Month: October 2021

I suppose that there is a bit of explorer in each of us. I was definitely a free range kid when i was growing up and my friends, brothers and cousins and I often set out in search of adventure. My city of Houston had not yet reached a population of one million back then, so there was a great deal of what we considered to be unexplored territory. We would wander through the wooded areas in my neighborhood as though we expected to come upon a lost city of gold at any moment. In truth we were never far from the vigilant eyes of our mothers, but in the kid world it felt as though we had flown away with Peter Pan.

Visiting my maternal grandmother during the daytime was always filled with surprises. She lived just off of Navigation Street, an area that had become mostly industrialized by the time I was born. Just a few houses down from hers the old neighborhood ended and was home instead to a grocery chain warehouse. Around the corner and a few blocks away there was a company that housed mountains of sand and rocks and crushed concrete. 

While we managed to shinny under the fences around those businesses without ever getting caught, they were never quite as interesting to us as an old abandoned home that sat beckoning us to enter its shadowy entrance. We must have passed by, or rather run by, the eerie place dozens and dozens of times before we finally screwed up the courage to venture inside. Getting in there was one of those double or triple dare events that kids create when they know full well that they should instead run back home. 

The house was a two story affair that appeared to have once been a lovely abode. We had several gory theories as to why it had been left to rot away, all of which involved murder and intrigue. The entryway was a long hall with rooms on either side. To the left there were the remnants of what must have once been a rather spacious living room. It was filled with cobwebs as though someone had purposely attempted to create the effect of a haunted house. Shards of glass from a broken mirror crunched under our shoes. Wallpaper hung in shreds from the walls. 

Across the hall there was a smaller room with a dilapidated kitchen behind it. We assumed that this must have been a dining room although there was nothing left to prove our theory. It was a featureless area filled with so much dust that we all began sneezing and then laughing at our chorus of reaction to the dirty particles in the air. It was then that we saw the stairway in the back of the house taunting us to ascend into the unknown. 

My cousin Jack went first, bounding up the stairway as though it was his house and he was simply going to his room. We knew we had to follow even though little voices in our heads sent a danger signal that we ignored. The journey upward was treacherous because the wooden structure was unstable and filled with holes. One false step might have sent us plummeting to the ground. There was no turning back, however, and so we tentatively continued climbing higher and higher until we finally saw our brave cousin standing over what appeared to be someone’s recently occupied pallet.

This was no doubt the home of a squatter who had gone out for some unknown reason. There was an old careworn mattress on the floor covered with a tattered blanket and a stained pillow. In the corner there was a change of mismatched clothing and some cans of food along with a can opener and a rusty spoon. An empty bottle of whiskey lay on its side as though it had been tossed in a moment of disgust. 

We felt as though we had violated some sacred trust in just being there and realized we needed to leave quickly out of respect for whatever poor soul may have chosen this desolate place as his home. Besides, if our theories about the house were true, he might be violent and intent on killing us if he found us trespassing so boldly. We leaped down those rickety stairs with a speed that would have garnered us an Olympic medal and continued running all the way back to our grandmother’s house.

There we mused over what the true history of that house and its current occupant may have been. Our favorite idea was that the person now living there was actually a descendant of the original owners. We surmised that things had gone well for the family until the Great Depression stripped them of their money and their former way of life. In a moment of fury over the situation someone had decided to end it all and take the other members of the family with him. Only one person survived the onslaught by hiding. When he was found the authorities sent him to a series of foster homes where he felt unloved. Somehow in spite of valiant efforts he was never able to overcome the tragedy that had befallen his once sunny and happy home. He became a derelict wandering the streets of Houston begging for enough handouts to scrape by and living his sad life in his old home. 

Of course we were children who were easily drawn in by fantasy and gruesome tales. We never really knew what the truth of might have been and since we did not want our parents to know what we had done we never asked them what they might have known about that mysterious place. It remained our secret adventure hidden away from the eyes and ears of adults. 

Eventually someone tore the house down to make way for yet another business. My cousins and I grew older and wiser and explored the world in our own separate ways. Still, the enchantments of our youth have never left our minds, especially the ones like visiting that house. Such times made us feel courageous and bold. I suppose that if truth be told we really were great adventurers in our own small ways. Those were glorious times.

First day of Fall 2021

My dear beloved family of the world, 

You are my aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, children, grandchildren. We are all related even though we may have never met each other. There are so many of us that a reunion is impossible but perhaps there is the tiniest of chance that with the marvel of the internet you may stumble across my letter to you and realize that I think of you often and I truly love you. 

I try to imagine what you may be doing in your tiny village or teeming city. I wonder and worry about your welfare and pray that life is treating you well, but stories on the news alarm me for some of you. I want more than anything to do something to help you in your suffering but realize that I have neither the means nor the power to take care of all of the problems that seem to arise on a daily basis. I can only wish that we would all finally admit that we are together in our journey through life. What happens to one of us should matter to all of us.

