All It Takes Is A Little Love

The fun of life is figuring out where the rest of it goes.   —-Unknown

I learned a long time ago that even with the best laid plans, life often takes unexpected turns. Sometimes those happenings are horrific, requiring us to find courage and to adapt to new realities. Other times seem to be perfectly planned where every aspect of life smoothly goes just as we hoped they would. As we start each and every day we have no idea which of the two realities of living will take hold. 

Serendipity is not always a bad thing. Quite often an unexpected turn of events ends up being so much better than we thought they might be. I minored in mathematics because those classes were generally less labor intensive than the English classes of my major. I saw myself sitting on a stool wrapped in a shawl inspiring students to enjoy classic literature and in turn learn to write like professionals in their own right. As fate would have it the first job that I landed after graduation was a gig teaching math to students in grades six through eight. Once I had that experience on my resume any job offering was strictly for teaching math. I never sat on that stool or donned a shawl. Instead I stood all day long walking from one student desk to another to make certain that I had conveyed important skills well enough that my charges developed confidence in manipulating numbers. That turned out to be the best surprise of my life.

I have also found myself over and over again adjusting my roadmap to take on the care of members of my family. For a time I was balancing work, raising my daughters and supporting my mother through bouts of mental illness. My responsibilities tied me down, kept me living close to my mom so that I might rush to her side whenever she needed help. My horizons narrowed somewhat save for vacations but all in all I have still been able to travel and read enough to keep from being unaware of the world at large. At the same time I was proud of the support that I gave my family, my occupation and my mom. I learned how to multitask and still find balance in my life. I can honestly say that my life has had meaning, clear purpose that has made it much more rewarding than it might have been. 

Sometimes I ponder the miracle of every life. In the long arch of history millions of things had to happen for my story to unfold. Any change in the past might have meant that I would not even be here or that my biography would be totally different. It’s a stunning thing to think about. The what ifs in our lives demonstrate just how one tiny thing can change the course of history. The question becomes whether or not we would actually want that to happen. While we do indeed have personal control over our lives each of us realize at one time or another that those outside forces erupt like earthquakes to rattle our plans that may have seemed so secure. 

Because I lost my father as a child I have often wondered what I would be like if he had not taken a drive that ended in his death that night. What if he had stayed home and we had carried out our plans to move to a new home in a new neighborhood where I would have attended a different school and made different friends. Almost everything about me would have been so different. When I deeply imagine how that would have been I realize that it is a silly thing to even consider. 

Stephen King once wrote a story about a man who was able to enter a time machine that took him back to weeks before John F. Kennedy was assassinated. It was an exciting tale in which the man had to move back and forth from the present to the past in an attempt to change the course of history by saving Kennedy from his horrific fate. Ultimately he realized that each attempt that he made to redirect the past ended up destroying some aspect of the present so in his final pass into history he put things back exactly as they had been. 

The truth is that every life unveils a combination of joy and sorrow. It is inevitable that suffering will come our way in one form or another. Sadly some people get more of the horrific than the terrific. Nonetheless we are not just being moved around in some kind of preordained game which negates the power that we have to navigate our own lives. Even in the worst of times we have choices as to how to adapt. While our fortunes may sometimes seem unfair we don’t have to sit and stew. We can heal from our blows even as doing so often takes so much effort.

`If I critique my own life I certainly see things than I might have handled better but I have crossed those bridges and simply need to learn how to be better from my failed experiences. Stewing over the past or whining about the unfairness of the present is a futile way to live. I prefer to keep moving forward with the same positive outlook that has helped me reach this moment in time. I have learned that challenges are never fun but somehow I always I find ways to deal with them.

All in all I have been most fortunate. The horrors in my life have been few compared to those that I see others facing. I tell myself that it is my duty not to simply ignore them. I am of the opinion that my good luck requires me to advocate for those who have been burdened much more than I have. That is how I can change the world. Wishful thinking is fruitless but caring about the fate of others is the key to a meaningful life. It balances our fate and provides a wonderful sense of the kind of control that we need to feel as though we really are in charge of our destinies.  

