Month: September 2017

The Kindness of Strangers

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

135625464_14719069605411nMy cousin and his family were alone, wandering around their yard with dazed expressions on their faces. They had just returned home from an evacuation to the Dallas area because their home had begun to take on water during the heavy rains from hurricane Harvey. When it threatened to reach the electrical outlets they knew that they had to flee. They quickly grabbed a few articles of clothing from upstairs, turned off the power, and drove away while they still had a chance to at least save their cars and their lives. Now they were estimating the damage and attempting to make sense of what had happened. The looks on their faces told their stories without explanation. They were dazed, weary, worried, devastated.

They moved slowly in our direction and hugged us when they saw us walking up the drive way. They had little to say because there were no words to adequately describe what they had encountered. They had lived in this house for forty years. It had been the place where all of their joys and sorrows, ups and downs had played out over a lifetime. They still vividly remembered the feeling of elation they had experienced when they chose the lot and the elevation for their home and watched their dream becoming a reality. They had brought their baby girl to this home and lovingly witnessed her growing into a lovely young woman. The place had never flooded in all of those years, even when there had been heavy rains brought by other storms and hurricanes. They felt safe and sound inside those walls and would not have believed that they would find themselves in such a predicament, but it was Harvey who had come to visit, a beast of a storm that dumped fifty one inches of rain on the city. This time was different, historical, and the creek that usually meandered nearby became a raging river that first filled their yard and then the rooms that were so familiar to them. Now they would have to clean out the waterlogged mess and somehow find the grit and energy to begin again. Still they wondered how they would find the wherewithal to accomplish such a daunting task. They were older now. This was supposed to be a time to retire and enjoy the fruits of their labors, not a moment of beginning the most difficult work of their lives.

We had come to help and to map out a plan of action. We had called on our children and grandchildren to converge on their home the following day. We were determined to set them aright again no matter how challenging that might be, but a tour of the damage shocked us. Somehow we felt defeated before we had even begun. We worried that our crew of mostly older folk was not going to be up to the task, but we said nothing to my cousin. There was no need to further discourage him, so we simply set to work removing debris that blocked the doors and passage ways one item at a time until we had filled one garbage bag after another. It was a start, but the hours felt like days and we left for the night feeling exhausted even though we had hardly made a dent in what needed to be done.

I used to be very a private person. I hid the fact that my family struggled after my father died when I was still a small child. I rarely spoke of my mother’s mental illness, thinking that nobody would want to know about such a thing. Because I was keeping so many emotions locked inside my heart I began to feel anxious and barely able to cope. I finally allowed other people to see my imperfections and my concerns. I found them to be loving and compassionate rather than judgmental. I realized that people are mostly kind, and so I turned to them once again in this moment when I knew that we needed more people to help my cousin to reclaim his home. I put a post on Facebook asking for ideas and my wall was flooded with suggestions and offers of assistance. I gave the task of contacting the many groups to my husband. He had endured a stroke only two months ago, and I realized that it was dangerous for him to be part of the work crew. His job was to find someone, anyone who would be able to provide us with the energy and strong backs that we needed.

I drove back to the injured home on Sunday. My cousin and his family were already there, and they were still struggling to internalize what had happened. I hoped that a cavalry would be on its way, but I had little hope at that moment. When one of my brothers arrived, he and I continued the task of creating pathways so that we would somehow be able to get the largest pieces of furniture outside into the pile of debris that was already beginning to grow even with our feeble efforts. Then my phone began to ring again and again. A group from West Road Church of Later Day Saints and St. Maximillian Catholic Church was coming in thirty minutes with twelve young people eager to work with us. Then came a response from Lakewood Methodist Church members who promised to arrive in the afternoon. Friends of my cousins came one by one as did the members of my family and two dear friends from my childhood. Everyone donned gloves and masks and set to work with abandon.