The history of our sibling rivalry has all too often been bloodthirsty. Perhaps our baser tendencies began when Adam and Eve were not satisfied with the paradise that they had. Like them we seem to always be wanting more, and so we steal from each other. Our children have been watching and learning from us much like Cain did from observing his parents. Eventually his jealousy and anger lead to hate and violence against his own brother Abel. 

Our greatest ancestors have tried to teach us lessons in living proper peaceful lives together, but we have struggled to learn from mistakes of the past. It saddens me that we have never found a way to be blind to the differences in our appearance, the colors of our skins, the beliefs that we hold about God. It should be so easy to simply love and embrace each other, but we have made the world so complex that we hide in our respective corners of it protecting our property and belongings as though some of us are more deserving of it than others. We lock our doors and our borders and arm ourselves with harsh words, laws, and, all too often, weapons.

We are so innocent when we are born. We know nothing of the world. We willingly learn whatever language is spoken wherever we happen to be. We smile the same way and cry the same way when we are hungry. We respond to the loving touch of adults who care for us. We are curious and eager to learn and explore. If only we would remain that way. If only we never got tarnished by the flaws and sins of humanity! 

I know that most of us try very hard to be the best versions of ourselves. We nurture our creative and inventive sides. We love the family and friends that we have actually met. We have no bad feelings toward other humans, but we are products of centuries of complex laws and thinking that demarcated us into tribes, villages, states, countries, continents. We seem to have forgotten that borders were once open to all. We mixed and mingled and, yes, sometimes fought and drew blood. 

In a perfect world it might have been more wonderful. We might have imagined as John Lennon did a world where we all lived in peace in a brotherhood of man, sharing all the world. It could have happened. The Bible indicates that it should have happened, but we began to covet one another and to kill. Somehow when we spilled that first blood it became our curse to deny each other, creating compounds in which we store our possessions and wrangle over money and define success in ownership and power. All too often we have hidden behind religions as excuses for our most hateful ways. 

What a gooey mess we have made! It hurts my heart to see what we have done. All I seem to be able to do is work toward my dream of eternal peace on this earth for the millions and millions of people in my earthy family by being kind and loving. If that seems naive, then I admit to being guilty and I will nonetheless continue to be so. I refuse to give up on the ideal of the world living as one. It is when we feel overwhelmed by the enormity of caring for this great big family that the struggles begin and we unravel and fight. I don’t want to do that. I want instead to let you know that I love you and think of you so often. 

I suppose my letter to you sounds a bit like only offering thoughts and prayers after a horrible tragedy. I have little influence in my waning years, but I will draw attention to your needs. I will do my best to inform others and convince them of our responsibilities to one another. I will cast my votes for individuals who want to move in a direction of embracing each of you. I will attempt to live the way I think that each of us should. It seems like very small steps, but if a butterfly can affect the world by flapping its wings then surely my tiny movements when taken collectively with the efforts of others may bring a change in how we view each other. 

I love you all. That is the place from which I begin. It is how we all must start if we are to heal the wounds of our human history. We are a global family and every single one of you is important. This is what I believe. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

With love,

Sharron

When I was still in elementary school one of my teachers informed the class that she would be able to procure penpals for us in Japan if we wished to have one. I eagerly signed up for the opportunity to communicate with someone from that land which seemed so far away. Before long I received a letter sent via air mail that was enclosed in light green onion skin paper with my name and address printed in lovely strokes. It was from my new penpal who was from Kyoto, Japan. 

She was a lovely young girl around my own age. I was impressed by her ability to write to me in English, and somewhat embarrassed that I had no idea how to use the Japanese language. I eagerly sent a response along with a photo of myself. It took time for each letter to reach across the expanse and back, but our correspondence nonetheless was extensive. Before long she had even sent me a package with a lovely book that was all about the city where she lived. The photographs were enchanting and I found myself longing to visit there one day and going to see her in person. 

I cannot say for certain what happened to our correspondence. Somehow it just fizzled out. Each of us began communicating less and less frequently until no more envelopes came in the mail, and I was so busy with other things that I did not feel compelled to enquire about why this had happened. I suppose that my youthfulness was more prone to inconsiderate behavior than it would have been today. I simply let our penpal friendship go, and evidently she was content to do so as well. Perhaps we had become bored with one another or maybe we just became busy with being teenagers in high school. Hopefully nothing tragic happened to her. Whatever the reason, our long distance friendship was over. 

