S3 Episode 10: "Dear Papá Noel"

While MiiMii had planned to share a different episode in this Season 3 finale, she instead sits down to read her letter to Papá Noel to you. She includes an anecdote from her days as a high school teacher in the San Diego School District when she went by Ms. G to her scholars before she began her Erotic Renaissance journey.

She ends with a poem by رفعت العرعير [a writer and teacher, like MiiMii] and a call to action as she invites other voices to remind the world: "All the Children are My Children. All the People are My People."

As she closes out this Season 3 finale, she invites you the listener to join her in her Winter Give Back fundraiser through Save the Children International, who has been working in a permanent residence in Gaza since 1973. All donors will have a dance dedicated to them for their gift to Save the Children, which can be viewed on her Instagram. [Fundraiser ends 3.3.24]

Voices Credited:
- Alex Maines, @elementalempathy | San Diego, CA
- Gregory Winningham,  @gregorywinningham | TN
- Paul Gooden | Temecula, CA
- Luis Mendoza | NJ

Note: MiiMii included languages she has mastered at a sentence level and did not include Greek or Hebrew; these are languages she is only beginning letter recognition. However, if she could speak them at the time of recording, she would have included both of these languages alongside her English, Spanish, and Arabic.

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Transcript

Welcome to The Erotic Renaissance, I am MiiMii De la Torre, your Linguist of Love. In our previous episode, I guided you through my recent open house play party at Club Safe Word, Hero-Gasm. I hope you enjoyed your time as “The Voyeur in the Room” and rested well and easily if you decided to play alongside Season 3, Episode 9.

If this is the first episode of The Erotic Renaissance you are listening to, this is our Season 3 finale, and while I originally had planned an entirely different episode for today, I will be saving this episode for Season 4. I’m so sorry, Love, but you will have to wait patiently as we move ourselves a little closer towards the other side of the Sun in 2024. 

During this time of the year, I usually like going inward, which is the holiday season if you are listening in tempo with me. Last year, I ended Season 2 with a story for your inner-child, inviting you to hold your shadows a little more lovingly, and in our Season 3 finale, I will be reading you my letter to Papá Noel. If you didn’t know, the archetype of Santa Claus is recognized globally. The tradition differs from culture to culture with names like Father Christmas, Sinterklaas, Saint Nicholas, Weihnachtsmann, Los Reyes Magos [akin to the three wise men], Papá Noel, etc. [Source]. The traditions range but carry similar themes of goodness and generosity. 

The legend of Santa Claus can be traced back to what we know as modern-day Turkey around 280 A.D. [Source]. St. Nicholas, either a monk or a bishop, traveled the countryside helping the less fortunate, and he was canonized in 1446 as the Saint or protector of children and sailors by Pope Eugene IV. One of the most commonly heard tales of St. Nicholas’s generosity is of him providing money for a dowry for three impoverished girls whose father was to preparing to sell them into slavery or prostitution. Legend has it that St. Nicholas tossed a bag of gold through a window that landed into a stocking that was drying by the fire. With a dowry, the girls could be married rather than sold or enslaved [Source, Source ]. With a reputation of stories like this, St. Nicholas became recognized as a protector of children, and I am sure you can recognize why gift-giving is a notable tradition linked to the Holidays.  

While the holidays are celebrated differently all over our beautiful World, this year poses many difficulties. As someone who seeks to always create safe spaces for others, especially for children, I feel like a mother of the World who wants to cry out loudly to everyone to stop and think seriously about the effects of war, not only on the beauty of the world which is destroyed in a pointless fight over its rocks, sands, and ash that are owned by none of us, but most pressing to me are the impacts on the lives of children who are growing up knowing nothing but war, pain, and trauma. Today, I string my words for you today in the only way I know how to combat conflict, hoping that not only that those hurting will hear it but that those with the power and authority to help bring peace will finally do so. For as it often tends to be, governmental power is held with a tight fist at the excuse of the People’s ignorance. And as we all know quietly, there are misinformed history books in our schools, unspoken agendas, and conversations in rooms we will never be privy to hear nor will we be invited to voice our thoughts. 