We set up places to rest under the shade of trees that my cousins had planted years ago. We had tables of food and ice chests filled with drinks. Strangers stopped to give us extra gloves and masks to wear. The work continued and the numbers of people contributing to the cause grew and grew and grew. Young people brought us hamburgers and hot dogs that tasted so good at that moment. Others came with bags of fruit and water. We did not know any of these Good Samaritans. They smiled and blessed us and did their best to provide us with succor and hope. More people called to find out how we were doing and to let us know that they were sending checks for food and supplies. The mountains of ruined clothing that I had removed the day before disappeared as loving volunteers filled bags and took them home to wash. Boxes of dishes and pots and pans were taken away with promises that they would be renewed and cared for. A miracle was unfolding right before our eyes and all of us were so moved that we struggled to maintain our composure. Mostly we gave in to the tears of gratitude that flowed from our hearts and our eyes.

By the end of a very long ten hour day close to fifty souls had worked on the house. The fouled sheetrock and insulation lay inside a mountain of garbage bags along with the family possessions that were hopelessly ruined. It was difficult to even see the front of the home because the yard had become a graveyard for furniture and appliances, but the good news was that the house was on its way to healing. The seemingly impossible had been accomplished. The foul waters had been removed and somehow even as we saw the visible evidence of the destruction that had befallen the house we sensed that it would become a home once again. A ray of hope shown down and renewed our energy and our optimism.

There is still much to be done before my cousins, will feel whole and secure again. The shock of what they are experiencing is being repeated hundreds of thousands of times all over the Houston area. It is almost impossible to imagine how horrific the damage actually is until seeing it in person. There are millions of individual stories associated with this disaster that will never be forgotten even as we all begin the journey back to our daily routines a sense of normalcy. The Houston area now houses two distinct groups of people, those who were lucky enough to dodge the destruction and those whose lives have been so horrifically turned upside down. Sadly the rest of the world is often fickle. They will move on to the next big story and forget the tragedy that has befallen so many souls, but those of us who have seen the unseeable will never forget. We have experienced the kindness of strangers in a very dark hour and these selfless people have forever changed our lives and our outlooks. Nothing will ever be quite the same again.

If you want to help someone who has lost so much in this tragic event here are some wonderful ideas:

  1. Volunteer to do some laundry or wash some dishes for someone whose home was flooded. There are a number of good recipes for how to do this properly online.
  2. Babysit the young children of families who have to work on their houses.
  3. Bring food, water, snacks, gloves, masks and cleaning supplies for the workers.
  4. Make a phone call or send a message of encouragement.
  5. Have someone who was affected over to your house for dinner or just an enjoyable evening.
  6. Don’t wait for those who have lost so much to reach out to you. Many of them are in such a state of shock that they don’t even know how to proceed. Take the initiative and suggest what you would like to do.

So many wonderful people are working to make Houston and its people whole again, but we have to remember that we are all in this for the long haul.

We Are Real!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Back in the days before computers and the Internet were as commonplace as they are now, I used to provide my students with instructions regarding the safe use of the then fairly new medium. I reminded them that not all sources are reliable or even true, and that they should check the veracity of statements before believing them. We tend to take the wide world web a bit more for granted that we did when we were still in awe of the information highway, and because of that we have become easier prey to charlatans who would fool us with stories and even photographs that are manufactured. We have also become victims of a constant barrage of opinions that may or may not be based on fact. In spite of my own warnings to beware, I sometimes fall for the shenanigans of imposters myself.

The recent tragedy wrought by hurricane Harvey has created a minefield of outright fabrications, and among them was a fake tweet that supposedly came from President Trump in which he displayed a cavalier attitude toward the victims of the storm. Someone with a creative mind had spliced together ideas from actual Trump tweets to make it appear that our Commander in Chief was almost giddy about the prospect of seeing such an historic tragedy and even more excited about a rally in Maryland afterward. I was incensed upon reading it and posted it on my Facebook wall with a snarky comment. When a couple of my friends insisted that the tweet was not from Trump I did the research that I should have already completed and learned that it was indeed a counterfeit. I deleted the post sheepishly knowing that I had already done damage.

There are far too many folks writing today who tell us what their followers want to hear without taking time to gather the facts before setting their words on paper. The current sport for some is to rain down their wrath on my city of Houston which is suffering mightily. They have written columns that range from insisting that our courage and kindness in this dark hour is a fleeting anomaly to the even more horrendous idea that karma has finally punished us for our political sins. I truly can’t imagine how anyone would think it appropriate to be so cruel, but I am coming to realize that fanaticism of any sort knows no bounds.

