Month: June 2016

A Reincarnation of Greatness

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

13336082_10210337423138893_4040514413157681129_nFor all of my life my life my high school English teacher, Father Shane, has remained one of my favorite teachers. He inspired me and broadened my horizons at a time when I lived a rather isolated existence. It was Father Shane who introduced me to a world of new experiences. I fell in love with the English language under his guidance and learned how to write almost on demand. From him I developed a love of art, music, poetry and reading. For four years I counted his class as my favorite of each school day. It was not at all surprising that I majored in English in college, wanting to expand my knowledge and honor him. Imagine my surprise and excitement when years later I walked into a high school classroom to observe a teacher who reminded me so much of Father Shane that he might have been the reincarnation of the man who had so mesmerized me when I was young.

I was the Dean of Faculty at KIPP Houston High School and my duties included visiting classrooms and mentoring teachers. It was in that vein that I went to see Dickie Written, an English teacher that the principal had only recently hired. I sat in the back  of his classroom and almost immediately felt as though I had been transported back to my old high school days. Dickie had a way of teaching that was exciting and I noticed that students who had never before shown much interest in English were actively participating in the discussions that he led. There was a merriment to the lessons but also a serious exploration of the meaning of words, phrases, and descriptions of literary analysis. I had to contain myself to keep from raising my hand and becoming involved in the lively back and forth.

Each time I visited Dickie Written I became more and more convinced that his style and delivery was amazingly similar to Father Shane’s. I laughed on one occasion when he guided his students through a study of The Crucible by acting out parts from the play that he had memorized. I felt as though I was watching a grand Broadway production as he changed his voice and facial expressions to match the tenor of each line. I wasn’t the only one who was enchanted. It was obvious that the students were also hanging onto his every word.

I definitely knew that Dickie Written was an outstanding teacher when his students walked through the hallways of the school quoting lines from Beowulf and insisting that it was one of their favorite books ever. I recalled how much I had despised that classic and had to know how Mr. Written had managed to convince his charges that they were reading a spectacular saga. I found out that he had brought each of the characters alive in ways that made them seem modern and timeless. He did exactly the same thing with The Canterbury Tales another of those English class standards that I had only managed to slog through but Dickie had convinced his students to love. It seemed to me that Dickie Written was a kind of Pied Piper of English.

One of the aspects of Dickie’s teaching that I most admired was his insistence on teaching his students the rules of grammar and usage. In recent years directly teaching such things has been frowned upon in some circles. As someone who concentrated on Linguistics with my major, I had a difficult time understanding why this trend was so popular. I knew from my days with Father Shane that I understood the English language right down to its very foundations because of the daily grammar practice and diagramming. As a result of those exercises I became a better writer and communicator. The more current idea was that students should learn all of those rules tangentially. The prevailing belief was that going through boring drills and practice only stifles student creativity. Dickie Written disagreed and took the time to explain to his classes the correct ways of aligning words and building sentences. I really liked that about him and applauded his rebelliousness. I saw him as a visionary and so did his students, mostly for whom English was a second language.

Eventually I left KIPP Houston High School and so did Dickie Written. By happenstance I learned that an English teaching position was opening up at Cristo Rey Jesuit College Preparatory School where I was tutoring students in math. I contacted Dickie and he in turn applied for the job. He was an instant hit with everyone at the school. I developed a kind of fame by association when I  let it be known that he and I were friends. His students would speak of being a bit intimidated by him, for he is a remarkable disciplinarian, but they also loved him and his class. I could tell that he was using his exciting methods once again and I felt a certain magic in knowing that he was now in the same building where Father Shane had once transformed English class into an enjoyable journey for me and countless others.

Recently I met up with Dickie Written along with a number of friends from my days at KIPP Houston High School. I had not spoken with him in quite a while but I could tell as soon as he arrived that he was happy. He quickly announced that he had very good news. He told us with a huge smile that he had been honored by Cristo Rey with the President’s award for outstanding leadership in education. It didn’t surprise me at all. In fact, I have often wondered why it has taken so long for the powers that be to realize the genius of Dickie Written that his students and I have always known was there. It is about time that he be honored for his brilliance.

