Month: June 2016

A Determined and Beautiful Soul

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Angelo13335985_1334593716556631_590632749242879864_n (1)I graduated from Mt. Carmel High School fifty years ago. When I left I never really looked back. Like most teenagers my four years in secondary education had been both the best and the worst of times. I have warm memories of friendships and educational explorations but also painful thoughts of hurts and slights. Fortunately the good far outweighed the bad and the things that I learned there served me well in the years, then decades that followed.

I was always quite proud of my school because at the time that I was there it was an institution marked by academic rigor and excellence. Over time it began to lose its luster and enrollment dwindled. It remained in a location that was hardly conducive to attracting students whose parents were willing to pay large sums of money for their children’s edification. As a Catholic school with little or no support from the Diocese of Galveston Houston it struggled to keep up with even minimal repairs and to maintain a faculty willing to work for ridiculously low wages. The time came when the school was no longer able to sustain itself and it had to close its doors, reinventing itself as a charter school within the Houston Independent School District. It became a ghost of its former self known as Mt. Carmel Academy now located in an old church building a few blocks away.

The ediface where I had blossomed into a citizen of the world stood on Mt. Carmel Drive in ruins and there was talk of tearing it down until a visionary named Father T.J. Martinez envisioned a new life for the battered place. He realized that it would be a perfect home for a Cristo Rey High School along the lines of others that had been created in a network that spans all the United States. With a never ending imagination and an uncanny knack for fundraising Father Martinez transformed the place into a dazzling urban environment. In 2008 Cristo Rey Jesuit Preparatory High School of Houston opened its doors for the first time. It’s focus was on economically disadvantaged students who might not otherwise have the opportunity to receive a rigorous education coupled with a foundation of religious teaching and social justice.

I had heard about Cristo Rey and followed its progress with interest, particularly because its location was directly connected with my past. When I retired five years ago I found myself foundering a bit because I wasn’t quite ready to live a life of leisure. I still wanted to contribute something significant to society and so I found myself searching for some type of part time employment. When I mentioned my quest on Facebook a former colleague who was working at Cristo Rey told me that the school needed someone to tutor students in mathematics. I met with the principal and felt an immediate connection with the her and the organization’s mission. Before long I was driving back to my old digs three afternoons each week.

My first year was somewhat slow and I often waited in a classroom for an hour or so with no takers for my skills. By the second year, however, a group of students attended with regularity, sometimes bringing friends who were struggling with Algebra or Geometry. The numbers of young people that I was helping began to swell and among them was a young man named Angelo Vela.

Angelo is an affable young man with an infectious smile and a loyal group of friends. His freshman year at Cristo Rey had been highly successful for him but things had begun to go awry after the death of his grandmother who had lived with him and his mother. He had attempted to work to help ease some of his family’s financial burdens but found himself feeling chronically exhausted and eternally behind in meeting his obligations. He struggled to complete assignments and began to feel overwhelmed with academics, something that had never before happened to him. With a unflagging determination to recoup, he faithfully met with me whenever I was at the school and on many occasions worked late into the night. Before big tests or exams he often requested that I come more than just three days in a week and I generally deferred to his wishes because I was struck by his determination.

Over the next three years I got to know Angelo well. I realized that he possesses a keen intellect and a charisma that naturally draws people to him. Mostly though I saw that he has a genuine interest in people and in helping them to solve their problems and find their true identities. He is also a leader and someone who is unafraid to take risks. I became convinced over time that he is definitely going to be someone who will have a positive impact on the world because he literally never gives up.

Angelo once hunted me down when I was on a camping trip in west Texas during spring break. He had found an opportunity for summer learning and he needed to quickly procure a reference so that he might meet the application deadline. He had attempted to contact several people with no success until his texts reached me. I was more than happy to vouch for him because I had seen his earnest nature and grit up close. He ultimately became a finalist for the spot but lost to another student. Instead of brooding, Angelo learned from the experience and moved on to his next conquest.

Angelo Vela graduated from Cristo Rey High School this past Saturday. He sent me a unique invitation that he had created from his heart. He included photos and through texts expressed a sincere desire that I share his triumphant moment with him. Of course I was thrilled to go. I understood the hours of grueling effort that Angelo had put into achieving the first of the many goals that he has for himself. I was as proud of him as I have ever been. It made my heart sing to watch him walking across the stage. He had shown his strength of character and had proven his doubters wrong.

