All It Takes Is A Little Love

My father never indicated what his relationship with God might be. He only insisted that he was dedicated to allowing his children to be raised as Catholics. He was not Catholic and seemed to know very little about Catholics other than the fact that my mother was devout in her devotion to the teachings of the Catholic Church. He and she were married at City Hall in downtown Houston but my mother insisted that their pledge to one another would not be properly complete until they also exchanged vows at a Catholic Church.

The day after they sealed their love for each other in a legal manner they traveled to a little Catholic Church in College Station, Texas where my father was attending Texas A&M College. It was not until their union had been blessed in a Catholic ceremony that my mother declared that she was a married woman in the site of God and the state. 

My mother often recalled the meeting that my father had with the priest who blessed their marriage. At that time the priest asked my father to sign a promise that he would raise any children that he and my mother had as Catholics. Evidently he did not hesitate for a moment in providing his oath and so my brothers and I would be faithfully raised in the Catholic Church mostly under the guidance of our mother, a woman who was so devout that she spent her last day on earth in a state of prayer. 

My father never went to church with us but he supported my mother when she insisted that we be baptized in the Catholic Church. He celebrated each birth of his children with the idea that we would be as religious as our mother. He even sent me to Catholic school when it became time for me to begin my education. 

I never really wondered what my father was doing on Sunday mornings when my mother would take me and my brothers to mass. It just seemed like a normal situation because I was not yet old enough to think it odd that my father did not participate in our faith formation. The only time he ever hinted at his own beliefs was when he went on a rant about a Protestant church that he had attended as a boy. He warned us to stay away from people who were self-righteous in their beliefs. He much preferred the messages of love that my mother conveyed to him through her Catholicism. 

Because my father died when I was only eight years old I never had an opportunity to have a more adult conversation about religion with him. I would have liked to know about his beliefs or lack of them. Instead I grew in wisdom and age and grace by attending Catholic schools for twelve years. There I learned about the fundamental beliefs of my church which seemed to center on the life and words of Jesus. Mostly I followed my mother’s example of charity and kindness for all people. 

I had read about many of the Catholic saints and in learning about their lives I saw my mother as a saint in her own right. Other Catholics that I knew stood out for their devotion to God but mostly for their love of all people. Mr. Barry, the father of one of my best friends, was one of the souls who seemed to be the finest example of a good Catholic that I had ever known. Later I would meet parents of my friends who had the same kind of tendencies to love their neighbors as my mother and Mr. Barry always did. I mostly grew to love my Catholic faith because of the message of empathy and good will that it tried to embody. 

As I grew older I began to see the flaws and cracks in the Catholic church but like my father I focused on the best aspects of my faith. I began to understand that as humans none of us are ever perfect although my mother and Mr. Barry seemed to come close to achieving that ideal. I would eventually engage in long intellectual conversations about Catholicism and religion in general with my mother-in-law who was a convert to the Catholic faith. From her I leaned how to studiously probe the words of great religious thinkers. My faith matured to a point of being able to critique the human flaws of religion while still celebrating the essence of my faith. 

I am hardly the most devout Catholic in the world. I don’t always go to church and there have been times when I have totally disagreed with certain teachings that seem to be far more judgmental than the words and actions of Jesus. I have learned to embrace people of many different faiths and welcomed their stories and their beliefs. Some might say that I am far too liberal in my interpretation of God’s words because I focus on the single commandment to love one another more than all of the other rules. 

I know that I disagree with the beliefs of many of the people with whom I attended Catholic school all those years ago. Theirs is a more conservative and rule driven faith than mine. I suspect that they may at times feel as though the beliefs that I hold verge on being heresy and I do understand why they might see me as someone who has fallen from grace or is at least confused. I suppose that I have become a Catholic whose beliefs reflect those of my devoted mother, my intellectual mother-in-law and my seemingly faithless father. By watching and learning from them all I have a very ecumenical view of life while still holding steadfastly to my own Catholic faith. 

