All It Takes Is A Little Love

As I write this I am planning to attend a Quinceanera for a young girl that I homeschooled in math for a time. It will be a fitting party for someone who is quite sweet and bright and earnest about life. I have watched her grow from a cute child into a lovely young woman and it will be fun to celebrate this special moment with her and her family and friends.

I suppose that in my world sixteen was the magical moment when I began to actually believe that I was transitioning from childhood. My mother presented gifts to me that signaled her approval that I was growing into the life of a young lady. I opened a box to find a beautiful dark blue wool pencil skirt along with a soft pale blue sweater. When I put the new outfit on I truly felt that I had somehow advanced in the world. While I usually wore a uniform to school my birthday happened to fall on a day when we were allowed to wear other clothes. I can’t even begin to describe how excited I was to show up in my new duds.

I was still going everywhere with a face that had never seen makeup. When the next package from Mama revealed a compact of power, a wand of mascara and a tube of lipstick I knew that my mother had finally understood that I was no longer a child. It was a message from her that made me ecstatic. Sadly we were not allowed to wear makeup to school so I had to leave those things home for use on the weekend. It was okay because my fresh face beamed with the joy of the moment.

I think I walked into the school standing a bit taller than I ever had done before. I had grown to a tall five foot six inches during the summer before. My new height required my mother to let out the hems in my skirts and slacks. I was quite thin at the time and literally able to wear anything right off of a rack. My new duds looked just right on me, color and all.

The first person I encountered was a boy who was in all of the classes with me. I suppose that I had an eternal crush on him even though he had a steady girlfriend. When he caught sight of me he smiled and said that I looked exceptionally good on that day. I know I must have flushed at his compliment but it only made me feel better and better about my appearance, an aspect which had always somewhat bothered me. I often felt that I looked like a child while all of my female classmates were blooming into lovely ladies. On that magical day I felt that I had somehow miraculously changed and the comment from my classmate nailed it.

Of course I still had so much to learn and so much change ahead of me. Looking back I realize that becoming a woman is a process that continues for years. It was not until I was twenty five that I genuinely felt good about myself. By then I was not so critical of my flaws. I understood that everyone has them and I felt that I had found my purpose in life by finally admitting that I wanted to be a teacher rather than vying for wealth in some other occupation. It felt good to be self assured in following my heart. Things only got better for me from that day forward.

The truth of the matter is that if we do things right we never stop growing and changing. Being static is like a tree that reaches a certain height and never changes again. Life is about surviving and showing a willingness to quit looking into the mirror to see the superficialities of who we are. Instead it is a journey of deep introspection that allows us to truly see the others around us. It is an ability to know and understand them. When that transition occurs I believe that we become our better selves.

I do often think of my classmate who so gallantly complimented me. He understood even back then how important it is to make the people around us feel that we see them. A single smile and nice comment can feel life changing just as it did for me. We would all do well to do more of that, especially when we are not particularly familiar with people from other cultures or who have different ideas about how to live. There really is no one way that should become the template. Variety is what makes life enchanting. Telling people how wonderful they are in your eyes becomes a way to build relationships and just make the world a better place to be.

I’ll be returning to politics soon. I have much to say about the recent election. For now I am just revealing in the good feelings that I have. Somehow I felt a major shift much like that day of long ago when I turned sixteen. The validation from my mother and my classmate was so grand. Now I am feeling the validation of my views about my country and what I believe we all want our nation to be. It was wonderful to see us seeing each other and loving each other just as we are.

My mother-in-law once embarked on a project to keep her family’s history alive. She spent hours each week attempting to complete the family tree as far back as possible. She turned her dining room table into a kind of office in which she intended to label all of the family photos that she had. Because she was born with a heart defect and told by doctors that she would not live a long life she felt almost frantic about getting the job done. Sadly she never quite achieved her goal before she had a massive stroke that left her in a coma and ended in her death.

My father-in-law grieved for a time and mostly left the remains of his wife’s research sitting where she left it. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to get back into the world of the living. Before long he had fallen in love with a new woman that he would marry. Much of the work that his first wife had undertaken was shoved into boxes and drawers never again to be noticed until he too died.

Now there is a kind of urgency in both me and my husband to fulfill the dream of his mother in becoming historians of each of our families. It is a daunting task that seems to consume more time than we have, but we understand that if we do not at least attempt to tell the stories of the people who came before us they will soon become unknown.

I admittedly recall having little or no interest in the ramblings of the generation older than mine whenever they attempted to enlighten me about members of the family that I had never known. I only became truly interested in those stories after I had retired from teaching. By then the very people who might have been able to provide me with more information were gone and so I was on my own in recreating the stories of people who to a large extent mean nothing to my children and grandchildren. They are simply names without the flesh and blood stories that individualized their importance in the grand scheme of the world.