Angelo plans to attend the University of Houston in the fall. I suspect that he and I will continue to stay in contact. I have a vested interest in his future success. Those of us who know him best realize that he has yet to reveal the true extent of his many talents but they will surely become more and more apparent in the coming years.

I have a deep respect for Angelo Vela and I am particularly grateful that he gave me such wonderful purpose at a time in my life when I had thought that my days of influence were long gone. I wish him all the best at he enters college along with his friends who also attended my tutoring sessions on so many afternoons.

Congratulations Angelo, Angel, Lauren, Yolanda, and Taylor, my very favorite tutees. You have all demonstrated your willingness to work hard, ask questions and put forth whatever extra effort is needed to meet your goals. I look forward to watching you in the exciting days ahead.

Beloved of God

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ali1My early years at the University of Houston were marked by a highly charged political atmosphere. I was there during the height of the Vietnam War when young men the same age as I was had to register for the draft. Attending college gave them a temporary deferment as long as they were full time students, and made passing grades that allowed them to continue to progress toward a degree within a reasonable timeline. Back then the intensity and stress normally associated with the college experience was exacerbated by the threat of losing that deferment and being called to serve in the army. For many avoiding the draft was simply a matter of not wanting to be forced to serve. For others it was a matter of principle, namely that they did not want to participate in a war that they thought to be unwarranted and unjust. Others were strict pacifists who would not have wanted to fight under any circumstances.

The university was the site of protests and political speakers on a regular basis and for those of us who were against the war there was ample opportunity to meet with like-minded individuals to voice our concerns. I had analyzed the situation and found little reason for the United States to be involved in the conflict unfolding in Vietnam. It had begun as a civil war between opposing political factions and ideologies and the United States had originally only intended to provide support to the democratic government of the south. By 1968, however, our nation had become hopelessly mired in the fighting with our youth being sent a world away to a war whose purpose few really understood. By the time that I was a college student the country was hopelessly divided over the issue of whether or not we should be sending troops to Vietnam. The divisions would ultimately destroy the reputation of President Lyndon B. Johnson and show its ugliest side in riots at the 1968 Democrat convention in Chicago. 

While my concerns about the political atmosphere of our country often outweighed my interest in my studies, I was only peripherally involved in the student efforts to voice our point of view. I knew many of the key players in the anti-war movement at school but mostly just attended meetings and went to hear speakers who came to our campus. I was particularly excited when I learned that members of the student government had secured a visit from Muhammed Ali and that he would speak at an informal gathering inside the Cougar Den. I knew that I had to be there.

Back then the Cougar Den was little more than a wooden shack nestled under a grove of trees to the left of the Ezekiel Cullen building. It was a dark, noisy, smoke-filled and always crowded room under the best of circumstances. On the day of Muhammad Ali’s visit it was a madhouse as students eagerly jammed inside hoping to get a glance of the greatest boxer in history. When a good friend and I arrived we realized that we would be lucky if we were even able to hear him speak much less actually see him. Fortunately fate intervened on our behalf. My friend was an incredibly beautiful and popular coed and as we were jockeying for a decent place to stand we encountered an officer of the Young Republican Club who had a huge crush on her. He offered to take us both upstairs to the organization’s headquarters where we might stand along the railing and watch the proceedings from a bird’s eye view. We eagerly followed him and the location proved to be perfect.

When Muhammad Ali entered the room a respectful hush fell over all of us. The mere sight of him was mesmerizing. Here was a man who had risked everything by refusing to be inducted into the army. With the famous words, “I got nothing against no Viet Cong” he had refused to step forward when his name was called to be drafted. His actions had resulted in the loss of his boxing title and the inability to fight in many places. He was threatened with five years in prison and had to pay a stiff fine. He would be involved in an appeal for the next many years, citing his Muslim religion as the reason for his pacifism. For some he was seen as a traitor but to those of us who believed that the war was wrong, he was a hero of the highest stature. On the day that I heard him speak he appeared to be godlike and was truly the greatest in my mind.

Muhammad Ali’s appeal would go all the way to the Supreme Court where his conviction would eventually be overturned. He was cleared to resume his boxing career and he went on to have a legendary career that is spoken of with reverence to this very day. His presence, his confidence and his style was unlike anything that the public had ever before seen. Even his detractors had to admit that he was an incredible man. 