Thus, as we begin today’s episode, I invite you to get as comfortable and as cozy as possible wherever you might be today. If you have the scent “Voyage Home,” by Stella Lux Creations, I suggest adding some to your wax melter. However, if you do not have this scent, I recommend having something nearby that reminds you of Home.

If you would like to practice some deep breathing alongside me as we begin our stories, you may do so now. I am going to lead us through four deep breaths together [Breathe X 4].

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Dear Papá Noel,

Things are rough down here in the middle of the earth. I am sure you have seen the news from the North Pole, but war is erupting everywhere, and while we keep asking the leaders to step up and stop the wars, no one seems to be listening to us. I know that you have noticed that a large portion of your list has gone missing, with so many Gazan children lost to fighting by adults over land that none of us even own. I can imagine you are just as hurt over this as I am, as you are the protector of children. And – Papá Noel, you will never believe it, but given the opportunity more than once, the US President didn’t even vote to stop the war in Gaza. That’s how I know that this mission calls for your help. Obviously you are more powerful than the President of the United States, for you can work miracles, so I would prefer to write to you before I attempt writing the President again. 

I’m sick with sadness, and I know you are too, which is why I can’t imagine anything I would rather request during the holidays than for peace for our World. Now, Papá Noel, I can already hear you telling me that you can’t make people be kind or peaceful or even just. Rather, I ask that this holiday season, you send something that reminds this whole World of adults at war that children deserve a childhood, free of the fears, stresses, and inhumanity of dictators who repeat history’s mistakes in their clutch for power. They [children] deserve to wish on stars, love fully, dream of their future’s happiness, and have hope that floats them through the difficult days.

But–the war just isn’t the kind you think of, Papá Noel, the war is within the Home too. So, I am enclosing two stories for you just in case they will help you usher in peace to our beautiful blue planet. I’ll start with a story from my days as a high school teacher, when I went by Ms G, which I believe might remind people how a war within an adult creates a war within a child. 

❣🧧❣

Lyla Lies

There once was a classroom that lay in the warmth of California’s sunshine. The scholars sat just close enough to entice conversation as the teacher moved about the room, providing some one-on-one help to groups of scholars working together on their essays. [breathes gently] The afternoon sun gently warmed the room as sounds of typing carried a harmony to accompany the soft music in the background. Ms G relit her palo santo and began to walk around the room, dispersing the woodsy sent into the corners of the room. It was only a few moments later that Lyla exclaimed from the opposite end of the room, “What the fuck! Get out of my face,”  as she pushed Erica roughly away from her desk. Lyla attempted to get up quickly from her seat with balled up fists. There was an immediate eruption as some of the males in the corner of the room started to get up and move in towards the fight. 

“Stop!” Ms G’s voice echoed off the glossy whiteboard walls as the classroom noise stilled instantly. Scholars began to sit down, so Ms G calmed her tone, “Please come chat with me at my desk, Lyla.”

Lyla threw her head back as she rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ms G, I have to finish my essay.” Lyla frequently disrupted class, especially as the day neared its end. 

“I am not going to make you do anything, Lyla, but I would like to talk. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Ms G returned to her desk and began to grade rough drafts until Lyla sighed loudly and approached the desk. Sitting heavily into the seat, she allowed her feet to drop loudly against the floor. “Okay Ms G, what do you want to talk about?”

Ms G slightly closed her laptop and faced Lyla: “What happened today?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you don’t want to talk about it?”

Lyla shrugged.

“Would you like to take a walk up to the library? I need a laptop picked up from IT.” After Lyla shrugged her shoulders again, Ms G offered to ask Jonathan instead.

Lyla sighed, “I’ll go.”

Ms G wrote a pass and handed it to Lyla, “Take your time, mija.” Lyla almost smiled as she took the pass and kicked the door open on her way out.

“Did you send her to the office, Ms. G?” Jonathan asked loudly as the door slammed shut.

“Sorry, Jonathan, that’s between me and Lyla for now, but I appreciate the concern.”

Ms G approached Erica, “Do you have some time to chat, mija?”

