An Incident

An incident happened, recently, that compelled me to write the following.
When writing the following I had in mind Paula and Donna and Sandy and Henry and others that have shared with me.

I am crying while reflecting on my experiences of the last two days. I sat in on a workshop at a Portuguese Conference. The lecturer started to speak in Portuguese. After sitting for a few minutes I raised my hand and asked if the lecture was going to be in Portuguese. She said yes, and gave me the opportunity to exit and attend another workshop. Shyly I replied that I wanted to hear this lecture. I was invited to stay and listen to the music of the language. I wanted to say, how can I listen to the music of the language when it is being drowned out by the sobbing in my heart.

Thousands of us diluted Portuguese are sobbing in our hearts. We sob for the gift of the language and culture that was denied us as children. We were diluted into a society not of our choosing. There has to be a joining, a bonding, an accepting of us, for we are the youth of yesterday.

Let no wedge be pounded between us. Let no barrier stand in our way. Grasp us close to you, take us into your hearts and hold us dear. Remember we are the youth of yester-year.

As long as a smidgen no bigger than a grain of sand flows through our bodies. We are Portuguese. Don't deny us, don't turn your backs on us, don't keep us away. We are the same as you... we are the youth of yesterday.

We are silent while sitting, not uttering a sound. We are hiding the truth from those around. We can not say the words, we dare not expose our souls. We cry within, a sobbing, echoing, sound. We are the youth of yesterday.

We are trying to find our roots, our genealogy, a connection or whatever you want to say. Let us be as one. Let us be a part of you Help us find the past that we seek. Please don't keep us away.

Remember us we are the youth of yesterday.