Dickie will also be spending time in Chicago this summer writing curriculum for the nationwide Cristo Rey network. Hopefully students in other locales will now enjoy his methods and ideas but the reality is that Dickie Written is one of a kind, not to be reproduced. He, like Father Shane, has a charisma and a love for English that transcends the ordinary. For now it appears that the students at Cristo Rey will be the lucky recipients of his amazing teaching skills.

It does my heart good to know that a new generation of students is being delighted by a very special teacher. Just as Father Shane so inspired me fifty years ago I imagine that Dickie Written is reaching the hearts and minds of his students today.

Father Shane died many years ago but his reputation and spirit live on. I actually felt it when I entered his old classroom when I first began tutoring at Cristo Rey. I suspect that Dickie Written will be legendary as well. Long after he is gone there will be adults who will think back to moments in his class with the same joy and a sense of nostalgia that I have for Father Shane. I have to congratulate Dickie for holding fast to his beliefs and for loving his work as much as he so obviously does. He is one of the best in the business and I was lucky enough to be able watch him demonstrate his amazing gift .   

Passion

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

birdWDF_1076070I’m a huge fan of the Google Doodles. I’ve learned some fairly interesting bits of trivia from those imaginative drawings and I get quite excited whenever I see one. A few days ago the featured story was about a woman named Phoebe Snetsinger. Like me, it is unlikely that most people would have known anything about this woman unless they were avid birdwatchers. It seems that Ms. Snetsinger was known as a “big lister” in the birding crowd because she had managed to sight more than 8400 different species of birds out of the ten thousand that are said to exist. Only a handful of individuals even come close to her feat. I wanted to learn more about this woman because my son-in-law and his father love to watch for birds wherever they travel and a teaching colleague of mine enjoys that hobby as well. What I learned about Phoebe was fascinating.

Phoebe Snetsinger seemingly led the good life. Her father had made a fortune as a brilliant advertising executive and she married a man who as a researcher at Purina also earned a hefty salary. She herself had always wanted to be a scientist but instead she settled into the routine of a 1950s suburban housewife. It wasn’t long before she was feeling quite bored but these were the days when women were expected to embrace traditional roles and for a time she did her duties. All of that changed when something extraordinary happened. Phoebe was diagnosed with melanoma and told that she likely had less than a year to live. Suddenly she knew exactly how she wanted to spend her last days on earth and she embarked on an adventurous plan to see as many birds as possible before she died.

Phoebe threw herself into birding with abandon, traveling all over the world in a quest to find even the most exotic species. She didn’t die from melanoma but she endangered herself over and over again while following her dream. She once broke her wrist and her knee while pursuing the rarest birds on earth. She even endured the horror of being raped by five men in New Guinea. Nothing seemed to stop her, not even the melanoma that eventually returned. On one occasion she visited Rwanda just before the warring genocide began and joked with friends that she had just barely made it out alive.

Her personality and determination were bigger than life. She shattered the conventions so often placed on women, shockingly missing both her mother’s funeral and her daughter’s wedding, no doubt causing tongues to wag. She was on a mission and the only thing able to deter her was ultimately her death, not from cancer, but from a car crash in Madagascar. Had she lived she would have been 85 years old this month.

Most people have neither the time, money nor inclination to follow such a fanatical path as Pheobe Snetsinger did but my guess is that those who share her love of birds might dream of being able to replicate her accomplishments. My son-in-law has a family and multiple responsibilities but I suspect that given the resources to do so he would hit the road tomorrow. My teacher friend is now retired and she and her husband spend most of their time seeking birds and photographing them. I for one look forward to viewing her lovely photos each day and imagine how much fun she is having now that she is no longer ruled by a clock everyday. She is just adventurous enough that she too might love having the means to expand her bird watching territory into more exotic places.