I find myself thinking more and more of the people who played such important roles in helping me become who I am today. Like my mother-in-law I desperately want the generations behind me to know their stories. I attempt to rebuild their vitality with tales and anecdotes that are still so lively to me but seem to strike the young folk as having nothing to do with them. I want everyone to understand that where we are in this moment was not just an accident but was part of a long line of effort by people on our family tree who worked to provide good lives for themselves and those that they loved.

My husband and I have begun digitizing photos while also naming the people in them on the back of the original pictures which in some cases are already fading. I have written a memoir dedicated mostly to my mother that I hope my descendants will one day choose to read. Nobody in that story stands out as being particularly unique or exciting or famous but each of them were important in leading to where every member of our family is today. If I don’t spread the word about them they will one day become part of the millions of unknown people who have walked on this earth.

I often find myself wishing that so many of them were still here. I suppose that I was much like my descendants in having little or no interest in spending time cataloging the essences of their lives. It sometimes feels difficult to be forward thinking while looking at the past but I understand the incredible connections of both ways of looking at the world.

I have become a great fan of Heather Cox Richardson whose daily letters weave history with the presence. She has demonstrated how interconnected we are with the people and events of the past while also being informed of the present. When I read her essays I think of my grandfather who seemed to understand how we learn so much by looking at the past. He often spoke of growing up during the time of the robber barons who controlled so much of the power and wealth of the nation at the end of the nineteenth century. He insisted that the good old days were evolving in the present by learning from mistakes of the past.

Sadly we humans tend to either reach for the moon of the future or languish in a kind of fantasy of how wonderful the past always was. A true analysis of both our history and the present moment helps us to see how hard our ancestors worked to bring us to a time when freedoms are sometimes threatened more by our fears of looking both ways at the same time. We need to understand how we got where we are while also mapping out a future that moves forward with the best aspects of our humanity.

The young people of today are wonderful. I know this because I have known them in my efforts to teach them. They are much like the generations of the past, individuals who on the whole have always wanted the same things. By getting to know everyone along the road of life we come ever closer to creating a world that honors everyone. This is what I have learned from those stories of people in my mother-in-law’s family and my memories of the people in mine. There is a goodness in humans that time and again comes to the fore and overtakes those who would limit the scope of our relationships with all of the people of the world. I plan to keep telling those stores much as my mother-in-law tried to do. Our history is as important as what will happen next.

I go off the charts with every attempt to determine whether I am an extrovert or an introvert. Most of the time I land in the ninety ninth percentile of introversion. I suppose that these tests somewhat explain the tenor of my life. While I love people and enjoy being with them I ultimately require quiet time to revive my spirit. I can only take so much partying and my favorite moments with people are those in very small groups or in a quiet one on one meeting.

I vividly recall feeling a bit like a misfit as a teenager because I tended to run away from boisterous activities. Even when I first arrived at school each day I had to choice of going immediately to the cafeteria to chat with my friends or seeking the quiet of the library. I rarely went to the cafeteria. Instead I headed to the library where I composed myself for the day that lay ahead. I liked people quite deeply but only in small and mostly serene settings.

In college I initially attempted to change my ways. I eagerly went to street dances and joined the frivolities in the Cougar Den where students gathered between classes. I found rides to frat parties and joined clubs. It did not take long for me to realize that I was not having fun. I decided to be myself which often meant sitting quietly on a bench under the trees or in the Religious Center until my next class took place. Being who I was always felt good even as I wondered if there was something wrong with me.

Eventually I began to understand that each of us are attuned to the world a bit differently. I enjoy conversing with people in a low key setting but I come unglued if the environment is constantly raucous. I would finally learn that it is quite normal for some of us to find solace in alone time in peaceful settings.

The vast majority of the world is actually extroverted. Those people relax in crowded spaces with lots of fun people. After a long week of work they need to get out into the swing of things whereas I long for a good book by the fireplace. I love rainy days because they give me the perfect excuse to shut out all of the clamor of the world around me.

When I go out on errands I tend to walk under the radar. I like being alone with my thoughts and watching the hubbub from afar. I may smile at the people that I pass and even greet them but I don’t really want to engage with them in the moment. Nonetheless I too need human interaction in my life. I just set it up a bit differently.

I like to go out with no more than three other people. I find that in a grouping like that the conversations are far more meaningful. We are not competing for the right to speak. We do not have to shout or get crazy. It is always intimate and meaningful.

