All It Takes Is A Little Love

Before my father died he read poems and stories to me on a regular basis. He spent his evenings at home reading for hours. On weekends he took me to bookstores where he always added one more volume to his growing literary collection. On vacation trips he stopped at bookstores whenever he saw one. I cut my teeth on books so it is no accident that reading them has been central to my entire life. 

I remember when I got my first library card. It was an exciting moment given that I was able to check out more than one tome at a time. Even though I would have been able to keep the books for two weeks I tended to devour my choices almost immediately so that I would be able to return for more in only a week. 

One of my fondest memories is riding my bicycle across a bridge that linked my neighborhood with Garden Villas where a bookmobile showed up once a week. The librarian and I became good friends mostly because there weren’t that many people who visited as regularly as I did. Once I had gone through many of the titles in the gigantic van the sweet lady who brought me so much joy would ask me what I would like see the next time I came. It was so much like owning a treasured and unlimited number of books without having to pay for them. 

I can still see the tiny library on wheels and the woman who brought a world of knowledge to my backdoor. It was quiet and cool inside even on the hottest days of summer. She was iconic to me with her glasses and the graying hair the she wore in a bun. It seemed to please her that I was so excited about reading. 

I was also able to check out books at my school library and it was there that I also met a wonderful woman who catered to my excitement about discovering new authors and genres that kept me feeling adventurous. Eventually she moved from the elementary school to the high school that I attended. When I saw her there I knew that I was going to enjoy the four years of my last youthful moments.

A library card is as good as a ticket to an exotic place. I had a passport to knowledge that I otherwise would not have discovered. Even though my physical world was still quite limited, the world of my mind was constantly expanding. My reading became especially enjoyable when my high school English teacher provided us with lists of some of the best books ever written. I became addicted to poetry, fiction and nonfiction from classical to modern day authors. 

I still prefer the feel of an old time book over the concept of finding new stories online. There is something spiritual about holding a volume in my hands and wondering who else had found wisdom and happiness in turning the pages in search of new ideas. 

I have followed in my father’s footsteps. If I see a bookstore on my travels I must enter and usually walk out with a new volume to store in my home. Once in a blue moon I cull my stock of reading, but it is always difficult to say goodbye to a book that kept me entertained or privy to learning that I had never before occurred to me. If I am ever to be accused of being a hoarder it will be because of my books. 

To this very day I find comfort just in being around books. I enjoy talking about them with others and comparing my impressions with theirs. I get excited about learning something that I never knew before. I gobble up historical tracts that tell the stories of people who have come before me. I like encountering new words and ideas. I am open to almost every kind of genre as long as the writing advances me to new places and points of view. I am so enamored of reading that I find it strange that some people never take the time to pick up a newspaper or magazine or a modern or classic book. How can we have so much knowledge at our fingertips and not be eager to embrace it?

One of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes is the story of a man who enjoyed reading as much as I do. Suddenly there was destruction of most of the world and its people but he was content because all he really needed was a continuous stock of books to keep him company. Sadly in an unexpected accident his spectacles were ruined. The story ended with him sobbing because he was no longer able to see. There he was surrounded by a library worthy of Alexandria with no way of making the lines and markings on the page clear enough to focus his eyes. He was doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. No more would the books keep him company as he had hoped. Somehow I viscerally felt his pain.

Those of us who have known the pure joy of reading a good book cannot imagine a time in which we would no longer be able to read. Losing our citizenship in the world of knowledge that books provide would be an unbearable devastation. Thank goodness the resources that I crave are all still available. I plan to keep reading and learning hopefully for all of my days.  

I often think of George Bailey when I consider how narrow the experiences of my life have been compared to how I thought they would be. Responsibility for others has defined all of my choices beginning with my father’s death when eight year old me somehow felt that I had to watch over my mother and brothers. I became the very good girl, unwilling to push the envelope of my actions lest I somehow cause undue pain for my mother. I was the person who walked away from adventurous moments, staying within the confines of rules that narrowed the experiences that I had in my growing up years. 