Passion is a grand motivator but sometimes we quell those stirrings inside our minds so that we might “do the right thing.” Literature is replete with stories of humans who embarked on grand adventures and those who slowly died performing the duties that were expected of them. It is the rare person who is able to unloose the chains that keep them ordinary and there is usually a high price to pay for doing so. Society tends to judge those who take extraordinary risks with a negative slant, particularly when they are women. Such it was for Phoebe Snetsinger who was generally only known in a world that most interested her, but within that circle she became a rockstar. Phoebe had the good luck of being wealthy. Having money to pursue one’s interests is always a plus. It’s difficult to travel the world and thumb one’s nose at the naysayers on a modest income. Being rich has always has its perks but it is not the only route to success and even the wealthy are not without their problems.

Phoebe Snetsinger was remarkable for her willingness to endure hardships and make real sacrifices while seeking some of the rarest birds in the world. Much like the most notable individuals of history she understood that greatness does not come from doing something halfway. Thomas Edison might never have invented the light bulb had he worked on his invention only in his spare time. Galileo was willing to give his very freedom in defense of his scientific theories. The very best among us whether they be scientists, athletes, writers, educators, business persons, mathematicians, doctors or artists are devoted to their craft. It is passion that propels them forward and keeps them focused even in difficult times.

I have counseled many students who were confused over how to plan their futures. Again and again I have urged them to think about what they really love to do and then craft a life around following their dreams. The happiest people that I have ever met are the ones who ultimately do what their hearts tell them to do. My brother who announced at the age of three that he wanted to be a mathematician is still joyfully doing his advanced calculations to navigate the International Space Station. Another brother who wanted to be a firefighter followed his instincts over the protests of adults who thought they knew better and he has had a glorious career. I can tell countless stories of individuals who found profound happiness simply by living out their passions. At the same time I know others who never quite found contentment because they allowed themselves to be misdirected from what they saw as their real places in life.

We should all be inspired by the story of Phoebe Snetsinger. She was a living example of someone who was a true warrior. She refused to allow a deadly diagnosis to keep her down. She ignored the customs of her time and instead followed her own instincts. She focused her time on what was important to her. She ultimately became one of the biggest of the birding big listers proving that it is never too late to fulfill the dreams that call to us. Each of us wants to leave a mark on the world. We want to be significant even if only in a small way. Listen to the voices that are telling you how to become the best version of yourself. Take the first steps and then don’t look back. Bring passion to your endeavors every day and never be afraid. Nobody knows your purpose better than you do. Follow your heart and it will surely lead you to the places that you were meant to be.   

An Anniversary

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Ellen and DanielFive years ago my retirement and my mother’s death coincided. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way but life always seems to be full of surprises. Just when I thought that I would be free to give my mom more of my company and attention she left this earth. It was a shocking turn of events and it took me a great deal of time and reflection to finally accept that the timing had been just as it was meant to be. Hers was a faith-filled ending to a life well lived. She fully understood what was happening and was expectantly ready to meet her God.

I suspect that she was tired and worn out from shouldering so much responsibility for so long. At a very young age she had become both mother and father to me and my brothers. She taught me how to cook and sew and played catch with the boys. She had to be our nurse, our disciplinarian, our source of comfort and security. Somehow she found ways to stretch a budget that was so thin that most women would have felt defeated. Instead she teased that she had a secret money tree and we need not ever worry. She bragged that we never missed a meal and that was quite true, but we often ate beans for dinner and learned to enjoy them as much as a juicy steak. She worked during the day and went to college at night, often staying up so late that she existed on very little sleep.

Just when her world appeared to be settling into a normal routine she was stricken with the symptoms of bipolar disorder that would stalk her for the rest of her life. There were times when her illness made it impossible for her to even leave her home. Her emotional pain created physical illnesses that were as real as if she had come down with a disease. Somehow she always fought her way back and began anew. There was never anything easy about her existence and yet she never complained. Instead she counted her blessings with a kind of radiant joy and often spoke of how good God had always been to her. That optimism was with her on the day of her death. She seemed more concerned with comforting her family than dwelling on the end that she knew was certain to come. She pointed to heaven and smiled. She knew that she was going home.