I kept her letters and the book that she sent me for quite some time, but eventually tossed them. Now I can’t even recall her name, even though I am still able to see her face and those lovely views of Kyoto. As I have grown older I regret that I did not try harder to keep our communication going strong. I would love to have her name and her address. I am sure that she eventually married and may no longer have a connection with her former home, but I would at least have a way of seeking her if I had those bits of information.

I would still love to visit Japan one day, particularly Kyoto. I have a friend who lives in Tokyo and she posts the loveliest photos and stories about the Japanese people and the care that they take in making life so very special. She continually visits unique shops, restaurants, gardens. She takes classes to learn calligraphy, Japanese cooking, different painting styles. She is totally immersing herself in the culture while she can, including wearing traditional clothing and honoring national customs. She has fallen in love with Japan and its people and so have I through her incredible stories and pictures. 

I don’t know when international travel will be safe again or even when other nations will trust Americans not to bring disease to their shores. I want to visit Japan one day, but I want to do it when the citizens will be more open to my being there. I long to experience the art and culture and grandeur of this beautiful land. One of my first stops will be in Kyoto which, according to my friend and her images, is as lovely today as it was when my penpal shared the love of her city with me. 

I have never been a fan of sushi but I would not only want to try it while in Japan but I would also enjoy learning the techniques for preparing it in my own kitchen. I might become an amateur sushi chef for my grandchildren who are huge fans of the delight. I suspect that if prepared with care and the right ingredients it is indeed quite tasty. I want to know the proper ways of doing there and there is not better place that Japan to learn how.

The Japanese take so much effort to make even the smallest things a lovely experience. They take time to fold a napkin just the right way. They put love into a single cup of coffee. It’s little touches that differentiate so much of what they do, their dress, their art, their food, their homes, their cars, their appliances. There is a difference in quality that is worth any extra cost. 

I suppose that I will never again find my penpal. I hope she knew how much I enjoyed hearing from her. I pray that nothing bad happening to her. I truly want to believe that she has had a very good life. I can’t think of a more beautiful place that Kyoto to fulfill the dreams that she had. I’m truly sorry that my immaturity abandoned her so blithely. I wish that I might tell her that I never really forget her. She was a light in my life.  I wish her well.

By nature I am a quiet person, someone who generally goes with the flow of life without making  waves. I go about the routines of my life intent on doing so without drawing attention to myself. I doubt that I would ever be noticed in a crowd, which is exactly the way I like it to be. I have the personality of a diplomat, always doing my best to hear all sides of a disagreement and bring people together. Much of my career was spent being a peacemaker between disparate groups. Attempting to be fair, can be a difficult task. There have been times when my efforts to arbitrate not only failed, but also brought the ire of both sides down on me. I’ve had to remind myself that some of the most courageous brokers of peace, like Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., were assassinated. Walking the line of attempting to unify people can be wrought with difficulties, and yet it is what I have spent a lifetime attempting to do. 

What is a teacher if not someone who shows people how to think and assess without preconceived notions? I have considered it my duty to show my students how to ask questions, do research, consider conflicting arguments and search for truth. Because I was a mathematics teacher much of what I conveyed to my pupils was grounded in long accepted rules and algorithms, but my duties often required me to go beyond the confines of my carefully planned lessons. Every classroom is brimming with the good and bad aspects of humanity that are impossible to simply ignore. 

Over the span of my work life I have had to explain the drills for an active shooter situation or stop in the middle of my lessons to calm fears in the aftermath of a terrorist attack. My students have been distracted by the Challenger blowing apart before their eyes or the fear of being deported because they are Dreamers brought illegally to our country as children. Sometimes the issues that I had to address were far more personal like the death of a favorite teacher or classmate. On more than one occasion race became an issue for my pupils and I had to pause my rendering of quadrilaterals and exponents to listen to the raw feelings that poured forth from them. Most recently some of my kids have whispered their worries about Covid 19.

I have never believed that I should be afraid of confronting the concerns of my students or those of the members of my faculty. Sadly in today’s heated political environment there seems to be a trend that discourages honest dialogue. People want teachers to ignore the sincere concerns of students and stick with a canned version of reality that is glossed over without acknowledging the mistakes that we humans have made over time. 

If we are ever to become better versions of ourselves we have to confront the truth without fear. We do so not to make anyone feel ashamed, but to demonstrate that we are willing to accept that there have been and still are situations in which one group takes unfair advantage of another. We have to be willing to look at the entire history of the world with an open mind that is intent on learning from the injustices and cruelties of the past that have been perpetrated unfairly on particular people. 

I remember a time when there was great tension between rival groups in a school where I worked. I decided to provide my students with a lesson in critical thinking. We read differing accounts of the first shots of the American Revolution. Some were from eye witnesses of the event from both the British and American point of view. Others were from the era but came from hearsay. Finally there were descriptions from historians writing centuries later. My students read each article and we spoke of the possible biases that each contained. We talked about the differences between primary and secondary sources. Finally we had a long discussion of how their thoughts had been changed by looking at the event from differing points of view. 