I was never a fan of boxing so I can’t say that I followed Muhammad Ali’s career very closely. I had uncles who loved to watch the matches that were broadcast on television but I was never interested. One of those uncles had gone to see George Foreman train here in Houston. I remember his unmitigated excitement when Foreman was slated to fight Ali in Manilla. He was convinced that it would be one of the best contests ever and it indeed became one of those sporting moments that boxing fans would never forget. In the searing heat Muhammad Ali pushed George Foreman to a state of exhaustion and then knocked the giant off of his feet to secure a victory that stunned the world.

I suppose that what I admired most about Muhammad Ali was his integrity. He was a man who lived the principles that were the foundation of his beliefs. He was unafraid to speak even when the truth was difficult. He was a warrior for social justice and a peaceful man. When Parkinson’s disease began to ravage his body he demonstrated courage and grace. I’ll never forget the moment when he carried the torch to light the Olympic flame at the games in Utah. He was already frail but he bravely ran up the ramp as though he were holding the light of the world for all of us. He was as beautiful as he had been when I saw him as a young lion those many years ago.

Muhammad Ali became an example and spokesman for those of us who are nameless. He never varied from his determination to make the world a more tolerant and peaceful place. From his days as Cassius Clay in Louisville, Kentucky to his most triumphant moments the public knew that he was indeed a remarkable man. At a time when a black man dared not speak out lest he be punished, Muhammad Ali refused to still his voice. He held his head high and reminded us that he was beautiful and great. He would proudly boast, “I am Muhammad Ali, a free name – it means beloved of God, and I insist people use it when people speak to me.”

Muhammad Ali was beloved, not just by God but by people the world over. He taught us the importance of faith, family and conviction. Now he may rest in peace. His battered body will hurt him no more. He is with God and moving like a butterfly in his heavenly home.

Rain Potholes and Dreams

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Floods920x920Normally I am a pluviophilia, someone who loves rain. I enjoy the mornings when the house is dark and all is quiet outside. With little fear that a random visitor will come knocking on my door I lounge in my pajamas and leisurely eat my breakfast while watching the precipitation fall on my garden. I feel safe and warm and think of how often my mother reminded us to be thankful for the roof over our heads whenever the weather turned frightful. Now that I no longer have to travel to work on inclement days I especially enjoy the roll of the distant thunder and the pitter pat of the raindrops on my roof.

Unfortunately today is not a normal day. My city and my state has been pounded with punishing storms for weeks now. Our waterways are full. The situation is dire in some quarters where rivers are cresting and reaching historically high levels. The price of human pain has been high. People have died, including a group of soldiers whose vehicle was swept away by raging waters. Homes in some areas are being inundated for the second and third times in only weeks. While the view from my window is still lovely I can’t help but feel for the good people in the path of nature’s destructive force. I think once again of my own blessings but somehow feel that but for the vagaries of nature I might be the one seeking refuge with a relative. I long for the sun, not so much for myself but for my Houston neighbors who have had enough.

Mother Nature appears to be on a rampage right now. Even as my city braces itself for the possibility of more flooding throughout today and tomorrow, the streets of Paris are filling from its own storms. The Louvre is closed so that workers might move priceless pieces of art to higher ground. Parts of Germany and Austria are also reeling from the punishing rains. Our precious planet seems to be in a state of feast or famine as some of us drown and others experience crushing drought. I have to wonder what we as people might have done or not done to prevent the unfolding tragedies.

Meanwhile back in Houston we will ask ourselves if the city’s romance with real estate may have gone too far. We now blithely build on plots of land that our ancestors would have avoided. Huge subdivisions spring up on river bottoms or former rice fields. We erect retention ponds, levees and pumping stations believing that we will be protected. Our city is beribboned with miles and miles of concrete, not just on our roads but in massive parking lots and even along the banks of our system of bayous. In our hubris we build and build and build with little regard for the consequences.

I’m a native of Houston and so is my husband. His mother and mine were both born here. We have watched our city change dramatically in our lifetimes. Ironically the places where our mothers lived as children rarely experience problems with floods. Their 1920s era homes are always safe, even in hurricanes. They were built at a time before the city was looped with highways that lured the populace far from downtown. Both of our parents often spoke of playing in wooded areas near their neighborhoods. The city was small and had a more rural feel. My mother’s family even owned livestock. While there were sometimes terrible storms that flooded the streets inside the business district, there was plenty of open land where the runoff might meander without doing harm to people or homes.