Everything about me became conservative save for my political thinking. On paper I appeared to be a very lackluster individual who stayed within the boundaries. When my mother experienced the first signs of mental illness I became even more determined not to be someone who rocked the boat of life. I made sure that I lived within minutes of where she resided so that I might reach her quickly if she needed my help. I dared not even think of moving across town much less out of the city of my birth. My life choices were all predicated on the sense of responsibility that I felt for the members of my family.

I chose a career that would allow me to have a fixed schedule with time off that I might use to care for my children and to be always vigilant of my mother. Thankfully teaching was incredibly fulfilling and because I almost always worked with children whose lives were constrained by poverty and challenges I continued to learn more and more about human nature without having to travel the world. Marching in place was not as awful as I had once thought it would be. Like George Bailey I eventually realized that while mine had been a life often defined by the difficulties of others, it was nonetheless one that brought me a sense of accomplishment and contentment.

Somehow I expanded my points of view from every person who came across my zone of influence. I learned more from my students than I conveyed to them in my lessons. In them I saw the power of resilience even in the face of dire situations. I found joy in playing a tiny role in supporting them in their journeys to adulthood. Seeing them achieve more than I had ever dared to attempt was magical. 

I see all of those faces staring at me as I teach them how to unravel the beautiful synchronicity of mathematics. I remember the little girl whose Christmas dream was to finally have a bed of her own that would save her from snoozing on the floor each night. I recall the feeling of kinship that I felt with my fellow educators who so earnestly worked to make a meaningful difference in the lives of their students. Every interaction changed me and made me the kind of citizen of the world that my high school English teacher often challenged us to be. I realized that I did not need to travel to become a more understanding person. Everything l that I needed to know was all around me every single day. 

My two daughters have been my pride and joy. I did my best to encourage them to be independent minded. I did such a good job that I sometimes wonder if I made them too strong and confident for a world that still underestimates the value of women. I let them fly freely through life so much so that sometimes their friends would comment that they were not typical girls at all. That is what I like best about them. They are free thinkers unwilling to bow to public opinion about how women should behave. They are unafraid to disagree with me and when they do I know that I have always encouraged them to burst through the artificial boundaries that all too often keep people from being themselves. 

I have watched the city of my birth changing from a slow moving town with a population less than a million people to becoming the fourth largest city in the United States. I have rejoiced in watching the diversity of Houston grow from a homegrown crowd to a citizenry from all over the world living in harmony. I watched segregation dying in real time bringing the Black community from the back of the bus into the mainstream of power. I too grew in my thinking as I watched the changes but also saw those trapped in outmoded belief systems trying to move our city back to a moment in time that was toxic and unforgiving. 

Life has crept by and sped by all at the same time. I spent a lifetime being a good girl and a rebel all at once. I kept my mother safe and healthy more often than not. I grew in wisdom and did my best to pass down my experiences to the many young people in my care. While my life appears to be quite uneventful on paper, I know how every single encounter with thousands of people has changed me for the better and widened my horizons in ways that not all the travel in the world would have done. I have been to the moon and back in my own living room. I like the person I have become and I am content to proclaim that mine has been a wonderful life. 

I wore my “No Kings” shirt into the grocery store a few days ago. It’s blue and simply says NOPE in large white letters. A crown hangs lopsidedly on the letter E. Most people have no idea what the shirt means so I rarely get any comments about it one way or another. Thus I was quite surprised when the cashier immediately remarked that she loved my shirt as she casually keyed the prices of the food I had purchased into the register. 

I was a bit stunned that she had even noticed what I was wearing so my response was simply to thank her for the compliment but she was not finished with her commentary. She asked me if I had gone to any of the No Kings protests and I mentioned that I had been to three of them so far. I pointed out that there will be one on March 28, but I am uncertain as to whether or not I will be able to attend because I am still recovering from a total knee replacement.  She thanked me for protesting in the past and then asked me why I thought that Americans will not vote for a woman. for president.