Next we made a big circle and everyone who wanted to speak about the more current troubles within the school had an opportunity to talk, The rule was that we each had to listen and not just be ready to refute the real feelings that would be revealed. By the end of the session the students were admitting to a new understanding of why certain groups felt angry and misunderstood. 

We humans are all too often afraid of honesty. We want to look away when we see a problem or point a finger at someone other than ourselves. We boast about being fair and just and then show disdain for anyone who has ideas different from our own. We shout across our divides rather than making a circle and quietly coming to grips with our differing feelings and beliefs. We fear the truth and gloss over the horrors of our past rather than reconciling our ancestral mistakes. We muzzle those who cry, “Wolf!” in an attempt to pretend that all is well. None of us like controversy but if we are ever to reach a level of self-actualization in our world, we will have to be unafraid to follow a vision of truth telling in all things.

My life is an amusement park. Some of my experiences have been quiet, tame and routine like a merry-go-round. I know what to expect from day to day, and even though there are a few ups and downs they aren’t so bad that I don’t enjoy the ride. Sometimes I feel as though I am on a ferris wheel where I get a bird’s eye view of the world below me. I feel a little butterfly in my stomach when I’m going down, but the ride to the top is thrilling and quite enjoyable. The roller coaster days throw me. I’m whipped around and I become wary and concerned when the car carrying me goes almost vertical as it rises higher and higher. I know that I am in for a big drop. I feel the danger coming and it is uncomfortable, foreboding. Nonetheless, I have somehow managed to survive all of those terrifying downward motions each time they have come. I’ve been able to eventually laugh and count myself lucky time and again. I’d have to say that all and all my journey from ride to ride has been fun.

I’d also say my life has been a mountain climb. The pathways are ever changing from almost level and smooth to steep inclines filled with rocks and even boulders in my way. The trip has never been straight, but rather comprised of a series of switchbacks that test my stamina and determination. The rewards have been breathtaking when I arrive at a lake hidden in a valley or look out from on high at a vista that is like nothing I have ever before seen. I have not yet reached the summit, but I see it up ahead and I keep marching ever higher, sometimes panting for air and more often just steadily overcoming all of the hazards along in my way. It is a glorious experience and even when I am so exhausted that I think I cannot go any farther, I know that I have it in me to push just a bit more. Up ahead there is surely something remarkable.

My life has been a tour of weather. Around where I live that means that within the same month I might feel the heat of the sun bearing down on me or storms blustering with high winds and destructive floods. A cold spell might show up at any time leaving me hungering for warmth. Just when I am reveling in the contentment of blue skies and perfect temperatures it all changes into a frightening situation. On the whole, however, the rain is soft and nourishing for my plants and my soul. The variety of hot and cold makes life interesting. I have learned how to hunker down when I need to do so. I’ve seen that the loss of things is not as big a deal as a disruption of relationships. I adapt and go with the flow of the winds.

I always say that I am not very good at putting together jigsaw puzzles, but that is not really the truth, because my life has been one gigantic puzzle. Sometimes it looks jumbled and I feel as though I am a misfit. Then in a burst of discovery pieces begin to fly together without much effort at all. I’ve had times when someone knocked over the completed sections of my puzzle and everything fell apart. I had to begin again. I had to deal with my anger and disappointment. I had to develop patience and persistence. I had to back far enough away to realize that I was actually making progress in becoming the person I want to be. 

Life is truly a metaphor or is a metaphor life? How does one ever really know other than to embrace the experiences even when they are not what we had hoped they would be. Every single one of us will endure challenges that seem unbearable. We will have heartbreaking losses. Happily, there always seems to be a balance. We will enjoy times that are glorious, unforgettable. Most of our days will feel ordinary, routine, and yet those may in fact be the best of our lives.

I suppose that I am about average when it comes to life. I’ve had my share of hardship, but when my life has been good, which is most of the time, it has been very very good. I have been lucky to be surrounded by lovely and compassionate people for all of my days. They have been there to comfort me and to celebrate my joys. I can’t say that I have ever been abused or betrayed. I have a gift of intelligence, and I say that not to brag, but in the humility of gratitude. My ability to learn has helped me to overcome even my darkest days. The support of the people in my life has assured me that I will never be stuck alone in a horrible situation. My life has been bountiful even when I had little money. I know how to survive and that pushes me up the mountain, helps me to repair the damage of the weather, keeps me working on the puzzle that sometimes frustrates me. 

I don’t believe that life is a bowl of cherries nor was it meant to be. There has never been any miracle or magic that keeps us from encountering sorrow. Instead, if we are lucky, we learn how to find joy wherever we are and whatever our circumstances may be.