More About Professor Villarreal
I was born in Louisiana during the Civil Rights era, raised in New Orleans, and attended high school in the Houston metroplex during the oil boom. I played tennis in high school and college where I met my husband. We have a beautiful daughter, a loving son-in-law, and two doggies.
I enjoy going to the theater and movies, traveling, reading, writing, playing pickleball, and swimming. Within the community, I've raised money for the ACC Foundation, judged literary contests, helped with voter registration, and supported the arts. Currently, I'm advocating against book banning and promoting gun safety and Long Covid awareness. Although I have Long Covid, I'm getting better every day. Click here to learn more about my journey through art therapy.
My favorite book of all time would have to be a tie between George Eliot's Middlemarch and Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. I like Eliot's novel because it depicts human nature and the dynamics of Victorian society with grace and precision. On the other hand, Capote's novel is the quintessential true crime masterpiece. No other author can touch his artistic genius in this genre.
One of the highlights of my career at ACC occurred in 2003 when I spearheaded an effort at the Texas Legislature to allow adjunct faculty in community colleges to obtain health insurance by joining each college's group plan. After a grueling battle, I am pleased to say that today that bill is a state law. When the Affordable Care Act went into effect 10 years later, ACC students rallied on behalf of adjuncts and hundreds of adjuncts at ACC received paid (or partially paid) ERS health insurance and TRS retirement benefits because of our call to action in 2003.
About 15 years ago, ACC decided to cancel some classes due to budget concerns. I was devastated because I had just created American Lit II online, the first literature class taught online at ACC. In order to save that class, I offered to teach it for free. This created quite a controversy, but I did it for the students and I have never looked back.
In the summer of 2009, I took students to study abroad in England to study British literature. From 2009 to 2016, I traveled with ACC students to study abroad a total of five times to both England and Scotland.
In 2023, I began teaching a Service-Learning course at the college. Check out my Service-Learning Stars:
Spring 2023; Fall 2023; Zoila Waltson, Winner of Fall 2023 Showcase: paper/audio
Study Abroad, England, 2009 (at Jane Austen's home in Chawton)
My Collection of Elegies
Dust in my Attic
Maw Maw left me her sewing machine.
She passed one sweltering Louisiana day
Twenty-five years ago.
Robert Kennedy
also died that day,
but we didn't know until later.
We grieved hard for Maw Maw.
At six I knew
the family would never be the same
when things disappeared.
First Mac--
that horse
old as Momma.
then the cows
the pigs
the chickens
one by one.
And while the crops shriveled
that sewing machine began collecting dust in my attic.
Grief was followed by blame--
Some for coming around too much
by those who rarely came
while Paw Paw just stared.
they said Maw Maw would roll in her grave
when Aunt Margie got pregnant
So she married that old man
who nearly destroyed that precious girl
who couldn't tell until later.
My momma's talents are limited
to tennis
and cooking Cajun cuisine
playing bridge.
So Maw Maw worried--
Someone's got to fix things in a family
in junior high
I made my first "C"
in home-ec
learned how to make
cheese straws
nachos
chocolate chip cookies
and quiche
but never mastered
fixing a hem
or a button
while that sewing machine collected dust in my attic.
Maw Maw cooked three meals a day
the dutiful wife
even when she was so sick
and so big
she could barely walk
WHERE'S MY SUPPER WOMAN?!!
he'd roar
as we stared at the floor.
She would have enjoyed eating out
just once
Momma sighs
but he wouldn't take her.
Last year Aunt Rosy passed
in an old folk's home
with eyes dulled with duller memories
she squeezed a strange hand
and inquired
about the grandchild her sister adored.
But Elizabeth never saw that girl
grow up
graduate and run
away to marry a man
she would have accepted
without an explanation.
never held
her great granddaughter
who carries her name
and still her legacy collects dust in my attic.
What would Maw Maw think?
Does outcome
cause her to thrash in a dark grave
or rejoice with angels?
I wonder
lounging on a quilt
she built
with her big aching heart
humming to the gentle whirring of a machine
that will forever collect dust in my attic.
Dedicated to the memory of Elizabeth Ray Strother (d. 1968)
Copyright 1993 by Becky S. Villarreal
Her Final Mission
Joined in grief
we clasp hands and encircle her
chanting Hail Marys foreign to my Protestant ears
now an odd comfort to my withering soul.
As the blessed words
permeate the dismal darkened atmosphere
heavenly lights seem to blaze from the ceiling
while flickering candles illuminate
our tear-streaked cheeks.
Abuelito breaks
to hold her still warm
forever forgiving hands
A portrait of despair.
While our weary eyes watch the dancing numbers
cruelly rekindling our vain hopes--Or is it a sign?
Alas we realize
her spirit must depart
still we squeeze estranged hands
sadly echoing the sacred words again
again and again
fulfilling her final mission--
A broken family
joined in prayer
one last time.
Dedicated to the memory of San Juana Valles Villarreal (1932-1994)
Copyright 1994 by
Becky S. Villarreal
The Middle of Seven
They say
Aunt Eleanor was born big
and mean
the meanest and the baddest of the bunch.
it's hard to believe.
I used to call her when loved ones were sick
or dying
and Aunt Eleanor prayed
and prayed and prayed and prayed.
And you know those people got better.
In old photos
she smiles at me
her dark eyes gleaming with mischief
(or is that something else?)
They say
when she was little
Thera would flee from her wrath
running deep into the woods
where she would kneel and pray:
"Oh Lord, please forgive my dear
sister Elner.
She does not really hate
us all
or mean those cruel things--
OUCH!
Elner let go of my hair!
You are hurting me!
I said YOU ARE HURTING ME!"
I have a nephew named John
He's got to be the baddest child ever born
nearly fell out of that boat
last May just to spite us all.
You should have seen Aunt Eleanor's dark eyes
sparkle
when he threw
a tantrum
decorated the walls
with crayons
or called someone
"stink-butt."
She liked 'em bad
My Aunt Elner.
Thera's kids
tried to tell me she was still mean
and ornery.
"No, she's not!"
I would shriek
with teeth and fists
clenching
yearning
to yank a few strands
to emphasize my point.
Don't you know that HER prayers
made my friend better?
That poor girl suffered
in that cold
sterile hospital
long enough
miles away
from two
precious boys
who wailed for the warmth
of their mother's arms
until I called Eleanor
who asked the Lord
to please send Kim home
And now she is.
Tears sting my eyes
when I remember how
poor Aunt Eleanor suffered
in another cold sterile hospital
where they poked and prod
"Ouch! You are hurting me!"
and they poked and prod
"I said, YOU ARE HURTING ME!"
So we prayed
and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed
and we all asked the Lord
to please let Eleanor go home
And now she is.
Dedicated to the memory of Eleanor Faye Hatch (1935-1998)
Copyright 1999 by
Becky S. Villarreal