I am stunned but not surprised by the recent rant against Pope Leo that Trump posted in a nighttime rage. What really saddens me is knowing that many of my truly faithful friends and relatives have viewed Trump as a good and religious man who supports their own beliefs. I have wondered how they have been able to convince themselves that he is a spiritual man. I saddens me to think of how disappointed in him they must be feeling. If they still can’t see who he really is, I worry about them even more. It is apparent to me that they and others of good faith have been used by him in horrific ways. I wonder if they will even listen to Pope Leo who is making it very clear that Trump’s version of religion is dangerous and flies in the face of Jesus’ message of peace. 

I’m glad that the Pope is standing his ground for what is right. I think my father would be happy to know that Pope Leo is protecting the Catholic faith that he wanted me and my brothers to have. In some ways it was my father who alerted me to the danger of false prophets, false gods, those who would defile the words and actions of Jesus for their own power. Still I believe that Trump is a very sick man and that Jesus would be willing to forgive his sins and love him in spite of his heresy. Sadly, my only reaction will be to continue to warn those that I know and love to be wary of the dangers that our deranged president are forcing onto the world. It is now up all American citizens to stop Trump before his insanity grows even more dangerous than it now is. Perhaps God has sent us a sign that enough is enough. Like Pope Leo we have to be unafraid to stand up for what we know is right.

We rise by lifting others! —-Author Unknown

I have felt like a klutz for much of my life! I am not a naturally athletic person at all, at least that is how I became programed to think of myself when I was young. I was a rather small and waif like child with skinny legs and little experience with organized sports but I was able to do tricks and skate backwards better than anyone in the neighborhood. If someone threw a ball my way my instinct was to dodge it, not catch it. It seemed that my hand eye coordination was nil except for the fact that I was able to twirl a baton as though it was just an extension of my body. 

I began to fear participating in sports because I did not know how to control the coordination of my eyes and my hands. Even though I ran like the wind I was still unable to keep up with my classmates because I was so much smaller than they were. In my mind I began to think of myself as a loser when it came to anything connected with physical activities that forced me to work with a team. After all, when the truly gifted athletes selected the members of their teams I was always one of the last to be chosen and even then I had to endure the groans of my peers who already knew that I would bring them down. 

I was not only a full year younger than my classmates but I also turned out to be a late bloomer who looked like a ten year old child well into my high school years. I recall taking an art class one summer and without verifying my actual age the instructor submitted my drawings and paintings to a contest for elementary school children when I was a junior in high school. It embarrassed me to learn that I had taken the top prize from children so much younger than I was so I never went back to claim my glory. 

I suppose as I felt like a failure in the world of sport I felt less and less certain about myself. I withdrew into a kind of quiet resignation that somehow I was not built to partake of team sports of any kind. My brain told me that I need not even try to catch or throw a ball. I knew that if I attempted to glide over a hurdle I would catch my foot on the apparatus and feel the pain of being a loser so I avoided any activity having to do with athletics. I had convinced myself that my prowess on skates and my bicycle was not a sign that with the right instruction and practice I might be able to overcome my deficiencies. Instead I sat on the sidelines unwilling to demonstrate how awkward I felt. 

I was in my thirties when I took a couple of mandatory classes to prepare for teaching certain skills to my students. Some schools required my ability to not just give instructions in mathematics but also in physical activities. Instead of avoiding such jobs I knew that I had to overcome my fears and so there I was taking one course in movement and another in general sports. 

I started with the movement class and as luck would have it my instructor was an amazing man with a doctorate in physical education. He almost immediately took me aside and complimented the control of my body that I seemed to have when I moved along with music. He often used me as the exemplar for the different activities. It felt good to be able to achieve success in an activity that made use of my limbs that I had always believed to be gangly and uncoordinated. 

The next class I took was with the same instructor and it was an introduction to every conceivable sport. After the first session the prof asked me to stay behind and then he grilled me on my experience with athletic activities. When I told him my sad tale he insisted that the problem was not with me but with the teachers who had failed to coach me on the proper ways of learning how to successfully participate in each sport. He invited me to stay after each class so that he might study my stance and show me how to plant my feet and use my arms. 

Before long I was connecting every pitch thrown at my bat. I was catching passes of the football and sinking basketballs into the net. It felt so good to finally be successful in an arena where I had always felt like a failure. Not only did the experience build my confidence but it demonstrated the importance of working with students who were afraid of math. I learned that most of us do not just learn how to do things naturally. As educators and even parents we have to provide guidance and practice in whatever we are attempting to teach our young. 