Erica nodded and followed Ms G to the door outside. Stepping out, Ms. G asked Erica if she was okay and took a look at her arm – checking her for marks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Ms. G, she’s just crazy. She’s always yelling ‘n shit. All I did was walk by her and she blew up like that. I didn’t do nothing, Ms G.”

“Can you say more about what you mean by the word ‘crazy?’”

“She just yells all the time. –especially in math. You can even ask Mrs. Fernam. She just causes problems, Ms G.”

“Thank you for letting me know what you meant, mija. I’ll talk with her too.” Ms G looked at the time. We have about ten minutes left in class. Do you want to process anything else?”

“I just want to finish my essay with Jewelz, Ms G.” 

“Okay, Mija, Let me know if you need or want to talk more, okay?”

With a nod, Erica returned to her desk.

As the school bell rang, Lyla reentered the classroom with another door kick as Ms G waved.  “Bye, Scholars, I’ll see you Friday.”

“Here, Ms G.” Lyla handed the laptop and charger to Ms. G, but continued to stare at the ground.

“Do you have a few minutes or do you need to get home?”

Groaning, Lyla plopped herself back down into the seat. “What now, Ms G?”

Jonathan lingered by the door, but Ms G noticed. “We are going to need some privacy for this conversation, Jonathan. Do you have a question before you leave for the day?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Bye, Ms G. See you Friday.”

Ms. G waved as Jonathan slowly departed the classroom before turning back to Lyla. “I noticed that you tend to get most upset towards the end of the day and I wanted to ask if everything is okay at  home.”

Lyla was quiet for a few moments. [pause] “MMhm.” The answer was firm and tight. Ms G waited again, noticing the unspoken words caught in Lyla’s throat.

[pause]

“No one does anything about it anyway.”

“Are you able to talk to me about what ‘it’ is?”

Lyla shook her head as the words moved from her throat to her eyes. “Fuck, Man,” she said quietly as some of the words escaped and marked little trails down her cheeks.

“My dad–” Lyla paused.

The way she ended the sentence confirmed what Ms G had often felt over the course of the year she had been Lyla’s teacher. Sensing the nature of what Lyla had to say, it only felt right to create space for Lyla to make an informed decision about sharing more details with a teacher.

“I take your safety seriously inside and outside of my classroom, but before we talk more, I feel it is just to remind you that I am a mandated reporter and will be legally required to call Child Protective Services if you are in danger. ”

“CPS doesn’t do anything, Ms G. They come and go.”

[Sighs] “Can you say more about that?”

“The last teacher called CPS, and they didn’t do shit but get my dad mad.”

Ms G understood. Her father always always made her and her siblings afraid to talk about what they were enduring behind closed doors when she was a child. “You think you have it bad?” Her father would say. “If you tell someone, the police will steal you away and you’ll have to stay with people who are worse.” So, Ms. G really understood. She understood the need to tell someone but being so scared of what “worse” would look like.

“I don’t want you to do anything that you think is going to make things more unsafe for you, but I want to help in whatever way you might need.”

“I want to tell you, Ms G. They don’t do anything anyway, and I [pauses and trails off].”

“I’m listening, Lyla.”

“Back then, I was doing real bad shit, Ms G. It was a couple years ago, and my dad had me sent to rehab. And Ms G, I’m not even mad about that. I’m actually really glad I went, even though I hated it. It helped me stop hurting myself like that. I was there for a while and had just gotten home and went to sleep, but my dad pulled me out of bed. He tied me to the ground outside on the grass and began to spray me with the hose. And I was screaming for him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”

Ms. G felt angry tears choke her as she looked at Lyla. “CPS didn’t help you?”

“Ms G, they came and when they talked to my father, he made them leave.”

“What do you mean by ‘he made them leave?’”

“--Like he told them that I was lying; he said, ‘Look at her school reports. Look at her report card. She’s a bad student. The school knows she lies.’ – So they left.”

Ms G looked at Lyla, fourteen and obviously avoiding home like she once had. “Are you safe now?”

“--no.”

This one word explained everything Ms G needed to know about the missing assignments and afternoon disruptions. “Is there anything else you need or want to say about that, Lyla?”

Lyla shook her head, “No.”

“Next time you feel angry or upset like today, please approach me for a pass to go for a walk. My promise to you is: I will do anything within my power to help you feel safer, Mija.”