For almost five years my father-in-law lived in my home. He was the polar opposite of me. His extroversion was as close to perfection of that kind of personality as mine was in the other direction. He needed to have daily routines that included jokes and fun. I had often witnessed him being carried on the shoulders of his many friends as the life of the party. His stories always centered on galas where everyone was dancing and laughing and forgetting about the serious issues of the world. This is what he needed to survive and he kept that style all the way to his death. Everyone in his nursing home spoke of how funny he was.

I suspect that my father-in-law never fully understood my personality. I much preferred the moments when my mother-in-law and I would sit at her dining room table sipping tea and munching on biscuits. She would school me on whatever book or philosophy that she was studying while my husband and father-in-law were watching ball games and sharing jokes. When my father-in-law spoke of his favorite people they were often the extroverts. Ironically his very best friend was a cousin who was as introverted as they come.

As a teacher I began to understand how different the needs of each of us are. Our personality traits land along a spectrum of possibilities and no one way is either better or less than. We are who we are and almost seem to be that way from the start of our lives. I was a very serious child growing up under the care of an extroverted mother. I had a exceptionally extroverted little brother and another one who may have actually been more introverted than I ever was. Who knows how such things happen but they tell me that we should not be so quick to judge people by how they feel most comfortable being. That should include our religious feelings and even how we see ourselves on the sexual spectrum.

Our brains are constantly working and sending us message and urges that seem to be as innate as the color of our eyes. We now know that even eating habits are controlled by hormones coming from our brains. We speak of people being eight left or right brained. The powerful mechanisms in the nerve center of our bodies are yet to be totally understood but we now know that they send different messages to each of us depending on a host of factors.

I am at peace with being who I am. It feels good to understand that there is nothing wrong with me for wanting a serene environment. I still enjoy people to the max but not so much in big groups. It is in finding a corner away from everyone that I feel the closest to the people in my life. At the same time I would not dare to ask those who love a night of exciting revelry to be any different than they are. Knowing and honoring each personality is a step toward making a better world.

My mother and her siblings were first generation Americans. Their parents came to the United States shortly before the outbreak of World War I. There were eight children altogether and all but one of them stayed in Houston, Texas where they were born. They were a rowdy but loving group that congregated every Friday night at the home where they had grown up. By the time I came along my grandfather had died but I saw my grandmother almost religiously once each week.

On Christmas Eve there was a huge party at my grandmother’s home. Over time me and my cousins became adults and married and began having children so the crowd that gathered was huge. Once my grandmother died my Uncle Paul kept up the Christmas Eve tradition which became an expected annual routine. Once he was gone the gathering fell apart.

My eldest cousin did his best to get us all together after Christmas but as time went by the numbers who showed up began to wane. Before long we seemed to just give up on the idea of being able to all gather in one place at one time. That’s when we began creating our new traditions in our more nuclear families.

My brother, Michael, and his wife had a lovely home and they decided to host not just a Christmas Eve party but also one on Thanksgiving. Year after year the number of family members increased and so did the number of people at each party. Eventually my brother’s eldest daughter volunteered to host the Christmas Eve gala that was a boisterous and lovely time for celebrating our incredible family.

I took on the Christmas Day challenge and for many years I filled my home with tables where everyone feasted on dinner and congeniality. It was a great deal of work but I enjoyed being with the family so much that I did not mind. It was just wonderful to be so close and to have so many great opportunities to be together as one.

Just as with our older family traditions as the family grew and our children and grandchildren became older everyone was experiencing conflicts that made attending an annual event almost impossible for everyone. Once again the numbers dwindled and those of us hosting the events began to age and grow a bit weary of tackling such big events.

I am somewhat sentimental about traditions but I also know that things change and there comes a time when we all have to adjust to new realities. I used to feel a bit sorry for people who described their Christmas revelry as being only for the most immediate family sometimes on different days. They would tell me that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were just dates on their calendars and that they celebrated whenever it worked well for those that they loved.

Now it seems that our once great big extended family that no doubt numbers in multiples of ten is more fractured than ever. People live far away and have jobs that may or may not allow them to fly back to Texas. Some even have jobs here that require them to work even on holidays. The young people are in romantic alliances that require them to juggle different family groups. So now it is uncertain what Christmas will be like this year. What is certain is that it will be different and I suppose that this is a change that was almost inevitable as the descendants of my grandparents’ eight children grew and grew and grew at the same time that they were moving all over the map.

I suppose that now we are more and more like families whose generations have lived in the United States not just for decades but for centuries. The only way to attempt to get everyone together is with a huge family reunion and one that does not fall at Christmastime when airports are swarming with people.

