All It Takes Is A Little Love

I have lived a quiet ordinary life. Like most mine was not without its tragedies which I had to learn to overcome. I muddled through my childhood without my beloved father who died when I was eight. Thanks to the courage and love from my mother I adapted to our situation even as I missed the wisdom that my father had always provided me. 

I almost came unglued when my courageous mother broke down twelve years after my father’s death and fell victim to the bipolar disorder that would haunt her for the rest of her life. I had no idea what to do or how to react because I knew nothing about mental illness and my mother had sheltered me from the realities of hardship. Using her example I somehow rose to the occasion and began a journey with her that would last more than forty years. 

Eventually my brothers would become mature enough to help me take care of our mom. We worked together as a strong team motivated by the enduring love and respect that we had for our mother. We had watched her overcoming one obstacle after another to allow us to grow in wisdom and age and grace. Somehow dedicating so much of our adult lives to her never seemed to be a task too difficult to endure even as we sometimes grew weary and sorrowful that such a thing was happening to her. 

I suppose my mother’s influence has run deeply into the direction of my entire life. I became a professional caretaker when I became a teacher. Yes, I was paid for instructing thousands of students in the ways of mathematics but my job became so much more. I learned from the young people who sat in front of me everyday bringing their own worries, tragedies and dreams with them. For most of my career my charges were black and brown skinned children who taught me how to see people without focusing on the color of their skin but on the content of their hearts. I celebrated their cultures and the love that I witnessed from their parents who were just as eager to provide good lives for them as my mother had been for me and my brothers. Mine was a career that gave me so much more than I had to give in return. 

The very day after I formally retired so that I might care for my mother who had been diagnosed with lung cancer she died peacefully like the angel that I knew her to be. Hers was a spiritual death filled with her love at the center of it all. In her final wishes she asked me to keep watch over my brothers and she expressed her hopes and dreams for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She made each of us feel so important even as she was drawing her last breaths. 

From my mother and my beloved students I have learned the importance of what life is all about. While we certainly need money to pay for our needs of food and housing and clothing and such, more than anything we need meaningful relationships with the people around us. iI is important that we value all people regardless of how different they may be from ourselves. It is critical that we share our talents and even our treasure with those who are in need. Most of all we must show our love by protecting the less fortunate no matter how difficult that may be. 

My mother managed to get by on a stunningly low monthly income of one thousand one hundred dollars in her retirement years. She was able to do so because she had paid for her home and she was a genius at staying within a strict budget. She had successfully used her techniques as a young widow but she also managed to give to others who had even less. After her death I was shocked to read the many thank you notes from people and organizations that she had quietly supported with small donations here and there. I realized that her frugality at the grocery store was a means for being able to be charitable. 

I suppose that many ultimately saw only my mother’s quirkiness and mental illness but most realized what an amazing woman she was. Her kindness extended to her neighbors, her coworkers, her church and her extended family. Her closet was filled with thoughtful gifts that she had already labeled for upcoming birthdays and Christmas. She rarely complained about her difficult life or even thought about herself. Instead she expressed gratitude for the life that had brought her so much joy. 

Theses days as I express my support for people who are suffering I do so in honor of my mother. When I protest injustice I am following my mom’s example. When I insist that I am a dedicated American patriot I know that it is true because I learned from my mother how to love this nation that has given us so much and then return the favor by doing everything in my power to keep it free and generous. 

Mama use to get emotional about the United States of America. She was the daughter of immigrants from Eastern Europe. She endured the taunts of neighbors who thought that she and the members of her family were dirty and undeserving of the American dream. They did not know how much love for this nation my grandfather had instilled in his children, but I did. I listened to my mother recounting the Depression, the years of Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency, World War II and the pride and gratitude that she felt for being allowed to participate in the grandest promises of our nation. I have no doubt that she would tell me to keep fighting to insure that America remains the land of the free and so I shall do. I am my mother’s daughter.  

I believe in the goodness of people. Nonetheless I think that every single one of us can be fooled by charlatans who hope to influence our views of the world around us. I know that this is a particularly risky situation when it comes to the media. The angle of a camera, the repetition of ideologies and branding can create a false picture of reality. We humans fall for such things because we are good and we want to believe that nobody would be evil enough to attempt to control us with lies. 

I keep repeating the story of my seventh grade teacher shocking us when she boldly insisted that propaganda is everywhere, even in the United States. I had always believed that only evil governments used propaganda to control the population. She corrected that assumption by showing us perfect examples of politicians, businesses and even religious organizations using the tools of propaganda to influence the thinking of certain people. 

