All It Takes Is A Little Love

Some might argue that I am not quite whole because I did not normally experience the Electra Complex that would have naturally lead me into adulthood. My father died while I still adored him the way a little girl of eight tends to do. He could do no wrong in my eyes and in many ways I still grieve the loss of him. That being said I managed to adjust to the reality that I would never see him again. I’ve done well and lived a good life but a little voice inside my heart always feels the hurt welled up inside me on the fatal day when I learned that he was no longer coming home. 

Still, because I was a bit older than my brothers I have vivid memories of our father. He was a very present dad who generally followed a routine much like other fathers that I knew. He left early each morning to go to work and returned in the evening when he would almost always shed his suits and settle down on the living room couch in comfy clothes while music played on his Victrola. This was the time when he read the newspaper or leafed through one of his books. 

If I came into the room he more often than not shared what he was reading with me, explaining how the adult world works Sometimes he read poetry or passages from books. He made reading seem like the most wondrous joy in the world and he whet my appetite for indulging in the art of reading. All the while the music played in the background and he would explain why he enjoyed certain symphonies or concertos. 

On weekends my father often took me to bookstores with him. He spoke of the great authors and most times allowed me to choose a book suited for my young age. I visited libraries with him and fell in love with the very sight of hundreds of books tempting me to open them to discover what was inside. 

My father’s influence has shaped me in almost spiritual ways but it never really occurred to me that my brothers were so young that they did not have a clear understanding of who he was or what kinds of things he liked. Now and again they ask me questions about him that bring tears to my eyes. I realize in those moments that our father is more of a concept to them rather than an actual person who once lived and breathed on this earth. 

A few weeks ago my brother who was five when our father died asked me if our daddy liked music. He spoke of how much our mother enjoyed listening to her many records which he assumed that she had purchased over the years. It shocked me to understand that he had no recollection of our father’s influence that brought all of that music into our home. My brother’s reaction when I told him about our weekend excursions to record stores and how our father listened to that music every single day was to smile in finally knowing that his dad liked the same kind of music that he does. 

Once my youngest brother stayed behind after I had hosted an Easter celebration. He sheepishly asked me to tell him what our father was like. I felt like Wendy caring for her brothers and all the lost boys in Peter Pan. I choked on my words as I explained that he only needed to look into a mirror to know how our father looked. I explained that he sounds like our dad as well. Then I spoke of our father’s sense of humor and how much he enjoyed fishing and grilling burgers and watching football games. All of these things are the same kind of interests that my brothers have. It is as though the spirit of our father lives inside of both of his sons. 

Our father would have been one hundred three this month if he had lived a long life like his father who made it to one hundred eight years. Instead we lost him when he was in his early thirties, a young man with a young family who thought he had decades of living ahead. His death impacted so many, not just me and my brothers and our mother. Over the years people spoke of him with a kind of reverence and each of them had wonderful stories of the deep relationships that they shared with him. All of those remembrances always reminded me that he was indeed quite special so I grieve for my brothers who cannot recall much about him at all. 

With the love and special care of our mother my brothers and I turned out to be rather happy and normal. Still I wish that there were some kind of time machine that would allow my siblings to know what I know. Theirs was a loss that nobody really imagined until their questions brought their feelings to light.

We would all do well to pay attention to the children. They are watching and learning and wondering and yearning. It’s good to help them know what is real even when the knowing might be sad. 

I keep thinking about Dolly Parton and her coat of many colors. The whole word knows that her mother once made her a coat from many different scraps of cloth. Dolly turned it into a lovely song that gave insight into her life and the love that she had for her mother. She told people that her mother made dresses for her out of flour sacks and I was always able to relate to that in a different kind of way. 

I was three years younger that Dolly was when she died but that puts me into the same age group to which she belonged. If we had gone to high school together I suppose that I would have met her and looked up to her. I think of my own grandmother when I think of Dolly because my Grandma Minnie Bell was a country girl who never learned to read or write but she was one of the smartest wisest women that I have ever known. 

Grandma Little was a talented seamstress. She made dresses for me to wear to first grade without using a pattern. She used flour sacks for cloth but they were not dull. Instead they had pretty colors and patterns of flowers that turned out quite nicely when she had finished sewing the pieces together. The amazing thing is that she did not have a sewing machine. Every single stitch was done by hand and the seams were as solid as can be. 

