Walking the Unpaved Road
By Luz Maria Mack
Welp, here I go about to embark on uncharted territories while everything about it reminds me of stories I heard long ago.
You know the stories my dad will tell me to prove that I don’t know hard work and I am so lucky!
It usually starts with, “You have it good.” This is how he will ease into making me feel guilty that I grew up going to school in New York. Then he continued, “I had to walk early in the morning barefoot, while the Caribbean sun was the only warm thing I would experience on an empty stomach to get to school. It was such a hike, and I would dust my feet off when I got to school..” I would timidly interrupt him by now, “Why barefoot?” He gets comfy and tries to reflect on what year it was, like if I ask the year that happened. Eventually, he will get to the year, and I guess it’s important because this is how my dad knew the pair of shoes he had. He slouched back and sucked his teeth to signal that he would start up again, “So I will dust off my feet once I got to school and put on my shoes that I need to make last until the soles would learn to talk!” I would remind my dad that we were lucky to go to thrift stores and buy shoes and plaster them with shoe paint to make them look new, and we would wear them until it was time to go thrift shop again. He shooed me away like a pesky fly, but I understood his struggle. I didn't personally share his experience of walking a dirt road for several miles to reach school without shoes and on an empty stomach. I understood going alone as a child on NYC transit with my younger sister to attend school. That’s when I realized I would grow accustomed to a different type of unpaved roads my whole life.
When I started my business, little did I realize that it would feel akin to the dirt road my father once paced alone to reach school. However, unlike his solitary path under the warm sun, my journey lacked that comfort. Instead, I found myself navigating through rooms where my presence stood out, where the familiar faces were absent.
As I introduced myself and my work, sharing the essence of my name and the stories bound within my books – tales deeply rooted in my own lived experiences and my family – the response was not always one of resonance. Instead, curiosity often mingled with skepticism and a cold rejection because of not understanding it or, my favorite, "This sounds too niche to a certain market."
Nonetheless, I've persisted, recognizing that my narrative holds power and that the stories I bring to light are essential threads woven into the fabric of a diverse and multifaceted world. The road was challenging, and the rooms may look different from the modest home I grew up. Hell, the meeting room is a far cry from my kitchen table where I penned up the stories floating from my head, and I had to learn to edit my voice to articulate why my work matters. After ten years of pushing little by little learning skills I didn’t know I possessed, I am driven by the giggles and the sea of faces that look like me and tell me that they saw themselves in the pages of my book.
This past weekend, the unpaved road led me to a book reading at Fordham Plaza. The air was humid as we cooled off by sipping on a refreshing, Dr. Pepper-free beverage being distributed just a booth away.
I warmly greeted every attendee, expressing gratitude for their presence and sharing my excitement about reading from my latest book. An older woman caught my attention, gracing me with a radiant smile. She proudly revealed her purpose for being there: to partake in the reading and to accompany her daughter.
As we conversed, she recounted encountering me in the South Bronx at a T-Mobile store during one of my initial readings as an author years ago. Her daughter, who was once a little girl then, now stood beside her as a young lady who had entered the realm of double digits, the big ten. It was a moment of immense gratification to learn that I had been the first author she had ever met, a piece of her literary journey that had left a mark on her life.
I felt humble to know that no matter the hike and being alone, it reinforces the profound impact of sharing stories and connecting through words. As I stood in Fordham Plaza, surrounded by eager listeners, I felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that each step on this road led me to my community and inspired the next generation of storytellers who know their story matters and echoing the message that they are the heroes of their own story.
I thought about how it began with writing a book, daring to believe in that endeavor, and crafting more literary works. As the path unfolded, I ventured into teaching young minds from my neighborhood the art of storytelling. And now, I find myself lengthening my stride, but this time, I am not on this journey alone. My purpose has evolved into guiding and supporting others, encouraging them to embrace their narratives, and empowering them to put pen to paper. It's a beautiful cycle of belief and creation, and I'm thrilled to continue this meaningful hike (luckily not barefoot)!
Luz Mack’s son Tony Mack, co-author of Santo & Sheepy, signing books centering his lived experience at Fordham Plaza.
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