I felt a void in my life for many months after her death. I suspect that I was no more ready to end my career as an educator than I was to accept that she was really gone. I needed something to do each day and I was unable to find anything satisfying. While I fought hard to entertain myself I actually found that having those quiet hours in my home were just the therapy that I needed. I was able to look back on my time with my mother and forgive myself for the things that I should have done for her but never did. I was able to reconcile my thoughts and begin to focus on the positive aspects of my relationship with her. With the help of friends and family I slowly began to heal and adjust to my new life. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable and thoughts of my mother became joyful rather than sad.

Eventually I began to do the things that made me happiest. I went camping with Mike, tutored students who were experiencing difficulties with mathematics and best of all I began to write. I found great solace in my new hobbies, particularly in the exercise of writing the story that my mother and brothers and I had shared. I realized that my mother never truly left us. Her spirit is present in us and our children and grandchildren. I see snatches of her in each person, even those who never got to meet her. I revel in the love that she created and nurtured for all of her life. I feel certain that she is still with us when we party and celebrate. I will always be convinced that she sent my sister-in-law Allison to us, and most especially to my brother Pat. I think of how excited she would have been to know that five more great grandchildren have been born since she left. She so adored babies and would have been delighted beyond measure to see those little tots. I think that she would celebrate in knowing that her grandson Daniel has found a loving partner with whom to spend the rest of his life.

I wonder sometimes if she ever realized how much people loved her. We humans have a bad habit of hiding our emotions when we should share them. It would be so grand if we were to let people know how much they mean to us. The accolades heaped upon her since her death five years ago are too numerous to list. I hope that she is hearing them from her heavenly perch.

My mother is greatly responsible for the person that I have become. She demonstrated how to live by example. She taught me what is most important in this world and it has never been money or power or privilege. People and God were always at the center of her universe and she treasured them every day of her life. If there really is such a thing as saints then my mom most assuredly is among their ranks.

I’m still unable to spend a day accomplishing nothing without feeling strong pangs of guilt. I believe that I should serve a higher purpose at least until my body or mind sideline me. Writing is my favorite pastime but whenever I have the opportunity to help a child with mathematics or any other aspect of academics I feel especially elated. I suspect that I was always meant to be a teacher. My mother was the first to show me how to touch hearts and minds. The natural abilities that I seem to possess came directly from her. Those talents have been the most rewarding gift that I might have ever received.

Time flies when I’m having fun but I suppose that I will never forget that day of five years ago when it became apparent that my mother was going to die. I have played her last hours inside my brain over and over again. With time and distance I have been able to exalt in the glory of her passing. Everyone should be as blessed as she and our family were on that day and every day since.

I expect to spend this day quietly. I’ve got a date to take my eldest grandson out to lunch and I’ll be preparing for an upcoming trip to Boston. Life goes on just as it did after my father died. We grieve and then adjust and learn how to carry on. It is the way of the world. My mother showed me how to walk through the world with grace and optimism. I still miss her from time to time but I feel her spirit in everything that I do.

(Note that the photo included with this essay was taken only one month before my mother died from lung cancer. She always loved to dance. She told me that she felt very dizzy when she danced with her grandson Daniel but he kept her steady and she was quite happy and proud that she had that final spin around the dance floor with him.)

The Lesser of Two Evils

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

clinton and trump downloadEight years ago when Hillary Clinton suspended her campaign for the presidency I was quite sad. Yesterday when she became the presumptive nominee of the Democratic party I was also quite sad. In the last eight years Ms. Clinton has been a grave disappointment to me and decisions that she has made along with a tendency to stretch the truth have caused me to question her ability to hold the highest office in the land. Sadly I have nowhere else to turn because in the grand scheme of things she appears to be the lesser of two evils. I find myself realizing that for the first time since I became eligible to vote I will have to swallow a bitter pill because I have sworn that I will never support Donald Trump but I have very serious questions about Hillary Clinton.

