Month: November 2021

I have become a devoted fan of continuing education courses at Rice University. Since my husband and I both register for the various offerings each fall and spring it can become rather pricey to take as many classes as I would like, so I’ve had to carefully pick and choose. I’ve generally settled on historical topics because I’m fascinated by the parallels of human behavior from one time or place to another. While we are definitely evolving to better versions of our human selves it is a somewhat slow process that is often marked by backsliding from time to time. It is as though we are engaged in a grand and never ending experiment in social science that always seems to involve attempts to determine where power should lie and how goods should be shared. In spite of centuries of evidence regarding the errors and triumphs of our behavior, we always tend to focus on the present moment with a kind of tunnel vision that prevents us from seeing parallels with the past that might help us to build a better future. 

This fall I have been learning about the Victorian era which is far more interesting in its scope than just the long reigning Queen for whom the time is named. This was a moment of great change within the British Empire during which the colonial period would reach a peak and then slowly begin to fade. It was also a period when democracy would become more and more of a reality for the common white males of Britain. It would take until 1928, for the women to be included in the series of reforms that were enacted with respect to giving a real voice to ordinary souls in the government. The time of powerful and wealthy Lords vetoing reforms intended to provide decent lives to all of the people came abruptly to an end in the early years of twentieth century Britain. 

How we hand off power to the people is always complicated by economics and political ideals. Our systems often favor one group over another. Sometimes they even deny access to certain individuals. If only we were to actually spend more time honestly studying the ebb and flow of justice throughout history we might be more inclined to work together to create systems that are more fair and just for everyone. Instead we tend to be incredibly ignorant of the realities of not just our past, but also our present state. We take sides and vote mostly on emotion and personal beliefs that may or may not be valid. Learning history, when presented in an honest fashion using primary sources, becomes a stunningly eye opening experience. 

Suddenly there are efforts all over our country to prohibit the flow of certain kinds of information and theories. There is a kind of fear that neither we nor our young children should be exposed to ideas that make us feel uncomfortable. It is as though the idea of censoring truth is better for our psyches, when just the opposite is the more comforting proposition. 

It’s difficult to hear that Cecil Rhodes, the well known and often revered philanthropist, was not as upright as we want to believe. He explored Africa and claimed to have discovered land that he named Rhodesia after himself. Then he exported diamonds from his self proclaimed country and became one of the richest people in the world. Never mind that there were already native Africans living in the place that he basically invaded and stole. We don’t want to think ill of a man whose foundation has so generously given Oxford educations to students from around the world, but the evidence is very clear that what he did was wrong. 

If we are to truly bring justice to the world we have to be willing to look at the past and learn from it. There really is no alternative justification for slavery or for the Holocaust or any other misuse of power that resulted in brutal abuse to any group of people. We don’t need to remove books from school libraries that recall the horrors of the Jim Crow era. Instead we need more information on what really happened from the time of slavery to the present day so that we might avoid the egregious errors of the past as well as those that continue in the present.

We humans have never lived in Disneyland. Life has often been brutish and short for those on the bottom of the societal ladder. Instead of ignoring their cries as they strive to lift themselves up, it’s time we listened with open minds. The civil rights movement is not yet over and we might begin to improve on the reforms that we have often reluctantly enacted by being honest about the horrors of our past. While we don’t want to get stuck in finger pointing and anger, we can use hard truths to craft better more just ways of living together in a spirit of understanding. Instead of harping on a few individuals who destroy property or some confusing thoughts about redesigning our police forces, we should be actively determining how we can intelligently remove barriers to voting. We can honor the voices of those brave enough to tell us their stories of pain and despair. 

History shows us that our greatest moments come when we face our demons and work together to create a better world for everyone. We have to emerge from our bubbles of self preservation long enough to see the realities of others who do not yet enjoy the sense of safety and security that we often take for granted. We should be working together to provide more representation for the underserved, not less. Our efforts should encourage people to vote, not limit their ability to do so. We should all be against any efforts to gerrymander certain groups to power. The dream of democracy should be bold enough to include everyone. History tells us that truth is the road to better lives for us all. We may have to see some heroes in a more human light to get there, but that’s okay. Facing our past and our present with unmitigated honesty is the beginning of being free. We all need more history in the raw, not less.

