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Lotta Loose Threads in the Fabric of Our Lives

May 11, 2017

Eliza Berman wrote this in American Voices at

“John Leguizamo has a recurring bit in Latin History for Morons, the one-man show he’s performing through April 28 at New Yority’s Public Theater.

“Anytime he’s insulted by another character–played, as they all are, by Leguizamo–he stands on tiptoe, puffs up his chest like a threatened grizzly and demands, ‘Do you know me, man?’

“It’s a memorable refrain, but it’s a red herring. The show only exists because of Leguizamo’s realization, a few years back, that he didn’t know himself.

“If I would have read in a textbook as a kid that 10,000 [Hispanics] participated in the Civil War and Cuban women in Virginia sold their jewelry to feed the patriots,” he says, “people wouldn’t feel so confident to disrespect me. I wouldn’t feel as victimized, because I would go, Well, no! This is my country too.”

— As The Who famously asked us in a song, “Who are you?” Like John Leguizamo is finding, the answer has many layers.

Lotta loose threads in the fabric of most of our lives…which one will you start to tug in a moment of self-identification today?

St. Paul gave us a good place to start when he wrote,  “Let’s just go ahead and be what we were made to be, without enviously or pridefully comparing ourselves with each other, or trying to be something we aren’t.” (Romans 12:6)


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One Comment
  1. This song has been in my head the past few months when I was MIA:

    Carole King

    My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue,
    An everlasting vision of the ever-changing view.
    A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold
    A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold.

    Once, amid the soft, silver sadness in the sky,
    There came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by.
    He wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide,
    And a coat of many colors, yellow, green on either side.

    He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn’t know
    Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go.
    Once he reached for something golden, hanging from a tree,
    And his hand came down empty.

    Soon within my tapestry, along the rutted road,
    He sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad.
    It seemed that he had fallen into someone’s wicked spell,
    And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn’t know him well.

    As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared
    A figure, gray and ghostly, beneath a flowing beard.
    In times of deepest darkness, I’ve seen him dressed in black.
    Now my tapestry’s unraveling; he’s come to take me back.
    He’s come to take me back.

    Songwriters: CAROLE KING
    © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
    For non-commercial use only.


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