I loved those dresses which I think sometimes hurt my mother’s feelings because I chose to wear them over and over again while the pretty frocks that Mama had made with soft cloth and a Singer sewing machine often sat in the closet. It was not that I did not appreciate my mother’s amazing handiwork but I was taken by the fact that my grandmother had created something so beautiful out of what had been a bag to hold the flour that she used to make her biscuits and pies. Those dresses connected me with my grandmother in the most unexplainable ways. They helped me to imagine her as a little girl learning the skills of cooking and sewing that she mastered so well. 

Grandma Minnie also made beautiful quilts for me and my brothers. I had one that she called Sunbonnet Sue. Of course it too was made only with her hands and I loved it so. Back when I was a child it actually became much colder from November until March than it does now. I’d snuggle under that quilt and feel so warm. I remember using it when I had the measles in the fourth grade. Of course my mother washed it often so as the years went by it began to fade and fray until eventually I guess my mother must have given it away. I never thought to ask why it disappeared because I was feeling more sophisticated as a teenager and enjoyed the new woolen blanket that replaced it.

Now I think of those dresses and quilts from Grandma and I wish I still had them. I managed to save some embroidery that she did on cloth designed to sit on a dresser. They are very old now just like I am so I keep them tucked away in a safe place rather than using them. They are a testimony to my grandmother’s skill that I wish I might adequately convey to my daughters and grandchildren. 

I’m certain that Grandma Minnie Bell grew up in a house without electricity or indoor plumbing because she often told me what it was like in those days and how they found ways to cope without all of the modern conveniences that I have enjoyed for all of my life. Knowing that Dolly Parton was living under such circumstances at the same time that I was in a house with all the bells and whistles has made me realize that being poor has many levels and mine was actually closer to being in the middle class than hers was. Still I knew all about those dresses made from flour bags because I had some too. 

The only complaint that I ever had about the dresses from Grandma that I so loved is that they itched like crazy because the cloth was designed to be tough enough to hold many pounds of flour without leaking or falling apart. I once got into trouble when I was in the first grade because I unbuttoned the frock to scratch my belly that was turning red from the material. I had try to do it discreetly but the irritation became too much so I attempted to sneak a few rubs hoping that nobody saw. 

We all too often forget that there are still people in the world who have so little. We don’t always appreciate the circumstances that make life more difficult for them. I have encountered many students who would also feel a kinship with Dolly Parton’s childhood. Knowing how wonderfully she navigated those hardships makes me smile for the power of optimism. I suppose that the whole world has been touched by Dolly’s love for people and in many ways it reminds me of Grandma Minnie who was a refined lady who admired and embraced every person she ever met and taught me how to behave that way as well.  

I wasn’t always vocal about women’s rights but in my heart I knew that women all too often were being subjugated to menial roles that left them under the thumb of the males around them. My own mother happily enjoyed her role as a homemaker while my father went to work and was the official breadwinner. All of that came to an abrupt halt when my dad died leaving my thirty year old mother with a family to raise without an income earning job of her own. Her journey as a single parent would be difficult mostly because she had been unprepared for balancing her role as both parent and breadwinner. 

Both of my grandmothers were illiterate so when they worked outside of the house their jobs were low on the economic totem pole. They served as janitors and cooks when they had to work but eventually settled into the life of housewives. While they were happy in those roles just as my mother had been, one of them once confessed to me that she wished that she had become better educated and able to do professional work. She felt a bit sad that it was not to be.

My mother eventually earned a college degree and taught school for a time until her mental health made that kind of work unrealistic. She spent her last years working on a long term study of blood pressure at the University of Texas Health Sciences Center. She never came close to the kind of salaries that my father had earned. Like many single women of her era she constantly struggled to pay for the most rudimentary things. 

I had higher ambitions when I started college but rather than chasing money I was able to fulfill my dreams of being a teacher mostly because my husband had a higher paying profession in banking. Even with a masters degree and a position as a school administrator I never caught up to him but I did not feel any anger because I had accepted that teaching was not going to make me wealthy in the state of Texas.

When I graduated from high school Texas A&M University was only beginning to transition from being an all male school. I had female friends at the University of Houston who were daring to major in traditionally male occupations like Engineering or Architecture. Theirs was not an easy route. In fact they sometimes encountered resistance from the male students and even the professors. Women still had a long way to go. 

