An Hour with a Revolutionary

In thirteen years, a baby grows to an adolescent, a child finishes education, and a man grows paunchy and gray. Imagine spending over a decade in solitary confinement in a cell the size of a closet? Picture being tortured for fighting for equality?
The world remembers the names of Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King,Ghandi, Nelson Mandela, but who has ever heard of Mauricio Rosencof?
In the 1960’s and 70’s, like a modern day Robin Hood robbing banks and kidnapping political prisoners, he worked with the Tupamaros Revolutionary group in a fight for of social justice in Uruguay. Never heard of him? Me neither. Worse yet, I had to look up Uruguay on the map.
Though technically, I am the teacher, I learn more from the people I meet each day at an international school in Geneva, in this culturally diverse community in the heart of Europe. Yesterday my English class met with Mauricio, a small-stature man from a little country whose big ideas for humanity made a huge difference.
Dressed in a grey jacket, beret and brown trousers, 76- year- old Mauricio addressed a room full of thirteen-year-olds. “ The most important thing in life is having a dream. My dream– everyone has the right to have basic needs met.”
In Spanish he recounted the story of how Uruguay, an agricultural country, had “millions of cows” and only a few owners. While most of the population starved, a few got rich and fat. The Tupamaros tried to talk to the owners, but no one would listen. Instead they threw the leaders of the movement into jail in hopes of crushing the revolution.
“We were in three separate cells without any daylight or human contact. We drank urine and ate bugs to survive,” Mauricio said, “but we learned that flies make a good dessert because they are sweeter.”
How does one survive such torture with an intact sense of humor? What they did do all day to pass the time?
“Think,” Mauricio answered. “We devised a type of Morse Code to communicate through the walls. We talked about our childhood, our families, our girlfriends, our revolution, our dreams.”
My student asked him, “Do you believe in destiny or the work of man?”
“I am profoundly religious but do not believe in any of the religions. However, there is too much harmony in the universe for there not to be a God,” Mauricio answered by paraphrasing a quote from Albert Einstein. “God didn’t have time to enter into the destiny of man because he was too busy balancing the universe. Therefore, every individual needs to help him out. Everyone holds the whole world in his hands.”
“Was it worth it?” Another student asked.
“Yes. It took a long time but today, Jose Pepe Mujica, my friend, in isolation in the cell next to me, is set to become the next President of Uruguay.”
In 1985, democracy was restored in Uruguay and Tupamaros returned as the political party, Movement for the Popular Participation. Mauricio lived through WWII, solitary confinement, and tremendous social upheaval. Though he regrets now that the Tupamaros resorted to extreme measures, he believes in non-violence. He continues to write books and run a children’s Cultural Center of the Arts, yet he remains humble enough to cook dinner for his wife when she comes home from work.
“My belief? Equality for all. Men, women, rich, poor, black, white, brown!”
This self-effacing, courageous fellow retains a twinkle in his eye as he tells simple stories with profound lessons. Little man. Small country. Big dream. Great change.

Empty nest

Sept. 13, 2009. Now that printed word is dying, the only way I foresee getting published in the near future is 10 seconds in cyberspace. So Gerald sent me up to become a blogger even though I am of the fraidy cat generation anxious about technology. The economic crisis of 2009 has become so dire that many worry newspapers will not survive. Magazines will be the next to topple.And lastly, books may bite the dust. A bleak outlook for a wannabee writer.Pessimism abounds in our home. As a printing company director, Gerald sees the writing on the wall, but refuses to read it –what is life without words? Email, SMS, Facebook, twitter, blog, it’s a brave new world. How will the over the hill, hard print loving, fifty somethings – ever fit into 21st century.

The existential crisis is nothing new for me.I never outgrew the adolescent angst about, “who am I? ”My life course complicated the question. I moved 12 times in 18 years between 4 different countries on 2 different continents. Since the age of 26, when my pro basketball career ended in a harrowing accident abroad, I kept rewriting the script.

My most recent transition… empty nester. Our daughter long gone enters the medical world as a doctor-in-training in Minneapolis. Our son joins her at Macalester in the Twin Cities. Our living room is tidy, the grocery bill dropped, washing machine stopped spinning, phone never rings, and no one limits my computer time. The house has never been so neat, organized and easy to run. What am I crying about? The emptiness, the haunting loneliness, the bittersweet nostalgia of days gone by when I was M-O-M on call 24/7.

Waves of sadness hit me at random moments when I least expect it. At 8 am as I drive to school sans an inert jean-clad, body slumped in silence under a hoody riding shotgun next to me. At 5 pm when I come from work, the trail of snack wrappers, Poweraid bottles and notebooks trailing from the kitchen to the bedroom has disappeared. Lebron T-shirts, mesh shorts and blue jeans no longer dance in the breeze on the line outside my window. No one asks, “What’s for dinner?” “Can you take me to practice?” “Got any money?”

If my refrigerator, gas tank, and pocket book are so full, why is my heart so empty? Everyday I give myself a pep talk… Isn’t this what I longed for, uninterrupted time alone, no socks to wash, no meals to cook, no one asking to toss the football, catch the rebound, or edit an essay, “ASAP it’s due tomorrow, Ma!”

“Quit moping! Snap out of it,” I repeat like a mantra. He didn’t get hit by a car, fall off a mountain slope, join a cult, drop out of school, get sent to Iraq or any of the zillion other things a mother worries about. Instead he accomplished more than we ever dreamed. He graduated with honors and flew off to college 4,000 miles away. While he enters new adventures, his dad and I remain behind marveling at how that kid, who now towers above us, grew up so fast when we weren’t looking. In a blink, he is gone from day to day lives, but never far from our hearts where he remains cherished at every stage, all ages, always and forever our beloved, green-eyed, Franco-American boy.