A Blog by Rose Cordero-Gonzales

“Stuttering is OK because what I have to say is worth repeating.” ~Anonymous

As a little girl, I loved to listen to my mamá weave tales of Mexico and other places to entertain my four sisters and me. She displayed a natural way of finding the treasures and lessons of life. 

Her tales captured our minds that made us feel rich in our imaginations. Even into her nineties, she never lost her gift. She was an unstoppable force when she put her mind to something. Not a person to be at odds with. She was also the keeper of our family legacy.

At six months, my parents hospitalized me because of pneumonia and bronchitis. When I recovered, the doctor encouraged my parents to institutionalize me. He believed that my illness had caused brain damage.

“Doctor, mi no give my baby away like a tortilla.”

My mamá stood her ground in my defense and refused to listen to the doctor. She packed me up and took me home. My great-grandmother once said this to her because they were so poor when she had my oldest sister that my mother wanted to give up my sister for adoption.

I’m so thankful she listened to my great-grandmother.

Over time, I thrived and met the basic developmental milestones of normal growth. However, when I spoke, I developed a severe stuttering issue. My stuttering contributed to my being extremely shy. I would hide behind my mother to avoid speaking to strangers. Just thinking about talking made my hands sweat, my heart pound, and my throat so tight that I couldn’t breathe.

As a second language student, learning to read and write was difficult. My issue was my inability to process information in the nuances of sound differences. High fevers can cause an auditory processing issue later in life. Because of my slow progress, my kindergarten teacher labeled me as a slow learner. I even had to repeat kindergarten for lack of progress, even though I started school before I was five.

Almost every year before high school, I entered a new school. One summer, when I was ten, we became homeless because my papá got hurt and lost his job. We moved in with my grandmother. To earn money for food, I helped my mamá pick grapes that summer. Later, in the fall, he went back to work, and we moved to a new rental.

Throughout my early education, I attended speech therapy and many remedial classes. I had to learn to spell by memorizing and seeing words as pictures, not letters and sounds. 

Progressing through high school, I struggled to maintain a C average grade. One of the most important things I learned because of my stuttering was to observe others. I befriended the smartest students in my classes, who were usually willing to help me with my homework. Overall, I could fit in and socialize despite my stuttering. That doesn’t mean my peers didn’t tease me. I just learned how to ignore their ignorance with the support of some close friends. I even joined the pep squad my last year as a senior.

During the last week of school, my guidance counselor scheduled a meeting to review my SAT scores.

In her most academic manner, she said, “You don’t have the scores or aptitude for college. Instead, you need to focus on more domestic skills like getting a job or getting married.”

She did not know how her words dashed my hope for college and a teaching career. The bleakness of my future shrouded the rest of my day. I felt embarrassed every time my friends asked about my college plans. Finally, I escaped their scrutiny with a simple, curt comment, “I’m still deciding.”

That day melted away slower than a snowball in December.

After school, I wandered home in a daze of disbelief. I trudged the long one-mile walk home in the summer California heat, avoiding my usual walking companions. I entered my backyard gate from the alley and sat under our old walnut tree. The faded wooden patio chair seemed the perfect place for a loser like me. My black four-footed friend, George The Cat, purred his way into my lap. He rarely allowed me to hold him. He knew I needed a friend.

Again, my Mamá came to my rescue. Our conversation took place in a Spanish and English exchange.

That incident took place over forty years ago. My Mamá’s wise words still echo in my memory even today.

“When did you get home?” She said as she joined me, carrying an empty laundry basket on her hip.

“About an hour ago.” I wiped the sweat and tears from my face and petted George The Cat.

“What are you doing out here?” She stopped by the clothesline a few steps from me on the dry lawn and pulled a towel off the clothesline wire.

“I didn’t pass the college entrance exam. My counselor said to forget about college. I don’t have what it takes to be a teacher.”

“What?” She dropped her laundry basket to the ground.

“Maybe I’ll just start looking for a job.” Again, I wiped the tears off of my face. “Or a husband, like that counselor said.”