Because I was born and raised in Houston, Texas I think I know it as well as anyone. I’ve spent very close to sixty nine years watching it grow and change. I remember seeing the headline announcing that the population had risen to one million. Now there are over six and a half million souls in the metropolitan area. There was a time when the now booming suburbs that extend miles away from the center of town were sleepy farm villages. In the decades during which I followed my life dreams, raised a family and retired to a slower paced lifestyle I have witnessed remarkable changes. Among them is the amazing diversity of our population. We have welcomed people from all over the world. We work and play with them and hardly notice our differences, if anything we celebrate them. We have traveled a long way from being a sleepy segregated town.

My cul-de-sac in the suburb of Pearland which is part of the big metroplex is the perfect example of how culturally mature we have become. We have whites, blacks, Hispanics and Asians all living happily together and watching out for one another. Our neighborhood was quite fortunate not to have any damage during the storm, but we still gathered during the small breaks in rain to be certain that everyone was doing well and to see if anyone needed anything. The little girls next door made cookies for everyone. The man across the street texted important news. We are a family in every sense of the word.

Most people do not understand the enormity of the Houston metropolitan area. It is literally the size of some states. It encompasses at least five counties and a host of smaller towns that are far too many to list. Suggesting for example that the floods were caused by a lack of zoning by the Houston city government is a bit ridiculous because the vast majority of the flooded areas lie within the jurisdiction of other municipalities, all of which think of themselves as being independent but also satellites of the big city of Houston. Most of us live in areas that are a short drive to downtown Houston but which have nothing to do with the government of the city. I, for example, live in Pearland which lies about thirty minutes south of downtown Houston. I am in Brazoria County rather than Harris County, but my area was still heavily featured in television coverage because everyone in the metropolitan region understands that we are an integral part of the bigger picture. Still, we do our own thing here as fare as government, and thus it is in the many places that ring the actual Houston city limits.

The most hateful comments about Houston have alluded to our politics. The irony is that even the satirists at “Charlie Hebdo” created a cover that was shocking both for its outright cruelty and its total lack of factual evidence. The cartoon featured drowning bodies and floating Nazi flags with the headline, “God Exists. He drowned all the neo-Nazis of Texas.” While I’m as willing as anyone to enjoy satire, I’d like to explain to whomever created this cartoon the reality of the situation. The facts may shock them.

There are most certainly a few white supremacists and Nazis in the Houston area. We have people of every other stripe, so it stands to reason that we also have some bigots, but these fringe groups do not in any way represent the vast majority. Houston has a black mayor, an Hispanic police chief and an Hispanic fire chief. It is a city that leans left and votes democrat. In the last presidential election it went overwhelmingly for Hillary Clinton. Admittedly some of the suburban areas are more Republican, but again we are talking about a diversity of philosophies and cultures that are not easily described by generalities. I think of a photo of my eldest grandson in kindergarten that explains the true nature of the Houston area better than satire. He and his buddies are arm in arm with huge grins on their faces. Among them is a boy from Pakistan, a Black, a Chinese, and my little white grandchild. That crew of young men has grown up together in this place that is so misunderstood and thought to be a haven for racial animus. As they attend college and turn twenty one years of age they are still as strongly bonded with one another as they were back when they were five or six years old.

As for questions of whether or not we Houstonians are really courageous and generous in spirit or if our good actions are only a passing phenomenon, my only comment regarding that is that the impression that is playing out on the screen for all the world to see is one hundred percent real. If you don’t believe it, just come live here for a time. You will fall in love with this city and its people. Our kindness is not a fleeting thing. It is our way of life. We are exactly what we appear to be, a loving and giving group of people. Houston is strong and compassionate not just in its darkest days but 24/7, 365 days a year. We are the real deal! That is a fact!