Lyla continued to look at the ground and nodded through some stray tears as she grabbed a tissue that Ms G offered her. “You can try, Ms. G.”

And try, she did. Ms G called Child Protective Services [CPS] and recounted Lyla’s story through tears and multiple calls. However the same response emerged each time, “I’ll write it down but there’s really nothing we can do without a new report.”

“But she claims to feel unsafe now though. How is she supposed to do homework when she feels unsafe at home? How is she supposed to focus at school when she is afraid to go home?”

“Does she have marks or bruises?”

“I was only able to see her arms, but no. There were no bruises.”

“I’ll make a report that you called, but they won’t send someone out unless something new happens. I’m sorry, but you can give us a call then.”

In the silence of the call’s end, Ms G heard the echo of a child’s cry, a sound that haunted her own memories. The cry echoed and echoed until she could not return to the small classroom anymore, for her classroom became a place where she was forced to witness her own traumas recycled in eyes that others’ dismissed as lies. 

❣🧧❣

Papá Noel, I have one more story to include to you in this letter requesting World Peace. This story comes as a poem from another teacher and writer, like me. I read this poem with immense honor. As of writing this letter to you, his light was snuffed out by an aimed airstrike that killed him and his family. His name was Refaat Alareer [رفعت العرعير], 

If I Must Die

Nov 1, 2023 by Refaat Alareer [Twitter/X Post]

If I must die,

you must live

to tell my story

to sell my things

to buy a piece of cloth

and some strings,

(make it white with a long tail)

so that a child, somewhere in Gaza

while looking heaven in the eye

awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—

and bid no one farewell

not even to his flesh

not even to himself—

sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up

above

and thinks for a moment an angel is there

bringing back love

If I must die

let it bring hope

let it be a tale.

I can’t even say I am sorry to bring such a somber letter to you, because today - more than ever-, it feels needed and right and just. Again, I know that you have a lot to deliver this Noel season, and if you cannot bring me the World Peace that I so dearly would love, that the World truly needs, please send me a piece of white cloth and strings so I can tell the children I hear them. أنآ بسمعك.

With Respect & Honor,

MiiMii

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It is my hope that this episode reminded you that the villains we encounter are birthed in silenced cries and that rage is a sign that there is injustice living in the World. As we close up Season 3, my Winter Give Back project is to help provide aid to children being affected by the humanitarian crisis and war in Gaza. However, I have heard that much of the humanitarian aid being sent is being sold at a high premium to those who need it or have seen videos of aid being burned by armed Israeli forces. Thus, I will be dancing this Winter to support the efforts of Save the Children International, which is a non-profit organization focusing on providing pathways for children globally to have the future they deserve. Save the Children International has a permanent presence providing aid in Gaza since 1973. As an individual who lives her own life through a PTSD lens, I can’t allow children to undergo further trauma over land that no one owns. A link can be found in the description of this episode if you would like to be a part of supporting Save the Children International’s efforts to provide a safer future for children. As said best by Save the Children International, “Every child deserves a future, no matter who they are or where they come from.” It is my hope that you stand alongside in uniting for children’s rights across the globe, especially during this time of crisis.

I invite you to raise your voice alongside me in saying:

 “All the Children are My Children. All the People are My People.” 

“Todos niños son mis hijos. Todas las personas son mi familia.” 

“كل الأطفال هم أطفالي. كل الناس عشيرة.” 

Alex Maines: “All the Children are My Children. All the people are My People.”

Gregory Winningham: “All the Children are My Children. All the people are My People.”

Paul Gooden: “All the Children are My Children. All the people are My People.”

Luis Mendoza: “Todos los niños son mis niños. Toda la gente es mi gente. Todas as crianças são meus filhos. Todas as pessoas são meu povo. All the children are my children. All the people are my people.”

If you’re listening to my voice as the sun sets, I hope you rest well and easily and dream up new dreams and adventures for tomorrow, and if you’re listening to my voice as the sun rises, may you tame any dragons with the greatest of strength and with the upmost empathy.

I am MiiMii De la Torre, your Linguist of Love. Let me seduce you.