When I was growing up our family moved to a neighborhood in the suburbs. It was located just outside of Loop 610 and at the time seemed to be at the far end of city. Our subdivision was built near Simms Bayou, a mostly quiet and meandering ribbon of water that was once home to birds and fish and other creatures. Back then only a few people were willing to tempt fate by building along its banks. For the most part the land adjacent to the waterway was left in its natural state and I fondly recall spending hours inside the woods that graced the area. Eventually the beautiful forest was eliminated as first one and then another home was erected where nature once reigned. Today there are few signs of the serenity that once marked the edge of my neighborhood. It is instead one vast intersection of concrete roads that scar the beauty of Simms Bayou. Now when seasonal rains bear down on that area the streets become impassible and the waters of the bayou encroach on the properties that have tempted fate.

It doesn’t always rain in Houston. We are not Seattle. There have been years when the ground was parched and dry, times when a single cigarette thrown from a car window might set a field on fire. Our lakes and rivers have often faded to low levels that are as frightening as the moments when they crest. With regard to weather Houston has never been an easy place to live. Many of the early settlers died from yellow fever and other diseases caused by the swampy breeding grounds. The area known as The Heights was created on land that towered over the rest of the city. I suspect that if truth be told nobody ever dreamed that Houston would one day be home to the fourth largest population in the country.

We have done our best to create living spaces for the people who have flocked to our city. It has always been a place of opportunity and promise. For the most part the people are friendly and even someone whose entire family history is one of struggle and poverty can make it big here. There was a time when our city was led by visionaries, men who created Rice University and the Texas Medical Center. They actually took the time to carefully plan expansion projects. Now, in many ways Houston is experiencing the fruits of neglect. We worry about potholes in the streets while the movers and shakers of old built dreams. I fear that our city will go the way of other urban centers until and unless we once again envision more than just knee jerk reactions to problems. Building more roads and leaving fewer and fewer open spaces will only complicate the situation.

My son-in-law’s Uncle Don grew up in the same Houston that I did. He loved this city, especially its bayous. He was devoted to showing our citizens the majesty of the waterways that drew people here in the first place. He advocated for returning them to their natural state, the way my mother and mother-in-law remember them. He was not just a quaint dreamer but someone who had navigated and studied the many outlets and the effect that concrete and construction was having on them. He firmly believed that in saving the bayous we would also save our city. He died before realizing many of his ideas but he is remembered to this day for his efforts to redesign the places that he so loved. I suspect that if he were still around he would see the massive problems that we are experiencing this week as more evidence of our tampering. He would urge us to respect the laws of nature believing that in doing so we would actually help ourselves.

I can only pray that the worst is over for our city. I’d like to think that we might learn from what we have seen during the past few weeks but I doubt that this is so. We are a hard headed lot and we tend to just patch things up and move on. There are more potholes to fill and dreams don’t appear to be in fashion right now. I just hope that one day we will finally realize the error of our ways.

Dieting In Culinary Heaven

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

fatteningfoods1Houston is a foodie town. Our city ranks high in the culinary world with incredible choices of taste tempting dishes available in virtually every corner of our sprawling metropolis. Little wonder that H town is also home to the most overweight people in the country. Balancing Houstonians’ love of food with healthy lifestyles is no easy task. Keeping a slim waistline while still enjoying the cuisine that Houston chefs offer requires vigilance and dedication and sometimes time and money as well. With yummy treats tempting us everywhere that we turn, being on a diet can sometimes feel punishing.

Mike and I have both been consciously watching what we eat since January. When the new year came I quit purchasing any kind of bread products. We used to enjoy visiting the bakery at the HEB Central Market but now we rush through that section of the store lest we be tempted by the lovely creations tempting us to fall off of the wagon. So far we have managed to keep the offending products out of our home.

Our prohibition extends to rice, potatoes and all forms of pasta as well. We used to love having spaghetti with Italian sausage but now we have to be content with spiraled Italian squash instead. We frequent Sprouts and farmers markets in search of the fresh vegetables and fruits that have become our mainstay. We carefully measure calories and carbohydrates, reading nutrition labels before putting anything into our mouths. On those rare occasions when we decide to spend a night out at a restaurant we save up calories and opt for the least offensive menu items. Mostly though it’s easier to just stay home and enjoy the steamed broccoli and kale salad that we have taught ourselves to like.