Let us go back in time a bit. I always felt uncomfortable when then First Lady Clinton defended her husband’s womanizing by detracting his accusers. When it became an indisputable fact that President Clinton had engaged in sexual activities with a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky, I was sickened by the parsing of words from both the President’s and the First Lady. Even worse were the attacks on Ms. Lewinsky character made by none other than Hillary Clinton. It was a disgusting situation and I so wanted Ms. Clinton to toss her husband out of her life in righteous indignation but that was not to be. Instead in a very public display of forgiveness Ms. Clinton indicated that she had prayed on the matter and decided not to end what had been a great partnership.

I was able to eventually overlook what I thought to be a horrible mistake by Ms. Clinton. My mother had wisely advised me that I did not know the full story of the Clintons’ relationship with one another. I read Hillary’s autobiography in which she explained her thinking on the matter and found that I was ready to accept her decision to keep the fires burning with Bill. I became a fan again and when she began her campaign for the nomination in 2008 I was one of her most fervent supporters. Thus it was incredibly disappointing when she lost the nomination to Barack Obama who I believed was terribly inexperienced compared to her.

I was happy for her when she became the Secretary of State. It seemed a just reward for a woman who had worked so hard only to be denied the one prize that she most coveted. I felt that she was more than ready for the task but that was before her reset with Russia, the fiasco in Benghazi and the terrible feeling that she was covering up mistakes with lies. She began to appear tone deaf and resembled a teenager sneaking around with a terrible secret. I started to question her talents and it was disappointing. The events in Benghazi were horrific but I still would have forgiven her had she not so blatantly attempted to use a nonexistent riot over a video as the reason for what happened. I hoped and prayed that she would eventually admit her transgressions but she instead seemed to pile one little white lie on top of another.

Next came the concern over her use of a private email server. I don’t believe that any of her activities were illegal but I certainly question her judgement. Even as a minor school administrator I understood the issues of privacy and confidentiality associated with documents and emails. I was a stickler for handling things properly. I would never have considered putting my business dealings in the hands of a private company housing a server in an unsecured location. I realized the need for security without being told. It was a matter of common sense.

It frightens me to think of how cavalierly Ms. Clinton has reacted to her role in putting our nation at risk. I wonder why and how she so underestimated the atmosphere in Benghazi that she allowed Americans to be under siege for thirteen hours before help finally arrived. I wonder how she dared to shift the blame to a video rather than accepting that maybe she had missed signals that she should have seen. I wonder what other secrets she may be hiding and my thoughts worry me.

Still the alternative to voting for Hillary Clinton would be to support Donald Trump and there is no way on earth I will ever be able to stomach such a decision. I’ve made it abundantly clear in previous posts why I believe that he is a dangerous man who would bring great harm to our country and its people. So here I am realizing that my worst fears have come to pass and I have to decide whether to vote for a woman who seems dishonest and a bit incompetent or to just sit out the election and run the risk of putting a real maniac in the White House. I wonder if the Founding Fathers ever thought that their dream would come to this?

If these were calmer times I wouldn’t be so worried. Instead the world is on fire and more than ever before we need to have a person of great integrity and wisdom at the helm, someone who will not encourage us to divide ourselves into battling tribes. I wonder what we will have to endure as a nation before we once again find an individual who will work for all of the people with honor and respect. I genuinely fret about our country and even dream of some miracle occurring that will save us from this horrible dilemma. In the end I expect that I will swallow the bitter pill and cast my lots with Hillary Clinton but I will not share the enthusiasm over the historic nature of my vote as so many others seem so anxious to do.

