Month: December 2021

As Ralphie proclaims in A Christmas Story, Christmas Eve was the highlight of the kid year for me. I’d wait all day long on December 24, for my mother to finally announce that it was time for us to pile into the car for our annual pilgrimage to Grandma’s tiny house to take part in the Ulrich family Christmas celebration. I was always anxious on the way over because I knew that only those who arrived early enough would be able to claim one of the few coveted seats in the living room. My uncles would bring in all of the dining chairs and a few folding pieces to augment the sparse number of seats that were normally there. It would be every man woman and child for himself to stake out a claim to a place for resting one’s posterior. 

My mother was always a safe driver which I greatly appreciated, but on that night I wanted her to drive our Ford like a crazed racer. Sadly, she always stayed the course of responsible navigating and so I fairly wriggled myself into a frenzy of anticipation as we moved through the streets of southeast Houston toward the area just east of downtown where my grandmother lived. I would tick off the landmarks as we inched closer and closer, hoping that we would be lucky enough to beat the crowd. 

Of course Mama new exactly what she was doing and invariably I would see that we were among the first guests to arrive. With a sigh of relief I’d note that I had my pick of great seats as my Grandma Ulrich padded across the room to greet us. She was as short and round as Mrs. Santa Claus, and the the graying braid of her hair fell down along her back, leaving her wrinkled round face to radiate a beautiful smile at us. She always wore the same shapeless cotton dresses that had grown faded and soft from being laundered hundreds of times. If it was cold she wore a  woolen beanie on her head and warmed her feet in fleece-lined slippers. If it was a warm Houston Christmas, which was more often than not, her feet would be bare. 

Grandma Ulrich spoke only a few phrases in English. Otherwise her communication with her children was in Slovak, a language foreign to all of us grandchildren. She had come to the United States from Trencin about 1913, and rumor has it that she had actually spoken some English at an earlier time, but by the 1950s and 1960s when I was still a youngster she had seemingly lost all ability to communicate in English and she was virtually a hermit in her home. She was an enigma to me, but somehow I knew that she understood who we were and she communicated her love with smiles and body language and by referring to each of us as “pretty girl” or “pretty boy.”

On Christmas Eve there would always be a small tree inside the living room that my uncles had purchased and decorated. Theirs was a valiant effort of rather ugly plastic ornament and lights made to look a bit more festive with silver icicles. In later years the real tree would be replaced with an aluminum one that no longer required much more effort than turning on a light that reflected various colors onto the metallic limbs.

The room was always filled with the aroma of fresh citrus and apples piled into huge enamel bowls along with nuts of every variety. This was my Grandma’s splurge, a feast of plenty that was not available during ordinary times. The dining table in the next room was festooned with the biggest Whitman’s Sampler that I had ever seen and fresh loaves of bread. Best of all, my grandmother would play her role as hostess by bringing every man, woman and child a cup of the coffee that she brewed in a big white enamel pot. The children’s version was heavily diluted with generous scoops of sugar and a mixture of one third cup of milk. I suppose that was my first exposure to a kind of latte. 

After surveying the scene and placing Grandma’s gifts under the tree we would find our seats and pray that we would have no reason to leave them during the proceedings. Once the entire crowd had arrived those places to rest became coveted territory and even simply standing to give someone a hug might result in the loss of a resting place. The rules were unwritten, but everyone understood how they worked. It was an equal opportunity contest that disregarded age and manners. 

Ours was a raucous affair with the loudest voices dominating the conversations. Our was perhaps the original Griswold family Christmas, with a cast of characters fit for our own movie. Since my manner of speaking was rather quiet I tended to simply listen to my aunts and uncles holding court. My grandmother usually sat in a chair in the corner with her feet dangling but not quite touching the floor. Hers was the only reserved spot in the place, her throne from whence she watched the kingdom of children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren that she had helped to create. Like most mothers she delighted in having the whole crew under her roof.

When the moment for presenting gifts to her arrived, everyone watched the expression on her face to determine whose present she appeared to like best. The offerings were usually new dress and night gowns along with more slippers to warm her feet. Sometimes there were flowers or sweets as well. She would smile and laugh and make each of us feel her appreciation. Then she would promptly take the gifts to her bedroom, rarely to be seen again. 