I had been taking two or three mile long walks virtually everyday but the heat and the current monsoon season has kept me indoors of late. I’m back to using the treadmill which has to be the most boring form of exercise ever invented. I’ve tried listening to music, talking on the phone and reading to pass the time but I still find myself wondering how it is possible for a minute to feel like an hour. My treadmill sessions afford me proof of Einstein’s theory of relativity.  That moving sidewalk takes me nowhere but to the land of frustration. 

Parties are the hardest for me. People go to so much trouble to create such lovely dishes and desserts and I feel like Scrooge or the Grinch when I walk past the recipes that they have worked so hard to make. I fill my plate with the raw carrots and celery from the vegetable tray and eat hamburgers without the buns. I restrict myself to one slice of pizza knowing that even that tiny splurge is going to send my weight back up once again. It is a never ending battle to stay within the guidelines, especially since my results have been less than stellar.

I suppose that I am losing weight the way it is supposed to be done. I go down about half of a pound a week. If I eat at a restaurant or dine at someone’s home I tend to either gain a tiny bit or flatline. Still, overall I am moving in the right direction and find that I can wear clothing that is one size smaller than most of what is in my closet. I also admittedly feel much better but sometimes I long to give in to my cravings and scarf down a Snicker’s bar or a warm cinnamon roll.

I once took a creative movement class at the University of Houston to satisfy the physical education requirement. It proved to be one of my favorite classes. The professor who had a full bird PhD encouraged us to develop both our bodies and our minds. He pointed out that we humans tend to lean one way or another, with some of us emphasizing brainy activities and others favoring sports and exercise. He argued that to be well rounded humans need both.

The trouble that I find with his thinking is that there don’t seem to be enough hours in the day for all of the things that we should do. Eating healthy meals takes planning. Exercising involves more than just the thirty minutes or hour of actual involvement. Often it requires driving to a particular locale with showering and grooming in addition. Today’s jobs are more demanding than ever and few people actually spend only eight hours at work. Our families and friends need our attention as well. If we attempt to get the recommended amount of sleep on top of all of our other responsibilities we begin to realize that we are running out of time to accomplish all our goals.

I know people who do in fact get everything done. They are generally on a schedule that is so strict that they have little time for daydreaming or goofing off. Their lives are highly regimented. For a natural born gypsy like me being a slave to the clock and a routine is quite difficult. Sometimes I find myself wanting to call in sick to my self imposed schedule. I want to just wander wherever my instincts lead me even if that means driving through Shipley’s donuts and blowing the diet for the day.

I suppose that the whole idea of being careful with what I eat is especially hard for me because until I was almost fifty I was literally able to enjoy any kind of food without it negatively affecting me. I stayed slim and trim with no effort. I had little understanding of what it means to gain weight just by looking at photographs of food. I had the gift of a super metabolism that converted all of the bad things that I ate into energy rather than fat. The first time I saw a muffin top appear around my waist I was shocked. I fooled myself into thinking that my weight gain was temporary as I watched the scale register ever higher numbers. Now I am attempting to slowly eliminate the offending pounds and realizing the cost of all of that grazing that I did for most of my life.

I don’t want to go back to my bad habits because I have worked too hard for the last five months to just give up on my quest. I’m learning what works for me and what doesn’t. I’ve found that it is possible to enjoy myself when I go out with friends and family as long as I am careful. I share bread pudding rather than devouring the entire piece myself. I take home half of my order of chicken marsala. I order cups of gumbo rather than bowls. I don’t totally deny myself nor do I overindulge. I am gradually reeducating myself on the value of good nutrition. I have also developed a genuine sympathy for those who must carefully watch what they eat.

We are a land of culinary plenty and my city is at the center of the food universe. I have to admit to being envious of anyone who is capable of eating without boundaries just as I once was. It was nice to have no limits and still look and feel great. Now I am just like most people and I have belatedly had to learn how to curb my appetite. It’s a worthy cause. My health has already improved and so has Mike’s. We haven’t quite yet learned how to avoid the toxic foods but we are getting there. Wish us luck. Ours is a crusade that must be victorious.

The Right Person At the Right Time

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

cropped-human_development_timelineThere are countless books, magazines and articles devoted to parenting babies, toddlers and adolescents. We have become quite good at knowing how to best raise our children into adults. As humans we sometimes make mistakes along the way but in most cases our flubs are not fatal. Year after year the seeds of good parenting bloom into the men and women who accept the responsibility of being vanguards of the next generation. Those of us who have completed our work humbly step back and assume a new role in the never ending circle of life. At least that is how we assume that the pattern will go, but sadly reality is a great deal more messy than our idealized visions of the way things ought to be.