I am a fortunate soul. I have a nice home, a car, a pension, a loving husband, children and grandchildren who have made me proud, good health, food in my pantry, and friends who understand and accept me just as I am. I should be happy all of the time but I have a personality quirk that often leaves me in a state of profound sadness. I see suffering and unfairness all around me and I cannot just look the other way and pretend that all is right with the world as long as my own life is so good. 

I really don’t know when I became this way but I suspect that it coincided with my father’s death. I witnessed the profound grief of my thirty year old mother and then watched her pull herself together for the good of me and my brothers. To this very day I do not know how she found such strength but she did. She gave the most extraordinary gift to her children. She made us feel safe and always loved. The sacrifices that she made to accomplish this were huge and even as a child I understood her willingness to give her very life for us. 

My mother was strong and courageous and wise but she also had a soft spot for people. I saw tears flow down her cheeks whenever she witnessed unfairness that hurt others. She could not abide the idea that it was okay to just ignore the hungry, the sick, the homeless, the victims of violence. She actively did whatever possible to help them and she seemed to feel their pain in a most visceral way. 

I suppose that I felt good about my teaching profession because on a daily basis for many decades I was dedicated to the welfare of my students. Many of them were living unbelievably difficult lives. It was sometimes hard for me to believe that in the richest nation of the world there were actually people struggling as much as many of them did. I saw the effects of nativism and racism up close in the eyes of many of my students. I felt their pain and their want much like my mother always did with others. I felt humbled to be able to help them even in small ways. I rejoiced when they bloomed and found ways to move beyond the limitations of their circumstances.

I also understood that not all Americans were willing to accept them just as they were. I heard and read the taunts that demeaned them but I actually believed that they were the exception rather than the rule. Imagine my incredulous puzzlement when Donald Trump was elected president not once but twice. I had to accept the discomforting possibility that some Americans actually accept and like the horrific views of this vile man. How else can I explain that he seems to charm them with his hate filled ideas?

I’ve had people tell me that they just look beyond the horrific aspects about Trump because they think he is just a blowhard who will never follow through with his taunts. Then I see that he keeps proving them wrong. I wonder what it will take for them to disown him totally. Surely they see his lies, his ugliness, the violence that he suggests. Instead they tell me that I am the hater when I have never before in my life hated any individual or group until now. 

I cannot pretend that I don’t see the ugliness in Trump and some of his followers. I read their hideous comments about immigrants, gay and trans people, Muslims, progressives and even ordinary Democrats. When a good man is shot down in the the streets of Houston by ICE they revel in the idea that one less illegal immigrant has been removed. They can’t seem to muster sympathy for the family of this man. It is the lack of human decency that drives me to a sadness for our nation that I have never before experienced this deeply. 

I know that not everyone who voted for Trump agrees with what he has done but I expect all Americans to voice their concerns before it is too late. Just looking the other way and living life as though all is normal is only going to make the situation worse. It is only when we all join together in condemning what is happening that we have a chance to right the wrongs. I have always believed in the importance of speaking up for anyone who is being abused. I learned that from my mother. 

When boys were taunting a girl that they did not like by attempting to throw her into the deep end of a swimming pool even though she was screaming that she could not swim, I made them stop. When a principal was being unfair to the faculty I confronted her. When a student was being punished for something that was not her fault, I argued in her favor. I have continuously done this kind of thing not because I am somehow better than others or some kind of hero but just because it has been the right thing to do. 

I grieve for the people in the United States and in the world who are being bullied by our president. I wonder why the Republicans cannot seem to find the courage or voice to stop him. I grieve that we have a television station filled with untrue propaganda that is poisoning the minds of people who do not seem to understand the lies that they are being told. I grieve for the possibility that our democratic republic is being threatened by a man who has enriched himself by taking away assistance from the most vulnerable among us. 

I don’t want to grieve anymore. I want to celebrate that we the people of the United States have found our goodness once again. I hope beyond the evidence that I will soon see the signs that Trump is going to be stopped. My hope is focused on the November elections. That is when I will know whether or not we will be okay.