With AI, bots, all day news sites, social media sites and such we are continuously exposed to a barrage of propaganda that sometimes appears to be nothing more that facts and news. It takes time to remove the grain from the chaff and to determine what is factual and what is an opinion. All too often we don’t make the effort to really study a situation to determine truth from fiction. Instead we find our familiar sites that seem to reinforce our thinking without asking many questions even when something seems fishy. We ignore obvious signs of propaganda like repetitive labels and accusations that raise our ire and cause us to fall victim to hoaxes.

I make a habit of checking sources continually but even then I now and again get lazy and get burned. Much of the time when something seems too strange to actually be true it is in fact a lie. Other times what seems to be untrue ends up being a fact. Even visual cues can now be altered rather easily on a computer so we have to all be vigilant. 

In Advanced Placement History classes students are taught to carefully study different sources of information. They learn the difference between and primary sources and hearsay. They become good at ferreting the truth through the hard work of analysis. We would all do well to learn how to insure that what we are being asked to believe is real rather than classic propaganda.

Sometimes we have to be especially discerning when an incident pulls at our emotions. We want to see ourselves as good and honest people who care about each other. We want to be patriotic and supportive of our country as well. It is important to differentiate between the helpers and those attempting to drive us away from each other. 

I have been studying Donald Trump for well over ten years now. All of the evidence points to his being a self centered power hungry bully but I understand that these words are filled with emotional content. I know that I must do the research to back up my instinctive feelings about the man. In reading tract after tract about him I have a picture of an individual driven by a need to always be in charge. While there is nothing innately wrong about that it is in the ways that he wields power that I have a problem. 

Donald Trump’s competitive spirit began within his own family. Like most sons he wanted to please his father but he often did so with cruelty. He called his brother who was an airline pilot “a taxi driver in the sky.” At his private school he was such a bully that the powers that be asked him to leave. He is boastful to the point of being obnoxious and his comments about women and people of color are particularly distasteful. His business practices are legendary because he often cheated people out of their rightfully earned payments. Furthermore he ran his fortune into bankruptcy more often than not. Nonetheless he has been able to continually convince a considerable number of people that he is an economic genius. His followers seem to mistake his insults for power and strength rather than cover for the vengeful shell that he actually is. 

Donald Trump constantly preys on people’s fears and frightens them into believing that he is their only hope for good lives. He pretends to be a religious man when nobody ever sees him inside a church and he seems to have no idea how to even say a prayer or show compassion for all people, not just those who vote for him. 

So how did I come to all of these conclusions about Donald Trump? Firstly, I have watched him and listened to him and then I have checked out what he has said and found lie after lie leaving his mouth. I have read accounts of his business practices and the fact that many times his credit score was in the ditch. I learned that his television persona on The Apprentice was staged and edited to a point of ridiculousness. I have caught him lacking any understanding of history or even our laws.

So yes, I do not like or trust Donald Trump. I believe that he is a dangerous cancer in our society. Worst of all is the fact that he has loyal men and women who would rather besmirch the honor of good people than admit to the many times that Trump is wrong. They fear him and think that they will lose their own power if they cross him. 

So while I believe that most people are good I also believe that in this moment far too many of them have been deluded into believing in a dangerous man who will ultimately hurt us all if we do not put a stop to his narcissistic power grab. He cannot be trusted and neither can his enablers. Each day I grow more and more concerned when I hear good people babbling his distorted view of life without questioning the horror of it all. We are all in danger the longer he is in charge.

As a new year dawns we all find ourselves full of resolve to do a bit more good during the coming months and to rid ourselves of habits that seem to be making us a bit less than we think we should be. We promise to seek out and nurture friends and family members who are enduring difficult times. We decide to cleanse and toughen our bodies with clean eating and lots of exercise. We become determined to finish projects that have languished for too long. We enjoy a kind of rebirth and intention to make the best of the weeks and months that lie ahead even as we realize that we have done this so many times before and all too often fallen short of achieving our goals. 

It is in the nature of humans to want to be the best of themselves but life has a tendency to intervene, forcing us to take different paths than the ones that we had planned. Anyone who lives long enough begins to understand how fragile good intentions can be. We set out to complete a project and become injured or ill and have to set it aside for a time. We become distracted by events that seem to be more important than our dreams. Weeks pass and then years and those good intentions wither away. We hear of the death of someone that we intended to visit and feel the rush of regret that we never got around to taking the time to let them know how much we loved and cared about them. Life becomes messy even when we do our best to make it orderly. 

I suppose that I am an expert at such situations. I would never have believed that my father would die when I was only eight, but it happened and every single plan that my family had made suddenly changed. Six years ago I celebrated the dawn of a new year with great expectations. I had little idea that within weeks the whole world would be battling a virus that was killing once healthy people at a rapid pace. So much changed during that year and the ensuing ones that it all sometimes seems like a dream. 

