I've always been a performer, and for as long as I can remember, my mother has been my acting coach, voice teacher and tutor.
I remember rehearsing for numerous talent shows in our living room in Socorro. The peach-colored curtains were always drawn to let the light and tiny dust particles in through our large picture window. In front of the window, sat a trunk my Grampo Mestas gave to my mother when I was still in elementary school. It came to her with rusty hinges and graying from age. She painted it hunter green and "aged" it with strokes of black paint, using a technique she probably read about in one of her numerous books dedicated to home improvement. Inside the trunk were my baby blankets, carefully quilted by Grandma Chavez and waiting anxiously to wrap grandchildren.
My mom would sit on that trunk and listen to me sing, recite poems, practice for the spelling bee, whatever performance was required of me in any given week.
I always started out proud, thinking "I'm going to amaze the judges. I'll be a star!" or "There's no way anyone else knows more spelling words than me!"
Then, I'd sing for my mom...
I'd act for my mom....
I'd spell for my mom...
Next, the coaching would come. I'd be reminded again, that I was not yet a star and I had not yet mastered enough spelling to get past the words starting with the letter "d".
I was made small, humble.
But that was never the end of it. These coaching sessions would last for hours on end.
We'd go through the words, starting with "a", then "b", then "c" until we were both convinced that there wasn't a word I couldn't spell.
I'd sing every song over and over again. I'd sing quietly, with the cassette player, loudly, acapella, in my highest vice, in my lowest voice.
Finally, she'd say that phrase: "One more time, con ganas!"
There was something about that phrase that dug deep inside of me. I could feel it low in my belly and my eyes would become warm as if about to tear. It was the place where I found air for the high notes and the desire to perform.
That phrase "con ganas" pushed me through every talent show, every spelling bee, every final, every "show-me-what-you-got" opportunity I have been fortunate enough to find. That phrase taught me to perform.
So, as I sit in my study, surrounded by flash cards, handwritten notes, discarded practice tests, candy wrappers and santos, smelling my half-cup of coffee as it gets cold, wishing I could join my husband and the puppies as they watch a movie in the den, I am reminded that I am preparing for a performance. I hear my mother's words again "One more time, con ganas!"