A couple of years ago my husband Mike and I traveled to Maine to help our granddaughter move from the apartment where she had lived for the summer to the house to which she was assigned for the coming school year. She had been attempting to move her belongings using a bicycle, the only form of transportation that she had for getting around Brunswick, Maine where her college, Bowdoin, was located. 

We turned her request into a good excuse for a road trip and were soon headed up north from Houston, Texas. Unfortunately the timing coincided with an international music festival that Bowdoin College sponsors each summer. People come from all over the world to enjoy a week of musical bliss. That meant that most of the hotels and motels were already booked so we had to do some searching before we found a motel on the edge of town that had one vacancy left. 

It was not exactly a five star residence. It fact it would have been a bit of a stretch to give it three stars but upon arriving we saw that it was clean and quiet and only a few minutes away from where we would meet up with our granddaughter each day. We felt fortunate to have a place to rest that seemed to just be old rather than run down.

The first thing we noticed as we were checking into our room was that there were a number of pickup trucks from out of state. A couple of them were from Texas. We soon learned that this motel was a haven for migrant workers who came to do construction jobs. Each afternoon they would arrive covered in sweat and dust. They would smile and nod their heads at us and once they reached the doors of their rooms they took off their work boots and left them outside so that they would not bring dirt into the room. Then they would quietly spend the evening relaxing and sleeping until it was time to leave for work the next morning before sunrise. We felt humbled by the work ethic that had made them our temporary neighbors. 

When I heard that yet another immigrant was killed by ICE this week I thought of those young men who were so devoted to a grueling routine that took them out to work before we had begun our daily adventures only to return just before dark each evening. Most of them spoke only enough English to get by but they were always pleasant when we encountered them. I saw that we have a workforce in our nation comprised of individuals from many parts of the world who have come to our nation not to cause trouble but to take on the jobs that most of us would not want to do. This has always been the case. 

Our nation began with slaves being forcefully brought to our shores to do the brutal work on plantations. They even built the White House. People came from China to forge the railroads. People from Ireland and Italy and Germany came to America looking for work. My own grandfather came from Slovakia to toil in fields and then ultimately work inside a meat packing plant. The riches of our nation were achieved with the hard work of immigrants from all over the world. Their stories have never ended. They changed the face of America even as the first generations were often treated with disdain. Somehow many of their descendants refuse to acknowledge that their ancestors were once treated with the same kind of ugly rejection that many of today’s immigrants experience. They speak of rigid adherence to laws as excuses for terrorizing today’s immigrants, many of whom are in our nation legally just like the poor soul who was killed in Maine on his way to work this week. 

Joan Sebastian Guerrero was an immigrant from Colombia with legal work permits. He was only twenty six and leaves behind a wife and a three year old child. He was going to work early in the morning when he was stopped by members of ICE who were actually searching for someone else. In the terror of the moment an agent shot into his car and fatally wounded him while his young child sat in the backseat. Once again the shooter claimed that he was attempting to protect people when it appeared that Mr, Guerrero was using his car as a weapon. 

On the one hand we have Americans who commend ICE for doing a job that is long overdue. They insist that people who are stopped should simply comply with ICE agents and they will not be harmed. On the other hand we know that many of the ICE officers were selected without much background information and with little training in law enforcement. They often travel in unmarked cars wearing masks without understanding that there are many better ways of enforcing laws without violence. All too often innocents who willingly follow ICE orders are sent away to detention centers before having opportunities to prove their legal status. Other times they are thrown to the ground and treated inhumanely. Just being subservient does not seem to insure their safety.

Most police departments run applicants through a series of psychological tests to determine how they might respond under stress. Those who show problems are not usually hired. The ones who are selected attend an academy for training that lasts much longer than what members of ICE are getting. Therein lie many of the problems that have ended in deadly encounters with ICE. Sadly I see no inclination to improve either the selection or training of ICE officers. Without many changes like taking off those masks, having visual identification, and using body cams nothing will change what is happening. I worry that the unreasonable deaths will continue until and unless the powers that be realize that they must to their utmost to insure that the unwarranted killings stop. So far those in charge only defend their incompetence and that of their agents. Maybe our votes in November can force a positive change if enough of us demonstrate that we demand improvements. Until that time I worry that we have only seen the tip of the iceberg of unwarranted deaths.