None of us live in isolation. The outside world impinges on the harmony of our nuclear families. There are demands and occurrences over which parents have no control. We have to learn how to juggle our own ideals with the conflicting beliefs that are all around us. Keeping our children within our sight may keep us in control for a time but ultimately our little ones become teenagers and push to gain a modicum of independence. They explore, sometimes in dangerous places. It is in their natures to take risks. Our influence on them appears to diminish. We feel as though we are walking on a tightrope as we struggle to find the perfect balance between reinforcing the lessons we have taught them while allowing them to find their own identities.

As parents we never stop thinking about our kids even when they have successfully navigated into a state of complete independence. We worry about their happiness and health just as much as we did when they were helpless babies. We have to learn how to  accept the decisions that they make even when they differ from our own philosophies. We have to be careful not to cross a line in our judgements and comments about the way they live. We are no longer in charge, a fact that is sometimes difficult for some of us to accept. Our relationship with an adult child must mature. We must grow just as they have.

As time goes by if we have done our jobs as parents properly we will be able to relax as we see our offspring navigating the treacherous waters of life with the kind of wisdom that we had always hoped to instill in them. They will not always approach particular situations the way we might have but they succeed nonetheless and that makes us proud. We tell ourselves to let go of the locus of control knowing full well that we will still wake up in the middle of the night wondering if everything is okay.

Eventually we ourselves may become a source of worry for those around us. We age and our bodies and minds begin to slow or even break down. We are unable to be the towers of strength and energy that we once were. Our kids become sandwiched between us and their own children. They have to learn how to deal with elderly parents who cling steadfastly to independence even when the evidence shows that they need assistance. Hopefully we will have enough wisdom to know when it is our time to surrender and allow them to help us. There is nothing quite as difficult as fighting with parents just to bring them the safe environment that they need.

I have seen wonderful examples of families that sailed through each and every season of life, somehow knowing exactly how to react to changes and challenges. All too often though I hear of the tension that stresses relationships as the parents of adults staunchly refuse to relax their domination over their children. They criticize and make demands instead of accepting that their time as guardian has ended. They want to maintain a firm grip on their adult children by being the center of the universe, the person in charge. Sadly they don’t seem to understand that love does not come from control.

I also hear of clashes with elderly parents who refuse to admit that they are no longer capable of being alone. When their children step forward to assume the responsibilities of caring for them they are met with resistance and insults. It becomes a battle for the younger generation to do the right thing. It takes a great deal of love to overlook the barbs. Those who refuse to be dissuaded are very special people whose love for their parents make them willing to turn the other cheek even when the arguments become ugly and personal. They are able to recognize that the venom that they encounter is sometimes the result of fear and often a failing mind. They rise above the ugliness but the fighting takes its toll.

My mother used to quote the Bible, insisting that we each reach a particular time when we must defer to the laws of nature. We have certain roles to play at different moments in life. When her mind was working well my mom was a delight. She enjoyed being a grandmother and a great grandmother and took full advantage of our desire to make her life easier. When her mind was clouded and confused by mental illness she was difficult. My brothers and I had to make decisions for her that she refused to accept. When she pushed back we had to tell ourselves that it was not her talking, but her illness. We endured bouts of guilt and anger even as we understood that we were doing what was best.

Not everyone is as easy going as my grandfather was as he entered his nineties and then his hundreds. He gave away his car as soon as he felt that he had become old enough to become a menace on the road. He understood his limitations and did not fight them. He accepted that he was no longer the tower of strength that he had once been. He enjoyed his twilight years as best he could even though he sometimes wondered when he would finally be allowed to rest for eternity. He was a model of common sense and acceptance of his station in life. He taught us much about how to grow old gracefully. He was loved beyond measure for his understanding.

I have made countless mistakes first as a child and then as a parent. We all have. I have had to learn to be forgiving of myself and willing to ask the forgiveness of others. We humans are filled with imperfections but we always have opportunities to correct our toxic behaviors. There will be many many times when we must begin again anew. Sometimes in order to be the adult in the room we have to set our personal feelings aside and display deep understanding and wisdom in analyzing a particular situation. Our challenge is to know when to stand back, when to walk away or when to take charge. If our motives are guided by love, we will generally know what to do. Living life is not easy but it can be wonderful so long as we are willing to work hard to be the right person in the right time.