I am still less comfortable with athletic feats than taking a test in mathematics but I no longer chastise myself for being uncoordinated. Once someone showed me exactly how to make things happen on a volleyball court or in a softball game I was assured that everyone is capable of learning if someone provides them with specific and caring help in overcoming mental and physical hurdles. 

Whenever I find a student who feels like a loser I remember the professor who worked so hard to provide me with the confidence in the athletic abilities that I had always believed I did not have. I learned the important lesson that life is not a race or a contest and that with time and patience we each have the ability to overcome the difficulties that seem to be holding us back. We do indeed rise together whenever we lift those among us who are afraid or in need of a bit more time to tackle any kind of situation. Patience and encouragement are powerful and so much more motivating than gold medals. There is also so much joy in helping someone to learn something that they believed was impossible. We all rise in such moments.

The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life. ~Rabindranath Tagore 

Springtime is always so lovely where I live. I sit in my backyard gazing at the flowers that are blooming and watch the birds fitting from the trees to the bird feeders that I try to keep full for them. I have had a great life by any standards. I had meaningful and enjoyable work as a mathematics teacher and now I am enjoying the fruit of my labors with wonderful trips around the world. Nonetheless I truly believe that my real destiny is to leave some kind of legacy for the young people of the world. 

It is not enough for me to just enjoy my own good fortune. I want to be certain that I continue to plant proverbial trees that will bring shade and bounty to the next generations. That means that I must continue to share my talents and my riches (as humble as they are) with the people who will still be here when I have left this earth forevermore. 

I don’t know how much longer I will be on this earth, none of us know when our final hours will come. My grandfather lived to one hundred eight and I seem to be as robust and healthy as he always was but most of my ancestors died in their eighties and early nineties. By that estimation I am enjoying my last hurrahs. In that time I plan to work for the good of the young. I want them to have the kind of world that will make them feel safe and happy. I don’t want to leave them in a state of chaos or worry about how they will survive. 

I am still teaching although not as many hours each day as I once did. I am doing my best to help young people navigate through the complexities of mathematics. I want them to see how beautifully math explains the world. I want them to feel comfortable with numbers and patterns and the beauty of how things come together. 

I have to admit to getting a great deal of joy in being with young people who are not yet tainted by hate or cynicism. I admire their faith in each other and their trust that things will work out for them just as they mostly have for people in my generation, especially here in the United States. Nonetheless there is so much to be done if we are to leave the world in a better place than it now is That takes a willingness on our part to share our own good fortune with those who struggle. I know that I must not look away or ignore the problems that persist all over the world. 

I understand that I can’t fix everything that is wrong but I also adhere to a belief that a dear friend who is now gone taught me. He commented many times that we humans would be able to accomplish so much good in the world if we were willing to give just a bit more each time we saw a need. He likened his thinking to passing a basket at church where even a dollar coming from every person would swell the coffers. Generosity on a regular basis need not bankrupt us. It can be achieved even when we offer our time.

As we age we sometimes begin to worry about how we will meet the costs of the future. We hoard our money and take care not to fritter it away but we always seem to find what we can splurge to take that extra cruise or spend hundreds to see someone perform for one night. There’s nothing wrong with managing our funds so that we do not become a burden on anyone but surely we need to balance our caution with a willingness to invest in situations that can use our help in time, talents or treasures. 

We all have so much to give to young people trying to make a start in the world. Sometimes they have to pass up opportunities because they do not have the funds to participate. We should watch for such situations and make certain to contribute to their causes even if we are only able to provide a small part for the need. 

I heard about programs in Africa that were stripped of their funding by Donald  Trump’s destruction of many government programs. I was happy to hear that people from all over the world have made small donations to keep the most beneficial supports continuing. It’s nice to hear that people are coming to the rescue when other sources of funding are taken away. 