We’re Going To Make It After All

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I’m slowly remembering how to sleep again. I had just begun to totally relax after my husband’s stroke when the big Houston flood came along. I don’t think that I have dozed for more than five or six hours for at least a week. Getting back to normal is going to be difficult. We have all changed just a bit, but thankfully I believe that it is for the better.

Yesterday I went on errands for the first time since last Friday. Everyone was so nice and cheerful you would have thought that it was Christmas time. Employees welcomed us to the stores with big smiles and hearty greetings. Strangers were asking each other how they had done in the storm. It was almost like living in a tiny town rather than the fourth largest city in the United States. Most of the people were purchasing items to donate to those who had been affected by the flooding. They had their carts piled high with personal care items, food, cleaning products, water and school supplies. I had a difficult time finding pencils because we all had the same thought that we needed to replace the items that kids will need when schools open once again.

The day was absolutely gorgeous and so we ventured across town to visit with my father-in-law who had been on pins and needles with concern for all of his family. He was surprised and delighted to see us, and we had fun exchanging war stories for a couple of hours. He had done quite well even though the rain had been furious. He lives in what is no doubt the highest neighborhood in the city, so if he had flooded it would have been Armageddon. Still he spoke of a couple of moments when the water in his street was raging like a river, something that he had never before seen. Luckily there were enough breaks in the deluge to allow the rain to drain in between the downpours. Ultimately his home was never threatened.

Our conversations were accompanied by the sound of helicopters flying overhead, an experience that has become sadly commonplace. We’ve seen Blackhawks and Chinooks and every possible variety for several days now. For the most part we ignored the implications of what those choppers meant even though in the back of our minds we prayed for the souls who were onboard. We joked that we each want one along with a landing pad on the roof for Christmas, or at least a flat bottom boat with a set of life jackets. It’s crazy how humor helped us to relax.

Our homeward route took us through the heart of downtown Houston which seemed almost like a ghost town or a set for The Walking Dead. Now and again we saw crews pumping water from underground parking garages, and there were a few hearty souls walking along the mostly deserted streets. I saw a homeless people here and there sunning themselves and wondered what they had done during the storm. I marvel at how resilient they are and don’t think that I would fare nearly as well. I hope that they are not overlooked when relief is being provided for the citizens.

The official word yesterday was that Houston ISD students will not begin school until September 11, a somewhat meaningful date for all of us. It is not certain what other districts will decide to do, but it is clear that both teachers and students will need to ease into the process. Everyone is rattled whether they had damage to their homes or not. It will take some time for a sense of security and normalcy to return. I also believe that school districts will have to think out of the box to fulfill their needs. I’d like to see them hire more counselors and keep classes smaller perhaps by using retired teachers to work a couple of hours a day to ease some of the burdens. Maybe they even need to consider getting waivers to have shorter school days, at least during the first semester when everyone is still so stressed.

Everyone who does not have to repair his/her home wants so desperately to volunteer to help someone else. Offers of aid are flooding into the city. It is nice to realize that we humans are still quite nice in spite of recent indications to the contrary. We have been fed a steady diet of stories of terrorists, white supremacists, and hatefulness between opposing viewpoints for too long of late. It’s nice to hear of people intent on being kind and generous rather than fighting with one another. I sure wish that the attitudes that are apparent all around in Houston right now would infect the rest of the country like a virus. We desperately need to come together with a unified goal. The invective that has become so commonplace needs to go the way of Harvey.

I don’t want to rush things, but it feels as though Houstonians will eventually come out of this disaster even stronger than we presently are, as long as armchair quarterbacks don’t over analyze what has happened here. Just as teenagers don’t like nagging from their parents, we citizens of Houston are rather frayed and really don’t need critiques. We’ve done our best and prefer that people just leave it at that. Later we might analyze levees and drainage systems and routes for evacuations with an eye to improving them. For now we just need to survive.

I love that so many things are settling down in ways that might seem insignificant to some, but are major to me. I saw RVs returning home from wherever they had taken refuge. It was good to see people with enough confidence to come back again. A neighbor mowed his lawn yesterday, a rather mundane act but one that made me smile from ear to ear. We have to do all of these little things to feel good again. Bit by bit, step by step I think we are going to make it, and hopefully we will have learned much to guide us in the future.