I believe that there are many women who might have been or would be great leaders. I am still disappointed that Barbara Jordan’s health problems took her from the political arena. I think that she would have been a remarkable President. Eleanor Roosevelt might have been even more inspirational than her husband had she been given the opportunity to be at the head of the United States. I greatly admire Condoleezza Rice and I’m a fan of Nikki Haley. For that matter why not run someone like Cokie Roberts or Donna Brazile?  Elizabeth Warren seems to have much more going for her than either of the candidates whose names will be on the ballot in November. I have to wonder what has led us to this disappointing end.

I actually stay awake at night worrying about the future, not so much for me but for my children and grandchildren. I have few personal or political needs anymore. I pray that my pension will stay solvent and I’d love to have dental insurance and a way to get glasses and hearing aides without breaking my bank account. Beyond that I worry that we fight too much rather than attempting to solve problems. Perhaps it is the media that has put us in this position. Perhaps we have done it to ourselves.

This week Paul Ryan and a large group of Congressmen from both the Republican and Democratic parties attempted to unveil a concrete plan designed to make inroads into the problems of poverty and economic uncertainty in this country. Instead of giving these individuals the opportunity to showcase their important work at a press conference, all of the questions centered on what Speaker Ryan thought of Donald Trump. In an interview with Mitch McConnell in which he was attempting to speak about his memoir again every single question was about Donald Trump. I believe that the obsession with this man is steering our attention away from important work that needs to be done regardless of who ends up in the White House. As citizens we need to demand better from the journalists who bring us our news. It’s time that we turn off the noise and learn how to think for ourselves once again. Until we do there will be many more years of having to choose between the lesser of two evils. Frankly I want more for our country than that.

Being What You Want Them To Be

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

babyfeetLanguage is a very funny thing. When we speak or write down our thoughts we generally have a purpose and a specific meaning in mind. Once our words move beyond our control, too far from us to explain them, they may take on a life of their own that we never intended. Just recently I wrote what was supposed to be a very complimentary essay but because of the focus that I chose and the ideas that I left out, my attempt at honoring someone became instead a means of slighting a person whom I hold in great esteem. It took some effort for me to unravel the gooey mess that I had inadvertently created. Thus it is and always will be whenever we attempt to convey ideas and thus is the reason that I will most likely anger some people with today’s blog.

The court of public opinion is awash with horror over the sentencing of Brock Turner for three felony convictions of sexual assault. Not only are people aghast that his punishment appears to be too lenient but they are even critical of comments that his father made in a letter to the judge pleading for a measure of sympathy for Brock. None of this might be such big news were it not for a touching and powerful letter from the victim of Brock’s assault that has captivated those who have taken the time to read it. She is a gifted writer who has managed with great clarity to convey the horror of living through such an attack and its life changing aftermath. Her eloquence brings her heartbreak to life, making her terror all the more real. Only a soul without a shred of sensitivity might read her account without experiencing a strong and sympathetic reaction.

I have been greatly saddened since hearing about this case and realizing that it is but one of thousands that occur on a regular basis. Long ago when I was about the same age as the victim in this instance, I lived in an apartment project that had a wonderful community spirit. Many of us gathered outside in the evenings to share stories of our days and to relax just a bit while we watched our children play. One of the women that I met in this way was returning from the laundry room one afternoon when she was followed by a stranger that she did not notice. Before she realized what was happening he was inside her home putting a knife to her throat. He threatened to kill her and her baby if she made even a sound. Then he violently raped her. She was never the same. The incident broke her once lively spirit. She couldn’t even stand to live in the rooms that reminded her of the attack so she went to her mother’s home while her husband prepared to move the family away permanently. The incident both frightened and saddened those who had known her and to make matters worse her attacker was never found.