My grandfather loved to tell stories from his youth. The common thread in all of them spoke to the generosity of ordinary people who were willing to share small amounts of their own good fortune with those who were in dire straits. People working together are always more powerful than billionaires and always have been. So I plan to be constantly on the lookout for situations that might use my talents or some of my small treasure. If I just started a fund with what I spend each time I purchase a cup of tea when I am out and about I will be able to make a difference in someone’s life. 

It’s time for all of us Boomer to begin planting those trees if we have not done so already. We may not be here long enough to sit in the shade but we can imagine how wonderful it will be for the young people who are yet to come. That is a truly wonderful thing to imagine.

I grew up just down the road from NASA. The neighborhood where I lived had a rather large number of engineers and other people who worked for NASA during the early years. There was even a large building not far from my home that served as a temporary headquarters until the NASA complex was built in Clear Lake City, a suburb of Houston, Texas.

Lyndon Johnson was one of the most powerful voices in government even before he became president. He used his influence to lure the headquarters of NASA to the backyard of Houston. Land for the project was donated by Rice University which also promised to develop engineers and scientists for the project of traveling into space. 

Much of my education is a blur of learning facts and algorithms in various subjects but my middle school science teacher, Mrs. Colby, ignited my excitement for space travel. I already had a touch of her enthusiasm from my father who had purchased a book describing in vivid detail a future journey to the moon. My younger brother walked around our house with the volume tucked under his arm and he was always eager to show the illustrations of how such a dream might one day come true. Nonetheless, it was Mrs. Colby breathlessly and joyfully telling us about the future of space travel that ignited my interest in what was happening only minutes away from my home. 

I remember the time that she moved an old black and white television into the classroom so that we might witness Alan Shepard’s travel into space. It was a quick but dramatic trip that opened the possibilities of what would come next. Not so long afterwards Mrs. Colby brought back that television and we watched John Glen orbiting around the earth before returning triumphantly. 

NASA was a constant of my high school life. I had friends whose parents worked there and my brother still boasted that we would one day travel to the moon. I was twenty one years old when a crew led by Neal Armstrong walked on the moon and planted an American flag. The excitement that I felt on that day was indescribable and I found myself wondering if Mrs. Colby was as happy as I was.

I was married at the time and my husband was working for his uncle whose crew did much of the electrical work for NASA. He was crawling under the floor of the Mission Control Center pulling cables to enable the many processes needed to communicate to the guys on the moon and to the world that was watching. 

Eventually my brother who had been celebrating the idea of traveling to the moon since he was three years old graduated from Rice University with a master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. While he was recruited for many exciting jobs it was the opportunity to work for NASA that allowed him to finally fulfill his dream. He would spend the entirety of his career working diligently as the focus on space travel matured and changed. By the time he was ready to retire he had played an integral part in developing the navigational system for travel to the International Space Station and had begun the process of shifting back to an idea of returning to the moon to colonize it’s surface.

In the meantime one of my grandson’s became my brother’s biggest fans as he too began dreaming of playing a part in the conquest of outer space at a very young age. Before he was three years old he was able to name all of the planets and their moons. He tagged behind my brother like he was some kind of rockstar. Now he is just finishing a degree in Aeronautical Engineering at Notre Dame University and will enter a PhD program at Ohio State University this summer. 

The siren call of space shouts loudly in my family but the opportunities at NASA are not as plentiful as they once were. One of the first things that Donald Trump did in his second term as president was to gut the funding, resulting in the necessity to dismiss forty percent of the employees. It almost seemed as though the glory days of NASA were over but the quest for space had become a shared venture with the International Space Station, so with the expertise and genius of engineers and scientists from all over the world a new idea about traveling once again to the moon gained traction. 

Once again I watched the glorious result of worldwide cooperation as the Artemis crew catapulted into space on the first journey to the moon in around fifty seven years. The weather was perfect and the launch was flawless making it a glorious moment in a time when it often feels as though we are moving backwards in our thinking. I felt the same swelling of my chest and the moisture of happy tears on my cheeks while messages from my daughters described their joy as well. I learned that my grandson had celebrated the launch with his fellow aerospace engineering students who are all soon to graduate to become the next generation of brilliant souls who plan to learn more and more about the vast world beyond the confines of our atmosphere. 