I never demand that any person should agree with me one hundred percent. My husband and I will have been married fifty eight years in October and while we are mostly in sync with our beliefs there are some points of disagreement here and there. It is unlikely that I would ever find someone with whom I have no differences of opinion. 

I am always wary of judging people. I try to abide by the advice that I should judge not lest I be judged. I am as imperfect as any other human that has ever walked on this earth. Even my heroes like Abraham Lincoln had moments of weakness that seemed out of character. I know the we humans mostly do our best to be good people but that our definitions of how that should be vary widely. 

I don’t usually care what an individual’s political beliefs are unless they support racism or cruelty. I have never found a politician running for office with whom I totally agreed. Over my lifetime I have watched Democrats and Republicans lead this nation and most of the time I simply rolled with whomever was in charge as long as I did not detect criminal behaviors. I had great concerns about Richard Nixon even as he also did some very good things. When I learned of his lies and dirty tricks I felt certain that he needed to be removed from office. 

There have been moments when I was conflicted over who the better person was in our presidential elections. When Barack Obama ran against John McCain I could not help but notice what an heroic and honorable man McCain was. I actually believed that we would be okay as a nation with either man at the helm. I was especially impressed when John McCain insisted that Obama was a good man when a woman accused Obama of being evil.

When I heard the full story of McCain’s time as a prisoner of war in Vietnam I was in awe of his honor. Over time I saw him again and again following his conscience and doing the right thing even when it went against his Republican party. I liked that about him so when I saw him with his friends Joe Lieberman and Lindsey Graham I felt that those three amigos represented what was best about our American system of governing. They did not always agree with each other but they were able to get along and work together for the betterment of our nation. 

Eventually John McCain died and Joe Lieberman retired but I still remembered the delightful way that Lindsey Graham had behaved during the times before Donald Trump came along. I disagreed with him on many issues but I saw him as someone willing to work hard and in tandem with the Democrats to make our nation a better place. I heard him speak of Joe Biden, a fellow Senator, as one of the nicest people he had ever known. Back then Lindsey Graham was the kind of leader that I thought I would want to be, fair and honest.

When Trump first came into the picture Lindsey Graham warned us about the danger of electing a man whose boasts showed him to have little character. He was adamant that Trump would bring an end to the United States as we had known it. Once again I admired Lindsey Graham for his willingness to speak what he believed to be the truth even though I disagreed with many of his other political beliefs. 

I have to admit that I felt betrayed when Lindsey Graham eventually left his former self behind and bowed to Trump even after condemning him over the horror of January 6, 2021. The rapid turn around confounded me. To this very day it makes little sense to me. It seemed so out of the character that I had believed represented Lindsey Graham. It felt humiliating to me and so I essentially just wrote Graham off as yet another hack willing to to anything to keep his power. 

When I awoke on Sunday morning to find that Lindsey Graham had died I was shocked but I also felt deeply betrayed by the man that he had become in his final years. I suppose that I will never understand how or why anyone can change as dramatically as he did. Instead of standing his ground like Adam Kinzinger and Liz Cheney in opposing Donald Trump he bowed down and humiliated himself. In the process I lost my respect for him but also quietly wondered what had driven him to change. I suppose that more than anything I felt sorry for him. The demise of character that overtook him reminded me of the story of Benedict Arnold who had once been one of the great characters of the American Revolution. His fall from grace became synonymous with being a traitor and so it seemed to be the fate of Lindsey Graham.

I never wish ill on another person and I will not judge Lindsey Graham one way or another but I will grieve his change of heart that I will never understand. Perhaps he wrongly believed that he had to go along with Donald Trump or be sent away by the voters thus losing any influence that he might have had. Whatever his reason it tainted his legacy forever and that is truly a shame.