I’ve always had an aversion to being in a crowd. There have been too many times when I felt a total loss of control over my situation as I was literally moving in tandem with the people around me with no other possibility. I’ve left college football games with the feeling that I was being herded like a calf. I just kept moving forward step by step hoping that I would not fall and be trampled by the surge of bodies pressing against me. As I grew older and less confident in my ability to stay on my feet, I learned to wait in my seat until the initial flow of humanity had left the premises. 

Most of the time I’ve laughed at myself for being a bit too claustrophobic and admitted to feeling silly for becoming so anxious in a moving mass of humanity. I have generally been strong enough to hold my own in any situation. Decades ago when the Houston Rockets won the National Championship I attended a parade in honor of their victory in downtown Houston with a friend and one of my daughters. We arrived early for the event and landed a curbside spot that was guaranteed to give us a fabulous view of the players as they passed. We had to wait for quite some time but we didn’t mind at all. We had come prepared with water and snacks and an upbeat attitude. 

Everything was fine until just before the event started. Suddenly people from behind us began to push forward in an effort to get a better view. My daughter immediately showed us how to lock arms so that we would be able to keep our footing without being pushed aside. Her strategy worked and the efforts to move us stopped. I felt victorious in standing our ground, but also had a bit of concern as I thought of what might have happened to us if anyone had fallen with the pressure from behind.

I’ve had countless similar encounters and I have found that as I have grown older and less able to withstand pushing and shoving. I worry more about being hurt in a crowd these days. I’ve had terrifying experiences getting on and off of trains during rush hour in New York City and London. I solved such dilemmas by timing my travel during off hours rather than sparring with my fellow humans when the throngs were at their peak. 

When we visited Buckingham Palace a couple of years ago I was enveloped in a sea of people. I was just beyond the fence behind very large men who never thought to notice that if they had let me stand in front of them we all would have still had a wonderful view. It was a young girl who realized how anxious I was becoming from being encased in the sea of tourists. She sweetly pulled me to the front where I had room both to see and to breathe. 

By far the worst situation I have ever endured was at Epcot in DisneyWorld on New Year’s Eve about fifteen years ago. We had spent the day there with our children and grandchildren and decided to stay for the fireworks display in the evening. The crowd had grown and grown as the hours passed and it had become difficult to walk from one place to another. Nonetheless we found a spot for gazing into the sky where we parked our little ones who were resting in strollers. The two bigger boys were helping to watch over them and entertain them until the pyrotechnics lit up the sky.

Just as with that Rockets parade latecomers began to push their way into our area, seemingly oblivious of the little children who were with us. One woman almost knocked over the stroller where my youngest grandson sat in her attempt to get a good view of the proceedings. We were surrounded by people before we totally understood the danger of the situation. My husband and sons-in-law each hoisted a little one high above their heads and me and my daughters held or lifted the older children. The crowd was raucous and a few heated comments were exchanged but we all managed to delight in the dazzling display, thinking that the danger was behind us.

When it was time to leave a violent and convulsive pushing of bodies began. My eldest daughter had to get aggressive with a woman who thoughtlessly almost stepped on one of the children. A war of words ensued as my daughter made it clear that thoughtless adults were endangering children all around them. When the other people in the crowd realized the seriousness of the dilemma they joined together to create a corridor through which we might pass unscathed. While I appreciated the group effort, I did not catch a normal breath until we were once more out in the open. I pledged that I would do my best to never again be in such a dangerous situation.

We all like to have fun times, to attend events that attract crowds. We go to rock concerts and parades. We visit the rodeo or watch our favorite sporting teams play. It’s almost impossible to totally avoid crowded situations without foregoing some of the most memorable moments. We rarely think of the inherent dangers in being in such places, and yet there is always an element of potential harm when people are pushing together.

Sadly, we have endured a terrible tragedy in Houston this past weekend, one that was supposed to be fun and provide a sense of normalcy after so much heartache from COVID-19. A festival of music in the complex that once was home to AstroWorld attracted thousands of people to gather just to have a good time. There were folks of all ages in the crowd, including young children, when something went terribly wrong. For some reason there was a collective surge forward. Those standing closest to the stage were compressed and crushed. There was no place for them to go, no way to escape. Before the hysteria stopped eight people had been injured so badly that they died. Hundreds more were hurt. It was a devastating situation for those impacted by the tragedy as well as for our entire city. A collective sense of grief and wonderment that such a thing could happened hovers over us like a shroud. For me it is particularly stunning because I know how quickly a moment can turn from delightful to dangerous.

