Charlotte Sahadeo….I guess I've never really paid too much attention to my name. It's strange that I say that, being that my name is what I use to identify myself. Often times the first thing out of my mouth is "Hi my name is Charlotte". Yet in the grand scheme of things, I do not think much about the impact of my name in my life. As I started this exercise I decided to lookup the actual meaning of my name. Turns out it's a French dessert and in some instances used as a diminutive of Charles. I was not surprise since I've heard this before. What surprise me is that there was no deeper meaning other than that. I would hope the name actually meant something spiritual or of higher wisdom. I guess I'm just going to have to settle for what's defined and what I add on to it's meaning.
Being raised in Puerto Rico, I can say for sure I was the only Charlotte in my school. The name was never pronounced correctly and so for years I believed that my name was "Charlo". Kids had a hard time pronouncing the name, but that was the least of their problems when it came to accepting me. In addition to a peculiar name I also was what one would call a unique child. I looked different; I spoke differently and even carried myself very differently from the other kids in my class. I didn't identify with the name Charlotte until much later in life. During the different stages in life I've grown into the name.
During my earlier years, my family called me by my nickname, Lottie. The name stuck and till this day many of my family members do not even know my real name. They've just assumed that it's Lottie. Lottie was a playful kid surrounded by adults. She's learned to keep quite during adult conversations to be respectful to those around her and to be silent and not make much noise. She was an only child, so she had to make due with her dolls and imaginary friends. Not many of those around her had children, so she had to adapt a more mature personality if she was to have any kind of interaction with the folks around her. Finally the day came that it was time to start school and meet other kids. Lottie was excited and looked forward to playing with more than dolls, having friends that actually spoke back and seeing what other kids were like. That morning her mother put on her Preschool uniform, combed her jet black hair into two ponytails and packed her snacks and lunch. Lottie's mother walked her to school, escorted her in and introduced her to the teacher. Lottie's smiled and was anxious to walk into the classroom. Her mom had played teacher and student while showing Lottie how to spell and read, but this was the real thing! Her stomach felt funny, nothing like she's ever felt before. A feeling that would definitely be familiar for many years to come. As Lottie walked into the classroom, she noticed that the white walls were full of different colorful paintings, easeals with paper and paint, round tables with tiny chairs and TOYS. Her first impulse was to run to the toys but her mother knew her child too well. She tugged Lottie on the shoulder as her teacher introduced Lottie to the classroom. Lottie didn't know that this would be the first time she would no longer exists, from this point onward she would become "Charlo Sajadeo".
The kids snickered and looked at Lottie strangely. Some of the girls would smile and others would just stare and point. Lottie noticed at that very moment that she had ceased to be like everyone else. Her eyes watered and a tear dropped from the eye that bared a peculiar mark. Lottie looked at her mother who turned to her and wiped the tear from her eyes. She smiled and said, "mamita, tu eres bella. No importa lo que los demas piensen. Mira para arriba y se orgullosa de como Papa Dios te hizo." She then gave her a kiss and went to work. On that very day in August Lottie was now "Charlo" which to her meant, Proud of how God made me.
Soon after "Charlo's" mother moved to a different neighborhood. With the move came a new school and new faces to encounter. The funny feeling in the stomach returned. "Charlo's" cheeks blushed as she was asked to the front of the room to be introduced to the first grade class. The prior snickering and pointing now were in the form of questions. "Que te paso en el ojo?", one of the kids asked. It's my birthmark. My father has one just like it. "En el ojo tambien, parece que tienes un ojo morao" the kid replied. The entire class laughed, and "Charlo" decided to go back to her mother's words that first day of pre-k. "Charlo" was a dedicated student, shy and quite. She was adored by her teachers because she never gave them any trouble. Soon after her classmates considered her as the strange looking girl who's normal. The pointing decreased and the laughing became old. "Charlo" was able to make some friends, however, she longed for the days when she was just Lottie.
One day "Charlo's" mother informed her that they were moving to the United States to live with her aunt. It excited her to know that she would go to the US. She's learned so much about the place from her history books and now she would get to see if for herself. Now in the second grade, she felt much more confident and determined to seem like everyone else. To blend in, to just one of the kids in her class.