The highlight of the evening came when my uncles announced the drawing of envelopes containing money prizes that might have anywhere from one to one hundred dollars inside. There seemed to be lucky family members who selected the biggest prizes year after year and those of us who tucked away our one dollar bonuses in the hopes that maybe next year we would get the big one. 

Eventually us kids released our seats to weary grownups and ended the party outside playing games and watching the celebrations at nearby homes. Mama would end our ecstasy by reminding us that we had to get home before midnight or Santa Claus might pass by our house. We’d reluctantly leave our cousins behind with another fabulous Christmas Eve at Grandma’s house already becoming a fond memory.

When I think of how simple those times were, I am amazed at how much we enjoyed them. I suppose that what was really happening inside that tiny little house was the outpouring of love that we felt from our grandmother, our aunts and uncles and our cousins. Of course times change. The family grew and grew. My Grandma Ulrich died. My aunts and uncles left this earth one by one. We cousins developed new traditions with our own families. Now we rarely see each other unless it is for a wedding or a funeral. We speak longingly of those Christmas Eves and promise again and again that we will do a better job of getting together. Somehow life pulls us in so many directions that it just never happens, but each of us recalls the magic of those nights before Christmas. We think of our grandmother walking across the room with mugs of coffee in her hands as she sweetly smiles and calls us “pretty boys and girls.” No gift we have received since then is as precious as that memory. 

Now I hang one of my grandmother’s plastic ornaments on my tree each year. It’s a silver angel that reminds me of Grandma’s sweetness. On Christmas day I fill one of her enamel bowls with apples and oranges and nuts. I still drink my coffee with lots of milk and sugar and see my round little grandmother walking toward me in welcome. These visions are always the very best gift I might receive.

It’s been a year of ups and downs and mostly waiting. It’s been a year that forced me to be patient, something that I should have learned long ago, but was always too impatient to attempt to do. Somehow in spite of my hissy fits when things were taking too long, the world moved forward at its own pace, not mine. I had to admit through gritted teeth that I can’t always get what I want, when I want it. 

It began at the dawn of 2021, when news of pending vaccines began to circulate in earnest. I was so eager to get the protection that the jab promised that I hunted down possibilities late each night and before the sun rose each morning. I became obsessed with the idea of getting those glorious antibodies in my system. As per my personality I was unwilling to just sit back and wait for someone to call and offer me a shot. Getting an appointment for one became a competitive sport, but, alas, I had to wait my turn like everyone else. Soon enough I had completed my series of inoculations and was more than ready to emerge back into the world, that I’d learn was not quite ready to operate on my terms. 

I’m that person who gets up before dawn and gets things done weeks before they are due. I know the meaning of procrastination, but have never been a victim of its last minute theory of getting things done. Adapting to a slow motion way of life was difficult for me, but I had no choice but to change my ways, starting with watching my freeze damaged plants take forever to show signs of life again. 

I waited weeks for a new fence that took three times longer than normal to build because of strange and unexpected problems. I had to call multiple contractors to repair my chimney because the first folks never showed up for appointments. There was a waiting list for materials and labor that seemed unbearably long. Every situation became one of “hurry up and wait.” Nonetheless by years end the generator I had ordered in March finally arrived and is almost ready to work. The drainage issue that plagued me has been resolved. The materials to repair my damaged trailer finally came after four months. 

Life is good and even better than before because this old dog indeed learned some new tricks along the way. I found some earnestly good folks to do the repairs that I needed. I saw that they were as frustrated as I was. I found out how to take a deep breath and be more understanding when life did not follow the revved up timelines that have always guided me. I slowed down along with everyone else, albeit not always willingly. 

I have realized more than ever how interconnected we all are. We are in this gigantic boat that is experiencing both violent storms and long periods of the doldrums. We are only going to get through this unprecedented time if we work together and quit complaining and blaming. Every person is trying to navigate the waters as best he or she can. Once I understood and accepted that, I found the humanity in each person who came to help me whether it was the people who gave me those jabs or the laborers who worked in the swampy muck on the side of my house. They all woke up each morning hoping to make the world a little bit better and they rushed around in a slower tempo attempting to meet all of the pent up demands. 