“Mija, don’t let that person tell you what you can do.” She unpinned a few more clothes and tossed them into the basket. Her eyes focused on me for a moment, suspended in time.

“I guess I’m not—”

“Por favor, don’t be like me, waiting for a man to take care of you. A man can come, and a man can go.” She pulled another towel off the line and threw it into the basket. “You need an education. A good education belongs to you. No one can take it away. You need to take care of yourself.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I wiped my face. George The Cat jumped off as I got up to help. “You’re right, Mamá.” The wrinkles around her black Spanish eyes smiled back at me. Her short, peppered hair shined in the sunlight as we finished the laundry. She never looked so beautiful as that day she gave me back my dreams.

College was a struggle. I enrolled in almost every remedial class at a city college to fill the gaps in my education. I took a wide range of remedial courses to develop my language skills. As for art and math, they came easily because I could understand abstract concepts visually. Math was easy because once I memorized formulas, they didn’t change, unlike the fickleness of the rules of language. Art just absorbed me. There is no wrong way to do art.

Ten years later, I graduated with a degree in Special Education and Speech Therapy because I knew what it was like to be a special education student. One semester, I even made the Dean’s List. Along the way, I learned to thrive despite stuttering and other learning issues and became a Special Education teacher and a Resource Specialist.

On my journey, I have trudged through many obstacles like poverty, homelessness, stuttering, and breast cancer. They often appeared insurmountable. Along the way, with the support of others, especially my mamá, I discovered valuable life lessons and found my writer’s voice. I like to think I inherited my tenacity for life and learning from her.

In the last five years of my thirty-year career, my destiny finally led me back to my most beloved grade level, the kindergarten classroom. I returned to the place where I had started my journey as a lifelong learner.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. I finally returned home and enjoyed teaching those little minds with big imaginations. But, in hindsight, the years pass through my hands way too fast. I still wish that I would have spent more time with those wonderful little people whose eyes sparkled with such wonder.

Toward the end of my teaching career, I retired early to take care of my ninety-year-old mamá. It was my time to be there for her. She was too ill to be on her own and required full-time care. Back then, I didn’t realize that she would once again change the course of my life.

This was a special time. We had long talks about life, dreams, and regrets during our many hours together. Some discussions were difficult, especially talking about regrets. Life felt so overwhelming that I doubted every action I took and felt stuck. To get some relief, my sisters and I would trade time watching her because I needed time off.

This allowed me to take classes once again to pursue my passion for writing and art. In pursuing my goals, I discovered my faith and courage by taking a few steps toward becoming a writer. My courage to believe in myself moved me forward.

I have discovered my passion for storytelling and carrying on the family legacy in my writing. I’m thankful for the opportunity that I was there for her those last six months of her life. She passed away on Mother’s Day, a month after her ninety-third birthday.

Since then, I have combined my passion for writing and art to create and publish. I have written and illustrated the children’s book Rosie’s Christmas Wish and a series of journal notebooks. Last spring, I shared my story with host Margie Peterson on the podcast STOMP! With Debbie Walker. Some of my work is featured in the best-selling book, The Community Book Project: Celebrating 365 Days of Gratitude available on Amazon.

A book of poetry and a memoir is in the works. As Rose CG, I also share other stories and poems about life on my blog on Medium.com.

My passion is to inspire others to find their own voices so they can share their stories.

Even after all this time, I still consider myself a stutterer because I never know when stuttering will pop back into my life.

The most valuable lesson I have learned along my life’s journey is that I am good enough just the way I am.

About the Author

Rose Cordero-Gonzales is an artist, poet, storyteller, and teacher. Her life’s journey has taken her from working in the grape fields of California to teaching in the classroom. She wrote and illustrated the children's book Rosie’s Christmas Wish and a series of journal notebooks. Last spring, she shared her story with host Margie Peterson on the podcast STOMP! With Debbie Walker. Some of her work has been featured in a best-selling book on Amazon. A book of poetry and a memoir is in the works.

Posted March 29, 2023