It was good to be able to celebrate something so positive and exciting in a time when we are too often quibbling with each other on this earth. I thought of Mrs. Colby who is no longer with us and I gave her a little salute for opening my mind to the possibilities of humanity in joining each other in peace. Somehow it seemed so fitting for all of this to happen during Holy Week just before our Easter celebrations. The best of humankind was visible in that launch and I look forward to witnessing the new discoveries that lie ahead. 

My neck of the woods endured a hurricane a couple of years ago. It was a somewhat small one as hurricanes go, but there was a great deal of damage nonetheless. Fences fell over and tree limbs landed on the roofs of cars. Sometimes entire trees fell across streets blocking anyone from either entering or exiting. Electricity was out all over town leaving food to go bad while waiting for the repairmen to do their magic. 

Having been taught to find the goodness even in times of great stress I could not help but notice how everyone in the neighborhood worked together to help each other. That tree in the road was gone within hours because people came from all around with their chainsaws and determination to be neighborly. There were outdoor gatherings with everyone sharing the roasted meats that were cooked before the prime cuts would be ruined from lack of refrigeration. Those of us with generators opened the doors of our homes to create cooling stations for those who were enduring the heat. A spirit of cooperation and genuine concern overtook the anxieties of loss. 

Nobody complained that some among us should have invested in preventive measures like keeping trees trimmed or installing generators. Nobody worried that there were older neighbors were less able to put in the needed labor. No one grinched that everyone should have purchased their own chainsaws rather than depending on others to have one in a time of need. We pulled together to do whatever had to be done and never noticed if the people we were helping looked like us or had views like our own. It was a natural reaction to help without worrying about some kind of rule of fairness. It was a wonderful time to be a neighbor. 

I think about such things when I see men and women representing the highest offices in the United States with chips on their shoulders. It feels as though they are pandering a whole new philosophy of cooperation based solely on what’s in it for us. It is a very selfish view of the world in which Trump’s minions insist that there is going to be a new world order based only on how it will profit us. In this new view it is going to be every man, woman or country for themselves. Help will only be available to those who are willing to pay us back tit for tat. It is a kind of business deal based on what other nations are willing to give us rather than our intention of working together for the security of all. 

I truly do not understand why the Trump administration is so boldly trashing our long time relationships with Europe and members of NATO and the United Nations. There seems to be a strange idea of carving out the world into three parts dominated by Russia, China and the United States as though only the leaders of those nations should be able to dictate how things are going to be. It is certainly audacious and in many ways unhinged. It forgets the role of history and how the United States became as powerful as it now is. 

Few people who endured World War II are still alive. Those who grew up in the aftermath saw a world torn apart save for the United States which was unscathed compared to every other place on earth. Europe was in ruins, financially broken and in need of being rebuilt. Enter the United States whose infrastructure was intact and ready to take on the task of producing all sorts of things that would propel the American economy into the strongest in the world. While everyone else was busy cleaning up the mess, our nation was raking in the profits of business that shored up our reputation and our bank accounts. The American way of life prospered after World War II with our economy sending more and more citizens into the middle class. 

Of course we sent help to Europe and that was one of the best things that we might have done. It was important for the devastated countries to get back on track. Leaving them to their own resources more than likely would have made them vulnerable to authoritarians rather than helping their democracies to grow. It worked out to the benefit of all and much later would insure that in times of need we would have allies on which we might also rely.  

This arrangement has not been without problems. Nothing is ever one hundred percent perfect, but there has never been a need to tear it all down simply to enrich our coffers. It makes us look more like a mob whose bosses threaten anyone who does not pay for protection. It’s an ugly philosophy that demeans nations that were once our steadfast friends. 

It irks me that Trump and his representatives are making demands that will do little more than continue to enrich the wealthiest Americans while at the same time tarnishing our reputation in the world. I know all too well that we have no right to brandish a “holier than thou” attitude because we have never been without our own faults just as our European neighbors have aspects that should be repaired. Still, getting along in the world requires trust and a true spirit of working together so that everyone has a shot at feeling secure.

We’ve tried the robber baron attitude before and it did not work because it flies in the face of human nature. It’s time we, the citizens, demand that Trump et al work in concert with the people who have had our backs for a very long time. Together we are all better.