I suppose that we will all remember these times. I attempt to write about them because I can’t be sure how much longer I have on this earth to convey a sense of what this tiny point of history has been like. What I do know is that I have encountered hero after hero throughout the year. It may have felt like slow motion, but perhaps it is good that we have had to alter our usual impatience.

We are a nation of plenty. Most of us are accustomed to getting exactly what we want, when we want it. Sadly not everyone enjoys such privilege. Instead of grinching about what we are missing or how much things cost this year, perhaps we should be more aware than ever of the incredible blessings that we have. As Christmas day nears some quiet reflection on how lucky we actually are might provide us with the greatest gift of all, the gift of appreciation. 

If all goes well I will gather with my family this year. We will not have to greet each other in a Zoom session like we did last year. We will don our gay apparel which may include masks and proof of vaccination. There will be hugs all around and maybe even some tears of joy after the long wait. Our patience will have lead to a most glorious realization that the only things that matter are people, not possessions. 

This year and the one before has taught me to take a deep breath and hope for the best. It has slowed my rambunctious nature. Nothing has to happen right now. The only thing to hurry for is love.    

How do we really know someone and how do they really know us? Even with some of the closest friendship there are often aspects of a person that remain unknown. Perhaps the most revealing relationships are between a mother and her children or a husband and wife. Even then it is possible that there may be secrets. It might even be argued that sometimes we do not even know ourselves. 

On our own we tend to be more critical of faults that we see in ourselves that are not so apparent to others. We analyze ourselves down to the last flaws on our bodies, which are often unnoticeable to everyone else. In extreme cases individuals engage in a kind of unhealthy self-criticism. They actually feel unworthy of any compliments that may come their way, instead believing that if only others knew more about them, they would be shunned by society. 

I have often found that my most difficult students were beset by a kind of self loathing. They found themselves wanting when compared to the other people around them. Often they attempted to cover their self hate with jokes, outrageous behavior or even by attempting to simply blend into the shadows. They were sad little souls who for whatever reason had been beaten down. They were not always easy to spot. Often the seemingly most confident and happy youngsters were hiding concerns that were dark and heavy. 

I always became very attached to my students. I cared deeply for each and every one of them. I came to realize how many were carrying unfathomable baggage that hindered their happiness in one way or another. Not wanting to pry, I simply worried about some. Others found solace in my presence and opened up to me about the things that were bothering them. I often felt overwhelmed by the stories that I heard, knowing that in all but a few cases there was very little that I might do to change things for them. Instead I attempted to provide them with outlets that helped develop their talents and gave them a realization of how much they had to offer a sometimes unforgiving world. 

When I think of babies I smile. Most of them are born flawlessly innocent and inquisitive. The environment in which they develop along with genetic tendencies begin to influence the trajectory of their lives in positive and negative ways. The boy who began life with the potential of exceptional intelligence suddenly lapsed into failure after witnessing his mother’s murder at the hands of his father. It took great patience and the love of a village of adults to pull him out of the doldrums of sorrow and guilt and then to put him back on track to becoming the person that he had every possibility of being. I often wonder what might have happened to him without the understanding of a determined aunt and a host of teachers who saw his inner goodness in spite of his ugly rants in the classroom. How many people are instead relegated to the trash heap because it is unpleasant to be around them?

I have story after story of young people forced to endure abuse, horrific tragedies, and illnesses that left them teetering on the brink of giving up on themselves. They were often quite difficult to like or even to try to care about. Many times such souls simply wander into adulthood without direction. They are described by society with words like lazy, ignorant, trashy, thugs. Sometimes that’s exactly how they act. Sadly most of them might have been saved from such epithets if only someone had helped them to see what lay within them before their bad habits became ironclad beliefs about who they are. 