Around the time that Gloria Steinem came on the scene I was not as rebellious as I am now. While I cheered the women’s movement I was reluctant to get too involved. A good friend was not so inclined. She was an Irish Chicago born liberal Democrat and she schooled me in what women were attempting to achieve. She spoke of Gloria Steinem with the same kind of reverence that I had for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 

I hung on to every word that my friend relayed to me and became more and more dedicated to the cause as she challenged my fears of becoming too involved. Eventually she tried to encourage me to attend a nationwide meeting of the stars of the women’s movement that was going to take place in Houston, Texas. Sadly because I was low on funds at that juncture in my life I was unable to go. Instead I lived vicariously in the shadow of the enthusiasm of my friend. In a sense she introduced me to Gloria Steinem,  

Gloria became like a big sister for me, a courageous woman who showed me that I did not have to just accept the way things were. She actively worked for women’s rights in the workplaces at a time when people like me were being scrutinized in interviews based solely on appearance. I vividly remember one interviewer commenting that he liked my clothing choice and the perfume that I wore. Gloria would work with other women to make certain that females would not be subjected to such judgements in the future. 

Eventually she help to found Ms. Magazine and became famous for her quotes emphasizing the equality of men and women. With her example I learned to be proud of my intellect rather than trying to hide it lest males see me as a trouble maker. I began to voice my own beliefs more and more often and compete with males at work for different assignments. I taught my own daughters to be bold and to stand up for their convictions. Happily not only have they done that but they raised both males and females to understand that nothing about women is inferior and that roles in life should never be defined by sex. 

As of today I have a courageous granddaughter working at a prestigious law firm with all of the confidence she needs to be successful. My grandsons appreciate that women can be fair and worthy competitors and that they must be allowed to follow whatever dreams come to mind. 

As I hear of the death of Gloria Steinem I grieve the loss of a great and forward thinking woman. I know that without people like her neither I nor my children and grandchildren would be where we are today. She was a pioneer who pushed on the glass ceiling that kept women down and poked a great big hole in it. She will be missed but always remembered.

I’m not an economist. I took a course at one time and made a high A mostly because economics uses a great number of mathematical formulas and I tend to be good at working out such problems. I don’t pretend to be a business person either. I actually changed my major to business in the first months of attending college. Taking one class in that department sent me quickly back to education and courses in math and the liberal arts. Somehow I made the low salary provided to teachers in Texas add to our family budget. I had learned from my mother how to stretch the available dollars that we had. I even worked long enough to earn a pension that is not outstanding but certainly better than what most people have. I have mostly been content with living within my means and feeling as though with my husband’s contributions we have lived a comfortable life.

Even as prices rise and so many families are struggling we are able to keep the lights on, the air conditioner humming, and have food to eat each day. All in all I can’t personally complain but I am all too aware that the present situation in the United States is becoming more and more untenable for many American families. The man who is our president was supposed to be an economic and business genius but instead he is continually making blunders that even a business rookie like myself would never think of doing. 

The results of Trump’s second attempt at running our nation have been rather disastrous and we still have more than two years to go before he is gone. I can’t even begin to imagine how much damage will take place during the rest of his tenure. Until then we are looking at inflationary prices and a huge debt even as Trump has slashed many government jobs and unemployment especially among the young shows few signs of improving. His war with Iran and his tariff wars with the rest of the world are creating much uncertainty in the world all while he and his family and the billionaires who support him have enriched themselves beyond anything that most of us might even imagine. 

So why are so many still touting Trump as a genius who was sent here by divine intervention to save us all? What am I missing that could possibly create such adoration? Why is he being forgiven for blunders that would have sent anyone else on a downward spiral of rejection? These are things that I ponder each day with great confusion. I don’t have to have a PhD in economics to know that his profligate spending on remaking the White House and much of Washington DC is totally unnecessary. When inflation is high and the nation is struggling just to keep food on the table and the car running back and forth to work a ballroom seems to be the very last thing we need. A gigantic arch is a worthless frivolity. 

Trump seems to think that he is a decorator or someone whose job is to entertain us rather than being serious about our national security or our relationships with our long time allies. He does dangerous things like starting a war and then gets bored with the idea and shuffles off to play a game of golf and put gold on sculptures. His ultimate goal seems to be to break things right and left like a naughty boy who is angry at the rest of us and determined to get even with us just because we breathe.

The damage that Trump is doing to the world economy is not some small thing. It is deadly serious. The repercussions of his vindictive behavior will take decades to repair so why haven’t the people who have the authority to do so stepped up with enough courage to stop the bleeding of our reputation in the world? The Supreme Court could step in and remind him that there are three branches of government and he has overstepped his bounds. The Republican Congress could take back their own powers that he has stolen. The American people might unanimously demonstrate their anger with him rather than so many standing behind him at rallies smiling and applauding his absurd ideas. 

I have to keep pinching myself to be certain that I am not simply locked into an horrific nightmare. I suppose it would be a wonderful relief to wake up and realize that it has all been just a bad dream but the horrible truth is that it is all real. 

