Saturday's Storyteller: "Stop gawking at the blueberry puddings, we're going to be late!"

by Belinda Roddie

Stop gawking at the blueberry puddings, we're going to be late! Here, take my hand. I know, those little cakes are to die for, are they not? They leave a colorful sweetness in your mouth that not even the strongest coffee can wash away. Come on, let's head to the car so we can see your father.

Awfully cold, isn't it, dear? You know, I remember on this day, seven years ago, you had only just started to walk. Imagine that. You're so big now. Your father will love seeing you. Don't you worry about him, sweetie - he's healing up just fine. It's just taking longer than expected.

Now, I was thinking that, after we go to the hospital, we can go mini-golfing or have a picnic by the pond. You like picnics, don't you? I could make you a peanut butter and jam sandwich and buy you a big carton of chocolate milk that you can have all to yourself. Just tell me what jam you prefer, and I'll get it. Have you ever tried kiwifruit jam, dear? Just lovely. I first tried it when I went to New Zealand for your auntie's wedding. We ought to go to Auckland together, just you and me.

Would you like me to turn on the heater, dear? These new-fangled cars have so many computer things and doo-hicky devices. Here, press this button, and your seat will get warm. You'll be all toasty by the time we hit the freeway.

You know, I am so glad we could see each other again. I swear that we don't see each other enough. Oh, I know I've gotten much grayer - lot more wrinkles, too. Times have changed in seven years, haven't they? Times have changed.

I ought to teach you Spanish. Does your mother ever give you lessons? That's your father's native tongue, you know. Spanish. He grew up in Mexico, before he moved here and met your mother. Did he ever tell you the story, honey? Well, your mother worked at a bakery. And to think, we were just looking at blueberry puddings and tarts! Your mother has always been wonderful with cakes and pastries, but I'm sure you know that from experience. Anyway, your father would come in every day and ask for one of her sugar cakes in broken English, and each time, he'd learn a new word or sentence so he could ask her questions. Took only a couple of months before she said yes to a date, and, well...here we are. And here you are.

Your father is a wonderful man. Hard working. It's a shame what happened at the construction site, really, but he'll be all right. You must take care of him, sweetie. He loves you very much, and you need to be strong for him.

This country...it's quite different now, isn't it? We can't say everything that's on our minds anymore, but perhaps that's for the best. Get too rowdy, and you get in a lot of trouble with the government. Now, that's not something for you to worry about - you're young. You can do anything in the world. I promise you, when you're old enough, things will change for the better. They always do.

Ah, well, here we are. Darling, you know where the lobby is, right? Go to the gift shop and see if you can find a nice teddy bear and some flowers. I'll be right there.

...

One day, I'll tell you everything. I'll tell you it over blueberry puddings and flan and tea. I'll tell you of the day the new president of this nation told us that men like your father were the enemy. And the day his colleagues dropped lumber on his head and made it look like an accident.

"Go home," they said over him, jeering him, kicking him while he bled from his forehead. "Go home to Mexico. Take your family with you."

Your mother is strong. And so are you. You look more like your mother. White, fragile skin. Not brown and fierce like your father. That will help you in school. You won't be bullied. You won't be threatened with deportation...

I'm not sure how good of a grandmother I can be for you. But I shall do my best. I shall teach you Spanish and tell you about your heritage. I will take you to your father's hometown and to the bakery where he met your mother. I will make sure you understand the consequences of people's choices, choices made under the false banner of "hope" and "greatness."

I shall give you a blueberry pudding, there. And perhaps, in all the trauma and turmoil, you may enjoy a little sweetness before it is taken from you.

This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.