I became older and a bit sadder as I watched the struggles of people whose loved once became seriously ill. I tried to nurture those who lost someone to the virus even as I understood that my words and my efforts only minimally eased the pain that they were feeling in the chaos of that time. I forgot about my resolutions and instead just managed to take care of my family and attempt to survive.

There have been times when there was so much sorrow and uncertainty that having a plan of any kind seemed absurd. I had to learn to adapt on the fly when my young husband contracted a disease that landed him in the hospital for months. I lost my mojo and my energy when I became ill with a case of hepatitis that lasted for three months. I felt as though I was drowning every time my mother’s mental illness returned. I felt the shock of losing loved ones and friends when I least expected such a thing to happen. All I could do is change my course and plow on whenever the incidents that are part of being human overtook me. 

What I learned is that my promises in the new year are subject to unexpected changes that may force me to set them aside for a time. What I have also learned is that I am rather good at reorienting my course in midstream and doing whatever I need to do. I don’t always react with calm. I allow myself to feel a sense of regret that bad things are happening to me or those that I love. Then I do whatever must be done sometimes grumbling all the way but planting a smile on my face to hide my pain from those who are truly suffering.

I know that I am rather average when it comes to living life. I seem to have no more nor no less success or defeat than most humans. I appreciate all of my good fortune that keeps me pushing forward even in the most difficult of times. I know all too well that it was only good luck that made me the child of a mother who gave me a moral example to follow. I was born with a rather good ability to learn and until recently I was so healthy and energetic the I was able to bear the most difficult situations. I found true love with a man who knows me and understands me and loves me just as I am. I have weathered tragedies that sometimes brought me to my knees but always came out stronger and wiser on the other side.

I know that a new year brings new opportunities but sometimes it also bring new challenges. So far I have managed to navigate them all but I dream of a time calm and peace for our world. I suspect that many, if not all of us, are weary. How wonderful it would be if we entered a chapter in our history where love and goodwill flourished. Call me naive or a cockeyed optimist but I still believe that we humans have the power to achieve such a state if only for a moment. I resolve this year to do my part to take the steps toward such an audacious dream.

If there is anything that I enjoy more than writing it is learning about history. I especially enjoy tracts that reveal something that I have never before learned about the world or my country. History is alive. It tells us where we have been and serves as a guideline for what kind of people and ideas to embrace and what we should consider avoiding. 

When I was a school girl we learned about American History in the fifth grade. It was more of an outline of events from the time of the first settlers to around World War II. There was so much information jammed into a single school year that we never really heard many details about various events. I learned much more when I also studied American History in high school. It was not until college , however, that the history of my nation really came alive for me. I had a professor who created a kind of tapestry of stories threaded together in such a way that I finally understood the reasons why certain things happened rather than just learning one fact after another. It was so fascinating and it sparked my lifetime interest in history of all kinds. 

One of the areas of American History that was all too often downplayed when I was younger was the role of slavery in literally building our nation on the backs of Black people kept in chains. In college the watered down version of the teachings about slavery that had dominated my youth was abandoned for the honesty of even the most terrible truths.

I will never truly know what it was or is like being Black but I now at least better understand how wrong slavery was and how it demeaned the value of people in the most horrific ways. Somehow I still have a difficult time accepting that even learned and respected individuals like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were able to justify having slaves. It is a question that has haunted me. 

I feel as though there is an original sin associated with slavery that taints human history and most especially American history. It is difficult to imagine why it was ever acceptable for anyone to own another person. No matter how I attempt to find some kind of reasoning for it, I always end up believing that surely something must have felt wrong to them and yet they did it anyway.

The aftermath of slavery should have been a time of jubilation for those who had once been slaves but the reality is that it took almost a hundred years before our nation really attempted to rid itself of segregation and racist ideologies. I can still hear the ugly words and thinking of my youth that far too many people used in connection with Black citizens. Things are certainly better now, but sadly far too much of that kind of thinking seems to be bleeding into national attitudes toward anyone who appears to be different. There is even a movement to consider White people as the ones being mistreated and misunderstood while those who are Black or Brown are getting special favors. 

I know that America still has a long way to go before everyone begins to see our fellow humans as our equal brothers and sisters. Maybe that day will never come. Prejudices abound and many of them are uttered by the president. The throwback is something that I truly believed had disappeared and when some of my Black and Brown fiends and students insisted that the dark sides of racism had never really gone away I was naively stunned. They opened my eyes like that college professor had done and I began to see that people with hateful ideas still exist and some of them even view themselves as good people.

The current administration has seen fit to deemphasize Black History month out of a feeling that there is no need to spend several weeks learning about a group of people who should just be grateful for the progress that has been made. What I know and believe is that it is critical that we keep unfolding the history of people who first came to our nation with no rights humbled by an attitude that they were little more than raw labor for enriching the White people who owned them. 