I cringe when I hear people complaining about the cost of programs that attempt to provide people with proper medical care, counseling, education, food and housing. Much of the violence that we see in the world would be eliminated if all people felt their true worth and then had opportunities to develop their talents. I have watched the KIPP Charter schools teach students the power of learning, hard work and being nice. I am often stunned and also elated by the numbers of former KIPP students who are the first to earn college degrees in their families. Many become lifelong learners who earn advanced degrees or certifications. Even those without college work harder than the average soul. They accept the challenges of rigorous tasks and never give up when times become difficult. 

It took great effort from hundreds of adults to get them to a point of realizing how much more they were capable of doing. Starting with their parents, counselors, coaches, and devoted teachers pushed them to find their uniqueness and the talents that were inside them all along. The system was small enough that nobody was left behind. Everyone had a champion or many champions to support them. 

We tend to be eager to pay for whatever our military needs. We like roads to be repaired and want our mail to arrive in a timely fashion. We even allow that schools need our tax money within reason, but we waver when it comes to talk of programs that might lift up the marginal citizens of our society. We are not so sure that we want to spend our funds on early childhood education or free junior colleges. We grinch about living wages and help for childcare. We are happy with our own medical insurance but don’t really want to spend anymore on those who go without such a luxury. We relegate mental health to the margins and even trivialize the incidence of such illnesses. We punish addictive behaviors rather than creating programs for rehabilitation. We leave a large segment of the population to fend for themselves no matter how difficult that may be.

I venture to say that there is a direct correlation between social programs designed to lift up individuals and a decrease in unemployment, violence and crime. If we long for a better world we must start by meeting the needs of one person at a time until everyone understands that we want them to succeed. That is how we eradicate the self doubt and even self hate that leads to desperation and desperate acts. I’ve seen a caring attitude work miracles. Think of the possibilities if that attitude were taken nationwide. Isn’t that the reason that Jesus came to live among us? Isn’t that the message of this season?

This is an exhausting time of year for students, parents and teachers, especially those in middle school and high school. It is as though everything is converging at once. Not only are there midterm exams, but anyone taking a course in music or dance is no doubt involved in presenting a concert or performance. Then there are tons of projects coming due as well. Seniors in high school also have to meet deadlines for applications to universities. Many teachers develop ideas for special days or plays that require students to come to school in costumes.

While all of this sounds good on paper, when it is all put together in one moment in time you have students losing sleep and parents stressing out trying to help them across the holiday finish line. Without cross communication nobody appears to notice just how overwhelming it all is for everyone. Even worse is when well-intentioned teachers assign more reading and projects for the students to complete over the Christmas break, thus assuring that it won’t be much of a vacation for the family. 

The usual response that I hear when I bring up such things is that kids need to be prepared for college and real life which will be even busier. While I agree that the ultimate outcome from education should make certain that youngsters have learned the skills of balancing sometimes unrelenting workloads with leisure, I would note that even college students are allowed to totally rest during the winter break. Once they have turned in their papers, projects and exams they are done until the next semester begins, usually three or four weeks later. So it is with employees as well. Vacation time is usually just that, a time to rest and relax completely. Even teachers are mostly able to design their duties in such a way that they are able to set aside all thoughts of grading and planning until they return from the holidays. It is often not so for middle and high school students. By default, this situation crimps the plans of parents as well.

Never once during my decades of teaching did I send my students home for the holidays with an assignment. I already knew that they were most likely to wait until the eleventh hour to haphazardly do such work, so there was little point in ruining their fun and relaxation. I understood that families travel, plan special events, have visitors, and just like to spend time together over the winter break. I always believed that it was perhaps even more important to the development of young people to spend quality time with family and friends than completing math problems. 

I sense that everyone is somewhat exhausted at this time of year. It’s difficult to focus on the meaning of the season when people have to race from one practice to another, attend multiple events and also be up to speed on homework, studying for tests and completing special projects. Such things may look good on the outside but it seems to me that we have less and less quiet time with our families or special friends.We are rushing about much too often. Many of the Christmas meltdowns and disagreements come from the frustrations of being incredibly tired. 