This year my youngest daughter and her brood will be in New York City where my granddaughter is working with only a few days off. I will see my daughter for Thanksgiving and maybe before or after Christmas. My eldest daughter has asked to take over the Christmas Day celebration that I always hosted and I have to admit that her invitation is a relief. As I have grown older I don’t have the energy that I once had to host dozens and dozens of people.

I still plan to decorate like a mad woman and I may invite my grandchildren to help set up the trees and place the ornaments. Then I can spend my time baking goodies for my neighbors and maybe get myself together enough to invite them to my home for a small gathering. Whatever happens I am determined to adjust to whatever works best for everyone. After all Christmas is about so much more than parties and presents. It is a spiritual time for people all over the world. Slowing it down will no doubt be a lovely change of course.

There are teachers who present the facts well enough to provide students with new knowledge. There are teachers who touch the hearts of students helping them to become the persons they were meant to be. There are teachers who make learning exciting and meaningful while also helping students feel good about themselves. It is often difficult to measure which of these three types of educators have the most impact on the young people who enter their classrooms. There is no single test score that accurately defines a world class teacher. It is in the future success of individual students that the true evaluation becomes clear.

Each of us have no doubt encountered one or more teachers who impacted our growth as individuals in a way that ultimately set us on a positive course in life. The reasons for that are many but there is a kind of magic in a teacher who provides us with a thirst for more knowledge as well as understanding and encouraging who we are as humans.

I can name several critical junctures in my educational life that enlivened my curiosity and my confidence. The first came when I was a frightened five year old starting school in a kind of fog.  I wanted to go home to the comfort of my family more than anything. Every aspect of being in a classroom was frightening to me but my teacher, a nun named Sister Camilla, took the time to comfort me. She eased me into the learning process and took note of difficulties that I was experiencing. She showed me how to overcome the slight case of dyslexia that I had. She did it all with kindness and brilliance. I learned with her guidance and gained the confidence that I needed to continue through the rest of my academic life.

The next person was my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Loisey, who seemed to be adept at working with adolescents with a mix of humor and understanding. She impressed me greatly with her calm demeanor and her ability to explain even difficult concepts with clarity. I felt happy and relaxed in her care. Somehow I knew that she was both brilliant and kind at one and the same time. Being in her classroom was quite lovely.

Later I would enter the classroom of a masterful teacher of English, Father Shane, who introduced me to the idea of becoming a citizen of the world. He opened my mind like nobody other than my father had ever done. He introduced me to art, music, theater, literature, grammar and the art of writing. Even as he heaped more assignments than it seemed possible to fulfill I hung on his every word and felt that I had been introduced to a whole new way of thinking. My success in college was directly related to the ways he developed my talents and my confidence.

I went on to enjoy college professors who undertook the task of fashioning me into a teacher able to address the delivery of both knowledge and encouragement to my students. I realized that educating young people was a multifaceted task that would bring me days of frustration and times of great joy. Working successfully on a day to day basis with young people cannot be achieved with a script or a pre-designed curriculum. Every minute of every single day requires adapting to the needs of each individual sitting in the classroom.

I saw that I had to first know my students before I would be capable of reaching them. Droning on without considering the differing ways that they learned and the difficulties that they needed to overcome was daunting. I had to dive deeply into my understanding of them and most of all I had to deliver a clear message about how much I truly cared about them. They each burrowed into my heart and once they understood that I was there for them the learning commenced.

Eventually I became a teacher coach and mentor. I appreciated the monumental efforts that I witnessed unfolding in each classroom. I saw many different styles of getting a point across. I viscerally felt the intensity of caring that the teachers provided for their students day after day. I only witnessed a handful of individuals who seemed to be unable to adapt to the sometimes grueling task of moving students through a packed curriculum while also nurturing their emotional needs. I listened to their frustrations and comforted their tears and in virtually every classroom I felt their dedication even as society was not always kind to them. They came back to their jobs year after year because when all was said and done they felt an almost spiritual calling to be the guiding forces of future generations.

Teachers work for less pay than most of their peers. They are all too often underestimated and accused of somehow being less important and less intelligent than those who work in other fields. They depend on the decisions of politicians who often know little about maintaining a classroom full of students. People unfamiliar with what they do often decide on their pay and even the content o what they will teach. Teachers are a convenient whipping post for disgruntled parents or business people or politicians. It is often claimed that they do not produce financial gain but instead take from the treasury. All too often their impact on the future is not understood. With all of the negativity swirling around them they still choose to come back year after year, not because they cannot do anything else, but because they understand and love the assignment they have been given.

It would be difficult to find a harder working more caring group of individuals than teachers. Theirs is one of the most difficult tasks in society and they take it on because they are deeply compelled to encourage the upcoming generations to reach for the stars.