Just after July 4, Adam Kinzinger wrote an essay that gave me much hope for our nation. Instead of listing all of the problems that we have, which are many, he spoke of the remarkable progress and determination of the American people over the last two hundred fifty years. His piece reminded me of the kind of ideas that my grandfather mentioned every single time we visited him. I suppose that I always left his home feeling refreshed and optimistic because he had such a positive way of viewing the world, and in particular, the United States.

Grandpa was born in 1878 somewhere along the North Carolina and Virginia border. His mother was Marion Roarke Mack, or so he was told by relatives. He never knew her because she died of complications from giving birth three days after he was born. Grandpa’s father was William Mack, a man who became frightened at the prospect of raising a child alone so he put his baby boy in the back of a wagon and high tailed it to his mother’s home in Virginia. There he left my grandfather with a woman who would raise him into his teens. 

Sarah Reynolds taught Grandpa to read and write and made sure that he had good manners. She showed him how to combine herbs to create medicines for neighbors who lovingly called her Doc Reynold’s. She died when Grandpa was only thirteen and left him a small inheritance. He chose an uncle, John Little, to be his official guardian but mostly he set out on his own like young boys often did back then. Because his Uncle John Little was an honorable man and a graduate of the Military academy of West Point Grandpa changed his name to William Mack Little, the moniker that he had when I was born. 

Grandpa was a progressive who fully appreciated the evolution of the United States. He remembered a time when he first saw a town that was lit my electricity and he marvelled over the brilliance of Orville and Wilbur Wright who conquered the sky with their plane. Grandpa saw the history of modern America unfold year by year, invention by invention and he liked to say that current times were “the good old days.”

Grandpa had seen hunger, disease, men and women who were desperate at a time when wealthy men ruled the roost. He appreciated the changes that brought improvements in our government for the common folk. He loved to read about history and quote his heroes like Thomas Jefferson. He just missed going to war but he had great admiration for those who supported our nation. He appreciated Franklin Roosevelt for creating programs that would help American citizens. He was overjoyed when Medicare became a program that would save others from using all of their savings when someone became ill like he had to do for my grandmother. He cheered the Civil Rights movement and insisted that even when things look horrible we Americans find ways to keep our country moving forward in a way that includes everyone. 

I have been feeling down since Donald Trump became president again. I doubt that my grandfather would have voted for him. Trump represents the destruction of so many of the things that Grandpa insisted were important for the people of the United States. He would have been upset by the return of super wealthy oligarchs who think that they know best how to take care of America. He had seen the depression during the Gilded Age when people were starving and a man named Coxey created an army of people willing to march across the land to Washington D.C. to protest the hunger of far too many in the nation. 

Grandpa was a well read and learned man even though he did not get very far in school. He knew what was communism and what was not and found the “Red Scare” of McCarthyism to be dangerously absurd. He would have recognized Donald Trump’s latest accusations that Democrats are communists as a way to cover the problems that he has created. He would also assure me that we will eventually find our way back to the kind of leaders who work together to create a better world for all Americans, not just certain ones who have the right complexion or pedigree. 

Adam Kinzinger’s essay was uplifting just like Grandpa had always been My grandfather died at the age of one hundred eight when I was in my forties. It’s been a very long time since I had the benefit of sitting with him while he smoked his pipe and spread wisdom and information that always kept me calm. I miss him but need to hark back to his story once again. He was an American through and through but he realized that our work is never done and that looking backwards and attempting to emulate a time that has passed is rarely a good thing. It is in the amazing progress and evolution of the last two hundred fifty years that we have become a better and better nation. The very idea of going backwards would have been anathema to Grandpa and so it is to me. 

I feel a bit better now. Like Adam Kinzinger I believe that we Americans always find a way to find repair the damage of anyone who tears down the ideals and progress that are the continual thread of our history. The only catch is that each of us must make it happen by paying attention and casting our votes. There is no time for simply complaining while a man is spending his time as president enriching himself and his family, while tearing down so much that is good about his nation. We all have work to do to move forward once again.