends. 

  11. He encourages writers to know what they want to do with their writing and to focus on that goal. 

  12. He's witty. A very enjoyable speaker with a certain humility about him that makes him very likable. 

        I'm so glad I went to hear him speak. His success can be an inspiration to all of us who love to write.    

TWICE A PEDRO PAN ... From Memoir, "A Dot In Time."

                              Twice A Pedro Pan           From Memoir, A Dot In Time

                 

                           For all the Pedro Panes I know and for all those I'll never know.

I sat in a chair at the circle of twelve people in the room that held acting and dancing classes. I waited for him to call me while something rattled within me. Would I be next?

 I could hear the voices of the others taking the class. Some whispered, some muttered. A mixed group of different ages and races. Most fidgeted. I sat quietly, staring at one of the  windows at the top of the front wall of the room. This was my third acting class and my eyes always seemed to go to the same comforting object standing regal out the window when I waited for the teacher to give us the next instruction. A very tall royal palm tree. An icon from my past.

I heard another name called and it wasn't mine. I glanced at our instructor, his white T-shirt creating a beautiful contrast with his ebony black skin. I smiled. He appeared to be the only one relaxed. Not us. We had learned to expect the unexpected in the class. Those impromptu assignments he sprung up for us to think through fast.

"Amarilys." I saw the young fellow leaving the seat in front of our instructor and the teacher motion for me to come and sit. I plunked down on the cold metal chair and he smiled. That smile had a dance going with his eyes. I felt pulled right into it and for a moment that magic chased my nerves away.   

"Finished the first part? The assignment for this week?" He drew his hand to the pad ready to write. "What part then?"        

 "A Pedro Pan. I'm going to be a Pedro Pan child."

He looked up from his pad. His eyebrows furrowed. "You said that's how you came here?"

 I nodded.

He placed his pen down on the pad. "You sure?"

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

"Why?" He looked at me and gave me another of those smiles.

I pressed my lips together and sighed. I felt my throat tightening.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll help you." He started to write.

"Here. To write the part. Consider what I've written." He turned the pad around.

"Read it."

"Number one: The moment before. Number two: The moment after." It was my turn to furrow my brow. "What do you mean?"

"Your assignment is to write a character in a short scene, right?"

"Yes?"

"While you write it hold close the moment the character experienced before the scene. And, hold close the moment the character experienced after the scene. Understand?"

The room was filled with silence. The group had heard what the instructor spoke and knew something of value had been said.

 "Write your character. Remember, the character has to want something. What is it? And, then, write dialogue. The whole scene. Not long. Just strong. Bring it to class next week. Any prop that will help you, bring. I'll read it and then feed you lines. They'll draw the character out." He did that dance with the eyes and mouth again. "I'll help you."

 Every day that week I labored on the assignment. I wrote the character, a nine year old  girl leaving in a Pedro Pan flight from Cuba with her five year old sister. What did she want? To stay close to her sister. What was the character to perform? The nine year old communicating to authorities receiving her that she wants to stay with her sister.

 I  wrote the scene holding fast the moment before it. The moment both girls found themselves in the airplane alone without their parents. A scene I once lived. I wrote the scene holding close the moment after the scene I would perform. The moment the older girl was separated from her sister ... a  picture that unraveled in me all kinds of tearing emotions. Why was I attempting this? Would I fall apart performing the part in a wrong way? Would I numb myself to the pain of the character to protect myself and not do justice to the acting?

The next week our instructor called out for volunteers to act out their character in the scene written. I held  to my prop, an empty cigar box, like the one I brought from Cuba, with one hand, and raised the other high ... "Me!"

I stood before the instructor, clasping my invisible little sister's hand with my one hand and holding tightly to the cigar box with the other, ready to play the Pedro Pan, Maria del Carmen.

"Your name?"

"Nombre? Maria del Carmen."

"Ah, you speak English."

I swayed slowly from side to side, swinging the hand of my little sister. Looking down, back and forth, to my little sister. "Sí, Jes! Un poquito. Mi hermana, sis-ter, con me, sí?

 "What's your sister's name?"

"Liliana. Lili." I swayed my body faster, side to side. "Lili, conmigo. Me." I pushed the cigar box against me. Hitting my chest. "Juntas. To-ge-ther." I kept looking at my little sister. "Sí, Lili? Junticas siempre. Sí, Señor?"

The instructor shook his head. "No. So sorry."

Tears rolled down my face. "No, señor. Ay." I looked down at my little sister. "Ay, no. Lili." I swayed faster and faster and pulled my little sister to my side. "Ay, no,no.Mami!,Papi." I sobbed.

Then ...

I wiped my face and bowed my head. For an instant I felt a lifting of a weight from my heart. I knew  why I had to write and play that part. They were out there and in some way writing and playing the part had connected me with them. The Pedro Panes I would never know.  

The Instructor whispered. "Well done, Amarilys."

I wiped away more tears.  

"We'll take a break now," he said.

Chairs screeched as people got up to take the break outside. A lady stayed behind.

"That was brutal. I had to turn away or lose it. How could you act like that?"

I dug a Kleenex out of my pocketbook, blew my nose, and smiled. "I wasn't acting."

"What?"

"I was a Pedro Pan child."

She shook her head. "Really?"

I nodded. Her arms went around me. "I'm sorry," she said.

After a few minutes the lady left. I sat on a chair facing the high windows on the front wall. I fixed my sight out the window at an object. An icon from my past.