I don’t know how to make large gatherings safer, but I do believe that we have to find ways to try to do so. I suppose that if we were all to use our own common sense as well as a genuine respect for each other such disasters would never happen. Sadly there will always be those who don’t seem to notice the needs of those around them. They push and shove and start a chain reaction with devastating potential. Fun turns to horror when we don’t help each other. I feel fortunate that when I most needed others to help keep me safe there were heroes who stepped forth. I am grieving for those who were not as lucky. 

One day shortly after I came home with my newborn second child I found my eldest daughter hiding in a corner of her room crying. She was only three years old and I knew that she was having a somewhat difficult time adjusting to having a baby sister in the house. When I went to comfort her she quickly turned her face away from me as if she were hiding some terrible secret. I hugged her and told her that whatever was happening would be alright. That’s when she blurted out that she had “killed the baby.” 

I was stunned by her admission but I knew that her confession was not true because I had just checked on the infant who was sleeping peacefully in her crib. When I asked my little toddler why she thought she had harmed her sister she confessed that she had tried to trim her sibling’s fingernails with the little pair of safety scissors that she had seen me use. She cried that she was only trying to help but that somehow she had cut one of the baby’s fingers causing her to bleed. There was so much heartfelt sorrow in her voice that I took her with me to see for herself that she had not accidentally harmed her sister fatally. We both saw that she had only knicked one of the fingers, but otherwise all was well. 

I thanked my little girl for being honest and admitting her mistake. I told her that it was good and brave of her to do so. We talked about caring for one another and being truthful. I knew that she was sincerely regretful about her actions but also frightened. I admitted that I should not have left the scissors where she could find and use them. That was my mistake. We spoke of how everyone messes up now and then and that the important thing is never to hide our wrongdoing. I told her that I was proud of her for wanting to help with her sister and even more happy that she had been truthful about what she had done. 

We humans are imperfect. I doubt there has been a single person who ever lived on this earth who made it through a lifetime without making many mistakes. We mess up again and again which is actually quite natural. We make wrong decisions, bad choices that affect us and others. The mature individual does not hide in a corner crying over such things. A sign of a truly ethical adult is the willingness to accept blame for wrongdoing. It takes tremendous courage to admit to messing things up, and when someone is willing to do so it is an admirable thing. 

I often think that the final message that Jesus left us was about confession and reconciliation. When the thief on the cross next to His begged for forgiveness, Jesus did not hesitate to absolve the man for his crimes and then assured him that he would be rewarded for his honesty and contrition. Sadly we seem to either ignore or forget about that touching scene in our tendencies to cover up misdeeds. We are all too often uncomfortable with someone who speaks the truth and begs for atonement. Thus we witness a great deal of prevarication in society that breeds more and more distrust.

History demonstrates clearly how we all too often behave like children hiding our misdeeds or miscalculations. It is the rare hero who is willing to admit to being wrong. Instead we make excuses for the messes that we make. We want to believe that those who bought and sold humans and then held them in bondage did not actually understand that what they were doing was wrong. We pretend that neighbors who saw their Jewish friends being taken away in boxcars probably had no idea what was actually happening. We find flimsy excuses for our own misdeeds. When we see that rare person who actually stands up and publicly admits to making a mistake we all too often view their actions as weakness rather than courage. 

There has been a great deal of discussion about the tarnished reputation for Colin Powell because of his part in urging the world to invade Iraq to oust Saddam Hussein. He was convinced that the Iraqis had weapons of mass destruction that posed a clear and present danger to us all. To this day no evidence has been found to support his contention. He appears to have been wrong and he has admitted just that time and again. He did not hide nor lay blame on anyone but himself. He did not even ask us to forgive him. He simply stated that he had made a horrible mistake for which he was deeply sorry. 

We should have taught her children and ourselves about courage and nobility of character from Colin Powell’s example. Instead we continue to harp on his error. He might have whined that he was given false information or that he was only attempting to be loyal to the people for whom he worked, but instead he accepted full responsibility for his own actions, something we have seen so little of in recent times, and throughout history for that matter. 