I will never in any way condone what Brock Turner did on that January night in the aftermath of a fraternity party. There are no valid excuses. He may not have ever done anything similar in all of his days on earth but it only took that one time for him to forever ruin the life of the woman of whom he took advantage. He certainly trashed his own future as well which is what happens when one forgets to abide by the laws of common decency. He may be wishing everyday that he might go back in time and not do this despicable act or get drunk or even go to the frat party but what is done is done and he will pay the price of his actions forevermore. He will ever again be in contention for a spot on an Olympic swimming team. He will be lucky to get any kind of decent job given his record of three felony convictions. Everywhere that he attempts to go he will have to register as a sex offender. He is and will probably always be a pariah in our society because of his unthinking and offensive actions. He has not only harmed a woman who can’t quite move beyond what he did to her, but he has also dishonored his family and all of the people who once believed in him. He will have to live with his crime for the rest of his days and that is as it should be.

I have not been able to erase Brock Turner’s victim from my mind since I first read the vivid account of her continuing ordeal. I feel a level of sympathy for his parents as well for Brock has irreparably harmed them. Raising children is the most difficult and frightening job that there is. All of us who have attempted this know of the worries, sleepless nights and mistakes that we make. We hope and pray that we have said all that we need to say and that our children will truly understand the lessons we have taught them. When we first allow them freedom and independence we try to quell our fears but in truth we are always nervous because we understand that the who they will eventually become are not just a products of our making, but also of the many people who influence them along the way. The truth is that there comes a time when we as parents exert less and less control over them. We have to watch them from afar. Only when time and their actions demonstrate that they are indeed the good and honest citizens that we taught them to be do we begin to relax.

Brock Turner’s father wrote a letter to the judge asking for mercy for his son just as most of us might have done for one of our children. His persuasive ability and way with words is the polar opposite of the victim who so captivated our hearts with her inspiring essay. His remarks are so tone deaf and poorly expressed that it might have been better had he not written anything at all. That being said, defending our kids even when they have disappointed us beyond measure is what we parents do. I cannot fault him for his efforts. He loves his son and I suspect that the negative interpretations that people have placed on his thoughts are not what he meant at all. Now he is being castigated and blamed for his son’s actions as though he is somehow responsible. Without knowing anything about this man or what his household is like, the public has jumped to negative conclusions that may or may not have merit. We have convicted Brock’s father without a trial or evidence. Our judgement of him is based on hearsay and a badly crafted note and it is morally wrong to convict him without proof that his negligence or influence somehow created a criminal.

We might be better served if instead of gossiping on the Facebook wall and Twitter universe we were to talk with our children both male and female. Each of them has certain behavioral responsibilities and we must be certain that they learn how to keep their baser human instincts in check. The temptations that they will encounter are many and part of our job is to train them to recognize dangerous situations and to know what to do when we are no longer around to monitor them. It is incumbent on all parents to talk frequently and openly with their kids. Our young need to be taught how to respect themselves and in turn provide that same reverence to everyone with whom they interact. We can’t drum human decency into their minds often enough and it is never too early to start such conversations and to demonstrate what we mean by our own examples. We need to be what we want them to be.

One of my grandsons who was only in elementary school complained about a student who was discussing sexual ideas in a very crass and demeaning way at lunch each day. The teachers and counselors made little effort to stop the offending commentaries and instead implied that my grandson just needed to lighten up a bit. As long as our society encourages a “boys will be boys attitude” there will continue to be cases of abuse like Brock Turner’s. As a society have to consider the impact of our tendencies to avoid talking with our children about the uglier aspects of human behavior. Instead of wagging our self righteous fingers at Brock Turner’s father we need to be certain that we are doing all that we can to educate our kids and help them to understand the importance of honoring every human life in every circumstance.

A terrible tragedy has ruined the lives of many, many people. The victim will never again have the sense of trust that she once possessed. Her family and friends will feel her pain and worry about her forevermore. Brock’s parents will be wracked with guilt, shame and humiliation. Brock Turner will pay the price of his actions and it will be heavy whether he spends time in jail or has to find a place for himself in a world where many view him as a monster. Nobody wins and all because he did not stop himself from performing grotesque actions on a woman that he did not know. Let his story be a tale of warning for all of us and let it remind us of our own responsibilities.