She went on and on as I quietly thought about the role of women in the United States and across the world who had contributed so much to the betterment of humankind with intelligence and courage. As my mind flipped quickly through their stories I too began to wonder why there is so often mistrust of women in leadership roles but a willingness to give less than bright men the helm of state over and over again. 

The truth is that the mythologies that appraise the abilities of women still too often remain stuck in negative stereotyping. Women are often judged with a much higher standard than men. The old trope that women are too emotional to be trusted to make rational decisions is very much alive in much of the world and definitely in the United States. Such thinking led our Founding Fathers to ignore the potential of women to make good choices by choosing to deny them the right to vote. Not even Abigail Adams’ plea to her husband to “not forget the women”was enough to convince the men who created our new government that women were smart enough to be trusted with a voice in government. 

Great Britain, Germany, Mexico, Israel and India have all had women at the helm of government just to name a few, but here in the United States we focus more on how a woman laughs or uses emotions to make decisions when considering whether or not she has what it takes to be president. When push comes to shove many would rather place their trust in a male bully with openly racist ideas than a well educated and experienced woman whom they ridiculously fear will bring us to the brink of war with her raging hormones.

Let’s face it. Women are still relegated to mostly supporting roles in business and government even as women now outnumber men in achieving higher educational levels. Too many people want to put women back in the roles of housewife and mothers whether they choose that occupation or not. While women indeed have more choices for how to live their lives than ever before, even those who ascend to high ranks in the world of work generally have lower salaries than men at the same level. The truth is that women have to dance backward in heels to demonstrate their abilities.

While I would not deny the progress that women have slowly made in the United States, I do have to wonder why it has taken so long for them to be considered the true equals of men. Obviously women are not as physically strong as men in certain circumstances but their mental acuity measures up at every level. Women are capable of successfully managing everything from a home to a corporation. They may have different and less aggressive styles of leadership but they have demonstrated time and again that in matters of the mind they are as outstanding as their male counterparts. 

Perhaps we have not yet found the perfect female candidates to run for office against men but if we would fairly judge those who have tried to lead us we would do well to look at their track records and listen to what they have to say rather than homing in on trivial judgements of superficialities.

I have read countless biographies of great women and as a member of that group as well I have often wondered why they have always had such a difficult time breaking the glass ceiling that feels so much lower than the one that men have conquered Even a brief look at Abigail Adams makes it clear that she was better educated, more well read, and many times more intuitive than her husband John but he became president while she never even had the right to vote. 

It is often said that Eleanor Roosevelt was Franklin’s conscience. She is the one who created the idea of talking regularly with the people of the United States. She pushed for the civil rights of all people when he was reluctant to move in that direction.

Even I have been guilty of overlooking the accomplishments of women in my family. I brag about my brother who worked as an engineer for NASA and helped to design the navigation system for the International Space Station. I simply mention that my sister-in-law was a NASA engineer as well. Only recently I was looking at awards my brother had received for his work then I glanced at a massive collection of kudos presented to my sister-in-law. I saw that she had twice as many awards and eventually served as a spokesperson for the international space program. Somehow even I had underestimated her contributions, a tendency that seems to exist for all women.

Thanks to historians we learn over and over again just how much potential lies in the marrow of America’s women. We should constantly encourage our ladies to be the best in whatever they strive to be. It’s way past time for showing our trust of them in whatever roles they choose to attain. We have not yet truly seen how much they are capable of achieving. It is long past time to set aside the unfounded distrust of them. They have so much to offer.  We need not fear how well they will do.

I’ve been circling the sun for a bit more than seventy seven years. I have become the person that I am during that time. My evolution as an individual has not been without its ups and downs. I did not always meet challenges as well as I might have but along the way I have mostly liked what I have done and how I have changed to meet the demands of each incredible moment that comes my way. 

My childhood was made more difficult by the death of my father at a critical time when I was still feeling unsure about myself. I pushed forward in a kind of fog for a very long time. With the help of my courageous and loving mother I was able to channel my anxieties into learning and giving of myself to others rather than dwelling on the loss that would forever haunt me. 