We all know how difficult it is to be honest about our flaws and the things that we have done wrong. We want to gloss them over when we should lay them bare. Perhaps it is because the act of confession and repentance should be a two way street. We have sadly learned that sometimes even the genuinely contrite soul is not able to move the hearts of those from whom he/she is seeking forgiveness. Those who have been hurt must also be willing to accept genuine contrition. We cannot heal wounds if we build walls of silence and lies around us. We have to learn how to have some very difficult conversations that honor truth and restore trust. It is time for courage.

I read an interesting editorial the other day that spoke of the prescience of the nineteen-eighties movie, The Thing. In that cult classic there is a murderous creature loose at a research station in Antarctica that is capable of taking any shape. As the tension mounts in the story the main character leaves a message that we might all relate to in these times, “We don’t trust anyone and we are very tired.” As the author of the editorial explained our divisiveness and the preponderance of lies and propaganda that is everywhere these days is overwhelming us as a society. At the very moment when we should be working together, compromising and cooperating we are steadfastly against each other. It has caused us to be wary of one another and to become exhausted.

For a time I spent a great deal of time attempting to be rational, thinking about the pandemic, our presidential elections, the needs of the people of our nation. I was certain that we all desired to join hands together to do the heavy lifting and make the sacrifices that were necessary to get past the impact of events of the past two years. I believed that we all agreed on certain basic ideas, like getting the people of the world well, taking care of those who were struggling,  keeping our children safe and educated, supporting our medical community. What I have learned is that in too many instances politics has been “the thing” that is creating problems that need never have happened. Over time I have grown weary of even trying to convince people of the actions that I believe we should all be willing to take so that we might more quickly return to a normal way of living. More often than not, I have been attacked for caring about the well-being of my fellow humans. As a result I am exceedingly tired, as I believe that most of us are.

Back when I was a college student I had mastered the art of the power nap. No matter how much pressure I was feeling, I was able to shut down in the middle of the day for a twenty to thirty minute nap that totally refreshed me and provided me with the energy that I needed to tackle my studies. People often told me that they eschewed naps because they always overslept and awoke feeling groggy. This was never a problem for me and the power nap became the cornerstone of my ultimate success in academics. 

When I became a mom I used this wonderful ability to keep up with the demands of my toddlers and eventually teens. I only needed a short rest to be revitalized and ready to match the boundless energy of my children. Once again my ability to recharge quickly was a boon to my motherhood. The people around me thought I was a clone of the Eveready Bunny.

I worked very long hours as an educator, often leaving my home in the morning before the sun had risen and returning after dark in the evening. Most days I still had papers to grade, phone calls to parents to make, lesson plans to prepare. Of course I also had a family with whom I wanted to spend time. I was often able to eliminate my exhaustion with a fifteen minute power nap before dinner. 

Somehow all of that has changed in the last two years. My optimism has been stressed by the rancor and lack of cooperation that I witness more often than I ever recall in the past. I have been shocked by the ways that we are treating one another. I still cannot believe that there is so little cooperation among using a very difficult time. I cannot believe that the Republicans are so consistently unwilling to work with the Democrats and vice versa. What I see is a group of people who are supposed to represent us, worrying more about whether or not they will be reelected than doing what they believe is good for our country. All of that makes me very very tired and suddenly I find that my power naps no longer work. 

When I take a nap these days I snooze for hours, not minutes. When I awake I am still tired and can’t find enough energy to complete the rest of my daily tasks. So I now avoid the temptation to rest in the middle of the day lest I end up feeling like a slug. My super power nap now eludes me. 

Perhaps this new phenomenon is little more than a factor of age. Maybe I have become like my mother who would nap each afternoon for two or three hours and then retire for bed by nine. Maybe we become like infants over time, needing more and more sleep than when we were young adults. My loss of the power nap may in fact just be a natural transition into a new phase of my life, not a reaction to events of the world. Nonetheless I miss that remarkable ability. My type A, gung ho personality pushes me to get things done, but the groggy feeling that overtakes me each afternoon impedes my ability to be my old self.