The first day of school came, and as always the funny feeling in the tummy came back. "Charlo's" cousins spent the entire walk to school prepping her about the un-written rules of the school. "Don't mess with this girl, don't let the teacher see you hit someone and if a kid that's bigger than you messes with you let me know", said Michelle her eldest cousin. "Charlo" now had to learn these rules in addition to fighting this weird feeling in her stomach. Michelle walked her to her classroom, where her bi-lingual teacher greeted her with a smile. The teacher's smile put "Charlo" at ease and without hesitation walked into the classroom. The usual whispers and pointing commenced, but "Charlo" just kept her chin up asked where her she should seat and continued on her way. Flustered with the obvious squirming of the kids, she decided to put her head down. It almost felt like in the darkness of her arms she was safe. Once she would raise her head again all of this would just disappear. Her daydreaming was interrupted by a loud bell that signaled for everyone to take their seats. A loud voice came from a squared wooden box in the corner of the room. This made "Charlo" laughed, she wondered how a loud man can fit in such a tiny box. The language was different, nothing like she's ever heard. The announcer spoke too fast for her to make heads or tails of what was being said. After the kids finished chanting strange sounds as they placed their hands to their chest, everyone took their seats and Mrs. Rodriguez began her class. So far so good, thought "Charlo" from the back of the room. This feeling of relief was quickly replaced with terror when she heard Mrs. Rodriguez asked that she walked to the front of the room. Hands sweaty, flushed cheeks and with her head down she walked towards her new teacher. She almost felt like she was walking towards her death. Her heart thumped so loudly, she could've sworn everyone in class could hear it. Mrs. Rodriguez grabbed her hand and told the class "Hola ninos, esta es "Charlotte", hello everyone this is Charlotte". "Charlo" almost felt like correcting Mrs. Rodriguez, who was pronouncing her name just like her mother did. Somehow hearing her mother's pronunciation in a stranger's voice brought great peace to her and courage. Charlotte now told the class that she just moved to New Jersey from Puerto Rico. The other kids asked what happened to her eye, which by now had become the second question for everyone she greeted. After explaining that it was a birthmark, everyone just fell silent and class continued. Now as Charlotte, she felt like maybe she can blend in with the rest of the kids. That was painless she thought. Other kids were speaking her language and most importantly just speaking to her.
At noon, the loud bell interrupted the class once again. This time Mrs. Rodriguez asked the room to form a single line in order to go to lunch. This was exciting! Not only was she happy that she's blending in, but now she'll get to see other areas of the school where she can be a part of too. Charlotte peeked out of the room and saw that the other kids were also in single lines already on their way to lunch. Our classroom was the last to walk out, but it didn't bother Charlotte at all. She felt anxious to meet other kids. Attempt to learn this new language and possibly make new friends. After all, if other kids are as nice as my class I have nothing to worry about, she thought.
Once in the first floor, Charlotte's class encountered other kids waiting to be escorted into the cafeteria. These kids spoke differently, but she recognized the looks and the whispers. Funny, she thought, it's (snickering and pointing) the same no matter how funny they speak. A young boy with red hair and blue eyes looked at our class and said, "hey, here comes the spics". For whatever reason this was incredibly funny to his class. I asked one of the girls in front of me what that meant, "Algo malo, los blanquitos no nos quieren aqui". The red haired kid then turn his attention to her and said, "that girl has a black eye!", which caused even further laughter no only for his class, but the other classes all around.
Just like that "Charlo" was now Charlotte, which stood for Proud of how God made me, a spic with a black eye.
Years passed and Charlotte decided to ignore the whispers and pointing of other kids. Focus on studying and attempt to learn as much as she can. One day, she thought I'll be better than all of them. They'll know not to ever make fun of me.
Charlotte and her mother then moved to Philadelphia. Charlotte's mom started a new relationship and now she had a new home, new school and a new family. Charlotte's mom decided to start a new relationship and this was the reason why they had moved. She was now 12, full of dreams, able to speak the language and armored with courage to once again be the new girl in school.
Saint Michaels seemed like a great school. It was much smaller than her previous school and this gave her a sense of security. To her this meant fewer kids to ignore when they made fun of her. Charlotte walked to the second floor and met with Sister Ruthann, her seventh grade teacher. A nun, Charlotte thought, this is new. Sister Ruthann greeted Charlotte and asked that she remove her make-up. Charlotte found this very funny, she's heard many insults or theories about her birthmark but make up? Sister Ruthann took a second look and realized her mistake. She quickly apologized and asked that she take a seat in the third row. Now trained not to look directly at any of the kids, she did not want to risk feeling anything in her stomach or feel the flush that came with seeing kids pointing and whispering. Sister Ruthann greeted everyone and introduced Charlotte. She asked that she stand up and say something about herself. So Charlotte stood up, looked straight and said, "my name is Charlotte, I'm 12 and I have a birthmark on my eye." Short and to the point, she knew that the only thing that these kids really wanted to know is what happened to her eye. She was determined not to let other define who she was. She was Charlotte, Proud of how God made me, a spic with a black eye that's a birthmark.
Many years passed before the Charlotte defined herself differently. Other's attempted to define her. Her step-father was murdered in 1991, so she was briefly known as Charlotte who has the mark on her eye who's step dad was killed. A year later her mother was diagnosed with cancer, then she was known as Charlotte, the poor girl who's mother is dying of cancer. Fortunately, her mother survived. The neighborhood continued describing her depending on the circumstances she was experiencing. Charlotte remained in school, head up high and took care of her mother. At times she'd forget to eat because between school, after-school job and visiting her mother in the hospital there was nothing else left to do in a day but to sleep and do it all over the next day. She struggled, worked hard and pressed on without focusing on anything negative. She's had her ups and her downs but one learn early in life this will happen inevitably.
Charlotte is Proud of how God made me, a spic with a black eye that's a birthmark, who will continue on and fight for the survival of her family, who refuses to allow anyone to define her but herself.
No one tells you when you decide to write about your life, is that you are about to embark in the most passionate relationship you will have for the length it takes you to finish. The problem with this and I, is that I've never had a truly long term relationship with anyone. The most committed I've been has been to wake up every morning. I think I may suffer from ADD for life. But somehow, I'm going to need develop this sort of undying devotion to writing. 