My teen years were spent feeling awkward the way late bloomers so often do. I did not really begin to mature until my senior year of high school. I forged a kind of fake confidence in the hopes that one day I would be able to claim a certainty that I was okay. 

I graduated from high school at the age of seventeen with many academic kudos and the beginnings of belief in myself. During my first years of college I met new people and forged new friendships that would follow me to this very day. Among them was a peer whom I had always admired. I learned that her kindness was as wonderful as it had appeared to be and with her influence I came out of the protective shell that I had built around myself and began taking chances that might have been frightening before. Along the way I met the young man who would become my life partner and our connection with each other was instant and strong. 

By the time I was in my twenties I was a married woman feeling a kind of happiness that had eluded me from the time of my father’s death. At the very moment when everything felt right with the world my mother experienced a mental breakdown and I had to pull up my boot straps and become her advocate in a world of mental heath that I barely understood. It was perhaps the most frightening moment of my life and one in which my husband rose to the occasion to help me, cementing our relationship forever. 

The decade of my twenties continued to be chaotic even as I found a boldness in my personality that I never knew was there. I began a family and found great joy in my two daughters just as my journey was rocked once again by an illness that threatened my husband’s life. I pretended to be in command of things but the truth was that I was terrified. With much help from my family and friends and great doctors he recovered and my I once again settled into a long routine that felt wonderful. 

When the eighties rolled around I was truly a strong woman. I had endured challenges that might have broken me but instead had taught me to just put one foot in front of the the other. I muddled through because I fully understood that sometimes that is the best that I might do. I was finally finishing my college degree and embarking on a career in teaching that felt as though it was the perfect fit for me. 

I instantly knew that I had made the right choice in selecting my vocation. From the very the beginning I found immeasurable joy in being in a classroom with my students. With the wisdom of every principal with whom I worked I honed my craft until any worries that I might have had were gone. In the meantime, I was having the time of my life with a group of friends who had walked with me through all of the difficulties of my past. My life was fun even as I continued helping my mother each time her bipolar disorder made her sick once again. I felt like a talented juggler able to keep balls rotating in the air while balancing a spinning plate on my head. 

By the nineties my daughters were maturing as well. One was excelling at collage and the other would soon follow. There were weddings and celebrations and promotions at work along with a Master’s degree. I could look in the mirror and honestly say that I liked myself and the life that I had built with my spouse, my children and my friends. My daughters graduated from college and married. Soon there were grandchildren on the way. It felt as though nothing would be able to steal the joy that was feeling.

I suppose that I reached a high point at the beginning of the twenty first century in every aspect of my existence. I traveled the world and left the house that had sustained me and my family for decades to relocate to the home where I now live. Luckily I enjoyed those moments with every being because great losses would be coming my way even as I would celebrate so many family milestones. One by one family members and friends who had played integral roles in my life’s journey died. It felt as though pieces of my heart were ruthlessly torn away. It was not something that I had prepared to endure but I had learned long before how to grieve and then carry on with my own life. 

I sometimes have to pinch myself to realize that I am as old as I am. My brain feels as young as ever but my body reminds me that I am moving along just as we humans are meant to do. My energy has waned and I miss the people who are no longer here. Then I remember how to count my blessings and find joy in the now. 

I worry about the future a bit more than I ever have. There is a kind of uncertainty in the world at large right now that I have not experienced since I was that eight year old fatherless girl. Life has taught me that there will always be bad times and that I have the grit to get through them but increasingly I am losing the north stars that walked with me and guided to where I am now.

My country is crying in a state of confusion and I am feeling the pull of worry more and more. I often have to remind myself to look for the helpers and the positive ideas like the ones that got me this far. If I know one thing that is true it is that the goodness of humans always finds a way to set things right. So I will meet each day as it comes knowing that if I never give up life will find a way to adjust just as it always does. I might fall down for the count but I will get back up no matter what it takes. My hope is that the wisdom and age and grace that I have found in each decade will be enough to guide me to a good and meaningful life. There is still so much work to be done.