Few people have ever learned that it was slaves who labored to build the White House. Most do not understand how those tragic souls were the engine that created the wealth of much of America. We don’t really talk about the fact that they were purposely kept uneducated lest they realize that their captivity was morally wrong. They were bought and sold like farm equipment rather than being acknowledged for their wit and intelligence. They were literally considered to be almost subhuman but we don’t really like to talk about that, especially with students who might be compassionate enough to feel sorrow for what was done to them. 

I think we should do more not less about Black History month. It’s time we celebrate the heroic stories of people without whom our nation would not be as rich and advanced as it is. We need to learn all of the stories of Black imprisonment, inventiveness and bravery. In fact, we might want their stories to be told all year long in a celebration of how much they have given to all of us. They are as much part of the founding of America as anyone. They have earned our great respect. It’s time for an honest and joyous rendering of the contribution to the nation that they continuing to give.  

All across the world today people are waking up and hoping for the same things. Maslow nailed it with his Hierarchy of Needs. First and foremost we all require water, food, shelter, food. Our ancient ancestors focused each day on hunting and gathering and moving with the seasons. For the most part in the modern world the vast majority of humans have been able to achieve their physiological needs but some remain in danger due to wars, famine and other disastrous situations over which they have little control

Historically most humans have been able to focus on their needs for safety. It is in our natures to crave security, health, the support of a family, work that allows us to survive, resources that keep us secure and property that allows us to feel free. Those basic needs have all too often been threatened by tyrants and invaders and even oligarchs whose selfish desires override attempts to insure that every person is able to achieve a certain level of comfort. Obviously as a society we still have much to do in regards to reaching everyone who needs help. Sharing the limited assets of the world is a complex duty all too often fraught with grift and greed. 

Every person needs to feel love and sense of belonging. Because we are so diverse in who we are, building relationships can sometimes be difficult and complex if our society is demanding that we behave according to arbitrary beliefs. There is nothing more wonderful than being fully accepted and appreciated for being exactly who we are. Each of us craves a sense of connection but all too often societies ostracize certain groups creating a history fraught with injustice. For some reason humankind keeps creating the image of people in need as pariahs based solely on personal prejudices. 

In a healthy, abundant and loving environment societies do what is necessary for people to feel good about themselves. There are no rules that are capable of building positive self esteem. Such feelings are borne from respect and acceptance. A person who has achieved a feeling of confidence and respect is not judgmental nor does he/she feel the need to boast or gather riches. Sadly we all too often equate bullying with power. We believe that only those who bluster and insult have enough moxie to lead us. We see their Achilles heels as strength when more often than not it is the quiet and loving individual who would be the best person to follow.

Our ultimate goal as humans is to be moral, not in the sense of enacting rules that hurt people but in the ways in which we value, enrich and encourage all people. The self actualized individual embraces the people of the world with an understanding that we are first and foremost more alike that we are different. Our variations are something to celebrate. They mark the incredible creativity of the human spirit. 

We lose our way when we criticize rather than help those who are suffering from the most basic physical needs. We never know when we will need assistance because we have grown old or acquired a terrible disease or been victimized by natural disasters or wars. Those people in the world today who are starving and dying through little fault of their own should be our priority rather than the victims of our criticism. We should not avert our gaze in disgust when any human is so broken by circumstances that it is no longer possible for him/her to take care of the most basic needs. 

We cannot reach every soul that is crying for help but we can insist that our collective society has programs in place that help them. Sometimes the difference between turning our backs on the needs of others and creating programs that help them only has a cost of a few dollars each day that we might surely spend on hope rather than on an accumulation of riches and things. 

I have spent many days decluttering my home. I have made numerous trips to Salvation Army and Goodwill. Much of what I am giving away came from generations of purchases. Such objects have sat in my attic and closets when someone else might have used them. They represent expenses that I might have forgone to provide for someone in need. I know that I must begin to be more circumspect and generous with those who have so much less than I do. Climbing the ladder of the hierarchy of needs takes a village just as Hillary Clinton once claimed. Each of us is where we are because many people helped us along the way. It is our duty to do the same for as many as we are able. It is our duty to select leaders who are willing to provide for the needs of those who struggle to survive. We should look to people who are kind and caring just as we should also be. 

For some the idea of doing as much as we can for all of humankind sounds political. It makes us socialists or communists in their minds. The truth is that the societies that worked for all of the people were more successful that those that consolidated power and wealth in a small group. Caring for everyone on the most basic level should be a common idea, not a fanciful dream. With shared wealth nobody gets tossed aside and nobody has more than a king. This should be a goal that we all hope to achieve.