I am tired of seeing immigrants treated with total disdain. I am weary of our sailors crying for help because they have been forgotten on a ship without working toilets and decent food. I feel for the farmers and ranchers whose ways of living are crumbling even after thinking that supporting Trump would make their lives better. I abhor the gaslighting and propaganda designed to turn us against each other and against other nations that have been our friends. I cringe at the inhumanity being leveled at trans people who have done nothing to stir up so much animosity. I am tired of being used and abused by a narcissistic man who spends his days whining about how much he is the one being abused. 

I look to the elections with more hope than I have ever before mustered but also with a grave fear that somehow nothing will change. I worry the Trump status quo will win and we will see even more abuse from a petty man who will use lies and fear to get his way. I never imagined our world would be so uncertain.   

Tucked in the world news is the story that Harry and Meghan are returning to England where there children Archie and Lilibet will attend school. Not much is known about where they will actually live or why they decided to move from California. There has been much chatter in England where such intrigue is a bit more important given Harry’s relation to their king.

Most of the talk is somewhat negative, asserting that neither Harry nor Meghan have much to offer since they will not be participating in the service of the royal family the way William and Kate are doing. Their exit from the royal family a few years back led many Brits to angrily ostracize Harry while growing ever closer to his older brother. There is a great deal of bad blood and misunderstanding that needs to heal because both Harry and Meghan were quite vocal about the insults and insinuations that drove them away in the first place. 

I suppose because of my experience of suddenly losing a father in a car accident I have always felt a kind of kinship with Harry. I have garnered from his comments that he has never truly overcome the loss that he felt when his mother died. I believe that to a very large extent her death has never been resolved for him and as such he has been searching for a sense of peace that he believed he found in Meghan. 

Harry may have been young but he saw the emotional turmoil unfolding between his mother and father. He witnessed his mother’s sorrow and anxiety and somehow understood that the ultimate tragedy of her life came because of the hounding of the press that never ceased. She was like a bug under the microscope of publicity that made her life a kind of mockery. Everyone knew about her husband’s calls to Camilla. None of it was secret. She was followed everywhere and those who knew her saw the toll it was taking on her. All the while she conveyed her motherly love to her sons and Harry fondly remembers her devotion even as he struggles in knowing how difficult life was for his mother. 

I suppose that Harry has been searching for his own identity for much of his life. He was not trained to be anything other than a prince who attended events and smiled to keep the royal family in favor. He seemingly enjoyed his time in the military more than anything because when he was there he had a purpose. Eventually he met Meghan and he took her camping in Africa where he found peace and joy. I suppose that he never imagined how much the public would focus on his marriage and how it would remind him of the furor that had haunted his mother. 

Meghan is an American. We do things differently here. She did not truly understand her duties or how she was supposed to act. Nobody really helped her to understand and when she made mistakes they held her accountable. The clash of cultures was amplified by the rules of royalty and the fact that the wife of a prince is not supposed to do and say certain things. It was not only a repressive life style but it was invasive as well much in the same way it had been for Diana. Eventually Harry became very defensive for his wife no doubt because as a little boy he had seen what ultimately happened to his mother. 

I have often wondered how it is possible for William and Harry to love their father knowing how tragically he treated their mother. The fact that the woman who broke Diana’s heart is now the queen consort has to be a thorn in Harry’s side and yet he has tried to stay as close as possible with his father. He is no doubt torn in his emotions. He needed his father after his mother was gone and the two of them formed an attachment to each other. Nonetheless the feelings that Harry expresses in his book and in his interviews all point to unresolved sorrow, something that the general public seems unwilling to understand. 

The royal family in England has a history of imperfections and that incudes the most recent monarchs. Queen Elizabeth’s uncle fell in love with a married woman and abdicated rather than pushing her away. Queen Elizabeth was a faithful and dutiful monarch without much room for welcoming nontraditional ways of living. I suspect that the entire family would have benefited from counseling given that even Prince Andrew is an embarrassment to the crown. Their unwillingness to face the emotional cost of pretending that nothing is wrong has resulted in the chaos that still haunts the family. Perhaps it is finally time for the whole group to modernize and work out the many issues that have plagued them for decades. Welcoming Harry and Meghan just as they are would be a great start and might even inspire the press and the citizens to have compassion for their humanity instead of expecting them to bow in perfection. 

It is time for a more modern approach to royalty. Right now they are a business firm that exists in a world of publicity and public opinion that is incredibly uncomfortable. Diana attempted to make this known and now Harry is doing the same thing. It would be nice if everyone in Great Britain would embrace him and Meghan just as they are, respecting their attempts to live the way they wish. It really is all that any of us want from life.