Just a few weeks ago my yard looked dreary. Because I have not been able to do my normal spring gardening tasks the roses were not trimmed, the potted plants were still loitering in the garage and the weeds had overtaken all of the flowerbeds. I almost did not want to open the windows to see the starkness of my yard and I fretted a bit because my surgery had demanded that I stay out of the yard for three months. 

I am a person who has trouble asking for help. I tend to work out my own problems. I like to be strong enough to get things done by myself. Suddenly I realized that I was going to have to swallow my silly pride and reach out for people help. The first person I contacted was the man who mows my lawn each week during the growing season. Jose is one of the most reliable people in my life but I did not want to overburden him with jobs that I usually do. Still, the unsightliness of my back yard bothered me so I finally asked him to plant a new rose bush that I had purchased and to clean up the flowerbeds. 

He responded immediately and it was amazing to watch how quickly he worked to transform the area into the kind of loveliness that I generally do myself. Then he trimmed my roses to make sure that they would grow nicely in the coming weeks. Suddenly I looked out my window and felt joy not just in seeing the buds bursting forth but in knowing that I had overcome my pridefulness. I celebrated as the azaleas and roses began to bloom free of the weeds and straggly branches that had formed in the dreary winter months. Mostly I saw that Jose was more than eager to do me the favors of making my environment more beautiful and I was more than happy to give him a generous tip and complement for his efforts.

It was a very cold day in the peak of winter when I had my surgery and much like my backyard I came home bedraggled and weary. As the weeks have passed I have begun to bloom again like my flowers and I think about the magic and miracle of the changing seasons. I have learned over time to enjoy each of them for the joys that they bring. Spring is perhaps the most glorious of the times and this spring is particularly special for me because it comes at a time when I have learned many lessons about how to live a good life. 

It is fitting that we design the seasons the way that we do. Winter is time that allows us to spend time resting and pondering in the warmth of our homes. Spring is always a new beginning a time of resurrection for us all. It is a time for growth of both nature and our minds. During this spring there should also be a moment to ask ourselves why we humans fight among ourselves. What is it about us that compels us to compete with each other and all too often to hurt each other rather than coexisting in peace?

I have always felt that the Easter season represents the most important messages of Christianity. Jesus was brutally put to death for no legitimate reason. Sadly such deaths have continued to occur throughout human history almost always in the name of power and religious beliefs. Jesus challenged the status quo and as such he was deemed to be a criminal even as his life and preaching showed him to be a gentle soul. He was viewed as a radical only because he questioned the way things were done and how people were being treated. 

In today’s world we have culture wars all over the planet. The violence that results continues to hurt innocents just as surely as Jesus was harmed. We humans claim to be advancing in our thinking and yet over two thousand years from the time of Jesus we continue to forge battles with each other over differences that we choose not to understand. We complain about the draconian evil of the leaders of Iran but then we call anyone who questions the decisions of our own president radicals who should be feared and punished. 

Somehow I tend to believe that if Jesus were to come back to the earth today he would end up being viewed as a troublemaker once again. He was always willing to call out greed or cruelty. He disobeyed silly rules to save lives. He asked us to be more like innocent children. He cavorted with people who were hated by the society in which he lived. In other words, he might have been the Alex Pretti of today’s world. I think he would have embraced the immigrants and asked us to quit killing each other over oil and religious feuds. He would scoff at our culture wars that make criminals out of people who have done nothing other than live in ways that we too often choose not try to understand. 

My yard is telling me that even the ugliness of winter weeds and death can be overcome. This is a perfect time for each of us to reach out to every person around us in a spirit of compassion and love. Like the children that Jesus so enjoyed we should rely on our innocence to embrace our differences in a spirit of peace. It’s time that we value the people like Jose in our world for the goodness that they bring to us. It is time that we understand that those who challenge us to live together without judgement are the ones who truly understand the lesson of renewal that happens every spring. Jesus tried to teach us this but somehow we have contorted his words over and over again.