Increasingly I have to pace myself in ways that were not necessary even a couple of years ago. That makes me wonder if I am simply reacting to the state of our nation. I abhor conflict. I dislike controversy. I believe in diplomacy and compromise. We are all different and have varying ideas of how to get along. We have to work together to tackle today’s problems as well as those of the future. When we continually distrust each other and refuse to compromise so that everyone gets a seat at the table we become very tired. That is where I am now. Maybe one day we will realize that “the thing” will kill us if we do not work together to bring it down. I hope we figure that out soon.   

I was an eighteen year old college freshman when Star Trek first came to television. It took no time for me to become an instant fan of the show in spite of the sometimes maudlin acting and rather amateurish production techniques. The stories were what mattered to me, along with the development of the characters, all of whom I adored. Later in the early years of motherhood, my husband would attend graduate classes at the university during the day and then work an evening shift at one of the downtown banks. I’d wait for him to come home, usually at around ten thirty just after the local nightly new program. Sometimes he came bearing hot dogs from the original downtown James Coney Island location and we would joyfully munch on those delightful sandwiches while watching reruns of Star Trek. To this very day I count those simple times as some of the best moments of my entire life. What could possibly be better than munching on the best hot dogs in America while viewing the adventures of Captain Kirk, Spock, Bones and the rest of the Enterprise crew?

Some pleasures never get old and watching the original Star Trek episodes is one of those things. Unfortunately, I have grown old along with the cast of that iconic program. Spock played by Leonard Nimoy is no longer with us. William Shatner who was once the dashing Captain Kirk is ninety years old. Nonetheless, he managed to bring that old familiar feeling of innocent joy to my face with his recent quick journey into space. In these intensely difficult times it seemed so right for “Captain Kirk” to be providing us all with a reason to smile once again. 

Star Trek premiered in September of 1966. By 1968, the country would seem to be slowly devolving into a pit of violence and despair. War, protests, assassinations had become the stuff of the nightly news. When I married in October of 1968, the priest who spoke at my wedding marveled at how much faith it took to plan a future in the world of that moment. Fifty three years later, we are still here and ironically facing even more daunting challenges. In the midst of all the furor and uncertainty it was delightful to dream again of a future in which humankind overcomes the difficulties that hold us down on this earth. There was an older, less athletic, William Shatner bravely going forth into the unknown. Somehow his momentary visit to space reminded so many of us that we do indeed have the capability of overcoming the problems on this earth if only we use the many tools that we have as people. 

The key to the success of the crew of the Enterprise was in their relationships. They complimented one another with their talents. Sometimes they disagreed on how things should be done, but always they respected their differences. That crew was way ahead of the rest of us in those days back in the sixties of the twentieth century. They relied on the expertise of a woman in a manner unheard of back then. Uhura was an officer of astounding abilities in linguistics and communication. She was the first Black female character to be portrayed in a leadership role for a national audience. The crew valued her in ways that few women experienced in the work world of 1966. 

Sulu, an Asian, was the chief helmsman of the Enterprise. Spock was a man of mixed heritage, part human and part Vulcan. Such diversity was a radical concept when the series first aired and yet we all grew to love the characters and to understand the value of each person on board the ship. Mostly we saw how dependent and loyal the characters were with one another. While they sometimes had clashes of opinion, they ultimately understood when to be more rational like Spock or when to accept the sometimes emotional medical advice of Bones. 

William Shatner’s recent adventure resurrected the hopefulness that was the ever present in those episodes of Star Trek. In his own words, he went “where no old man has gone before.” Shatner also noted that he hopes he never forgets the incredible feeling that overcame his emotions as his rocket barreled through the blue skies and beyond earth’s atmosphere into space. He wished that each of us might one day have the opportunity to experience such a remarkable journey. 

It’s unlikely that I will ever venture into space, but perhaps one of my grandchildren or great grandchildren will one day travel beyond the planet into faraway realms. Maybe we will find answers to the many problems that we now face in the kind of innovation that has freed us from the bonds of gravity. With a bit of luck and determination we may one day learn to become more universally accepting of diversity, for it is in our prejudices that most of our problems lie. We also need to realize that being stuck in a certain way of thinking or believing or acting is deadly. To be truly alive we must be willing to really live and change and try new ideas. It’s never too late to learn something new. Even a ninety year old man can leave the pull of gravity and travel to new worlds. How wonderful is that!