We seem to want to create perfection at Christmas time. We busy ourselves with so many tasks that everyone feels a bit anxious and stressed. Then we wonder why our children are crying and/or pitching fits. We become our own caricatures of the families in Christmas Vacation or Elf. We lose sight of why we are even celebrating. 

I think we would do well to dial things back. We don’t have to fill every minute of every day with either fun or work for our children. They often learn some of the very best lessons when left to their own imaginations. It’s nice to allow them moments to decide on their own what they want to do, even if that means catching up on their sleep or walking aimlessly during a day now and again. Everything does not need to be a party or a reason for costumes or decorations. 

I teach a family of children who speaking glowingly of a gigantic bingo game hosted by their grandparents that happens every Christmas. They spend the holiday just laughing and playing with dozens of cousins. There is nothing fancy about it, but it creates precious memories simply because it is dedicated to just loving each other without worries about work or things that must be done. I wonder as a teacher how often we unwittingly interfere with the joy of such things by burdening our students with unnecessary work. 

Childhood goes by quickly. If we blink our kids are all grown up and working everyday, sometimes faraway. We need to insist that when it is holiday time we provide them with the freedom to be away from all the demands that we place on then during the rest of the year. Let them have fun, most especially when they are teens. Soon enough they will be bearing the responsibilities of being and adult. We don’t need to deck the halls all of the time.

My husband’s mother died just before Christmas about eighteen years ago. She was a force of nature with unparalleled wisdom and compassion. We were devastated by her death because she was like unbreakable glue holding our family together. Sadly she never met the youngest of her great grandchildren and of those that she doted on while she was alive only two were old enough to actually remember her. 

We muddled through the Christmas season that year, celebrating in the ways that had become our routine, but it all felt quite strange and flat without her. Over time we moved forward with our lives just as we humans must do. Now her life and essence are but memories for us that brighten our hearts as we recall the fantastic woman that she always was. 

I suppose that I have thought more about her this Christmas season than ever before. Two of the grandchildren that she did not get to meet are now eighteen years old and preparing to graduate from high school and head to college next fall. One of them is the only girl in the pack of six boys, and that young woman is so much like her great Granny that it almost boggles my mind. 

My mother-in-law, Mary, was a brilliant woman with a strong will. She was one of those people who suffered no fools. She had once dreamed of becoming an interpreter and moving to Washington D.C. or New York City to work with the power brokers of the political world. She was a student of many things including history, religion, and government. She had an uncanny business sense and had no qualms about standing up to men even in an era when women were sometimes thought to be little more than caretakers for their husbands. 

Mary was born with a heart defect and had been told by doctors that she would probably die before she was thirty. She was advised to never have children because of her damaged heart. She defied the predictions on both points. With extraordinary medical measures she delivered a son who was the light of her world. She lived for seventy-six years, long enough to gain a bit more longevity by having open heart surgery when she was in her forties. 

Mary never got to the halls of power with her linguistic talent, but she made a mark on the places where she worked as a bookkeeper and accountant. She was a defender of civil rights and women’s issues in the pioneering days. She read voraciously about philosophies and religions. She attended continuing education classes and Rice University where she had once been a student. There she learned about political currents and historical impacts on our world. In conversations she predicted much of what is actually happening across the globe today and particularly in our country. 

When I hear people spouting ridiculous commentaries about Covid 19, vaccines, mask mandates and the innocence of the attack on the Capitol on January 6, I can envision Mary raising one of her eyebrows and quietly refuting every hoax and lie in a quiet but commanding tone. I can practically recite what she might say because she had discussed such things with me for a very long time.

Mary was a Republican of the old school, a fiscal conservative who had rather liberal views of most social issues. She was proud of her support for candidates like Ronald Reagan but I cannot even imagine her voting for Donald Trump. She had no tolerance for the kind of beliefs that he pandered. She would no doubt have been dubbed a RINO, Republican In Name Only, but would have believed that those who follow Trump were the ones who had deviated from Republican ways. 

She would have also insisted that everyone follow the guidance of doctors rather than being mislead by propaganda and politicians. She gave much credit to the physicians who had helped her to lengthen her time here on earth. She followed their directives to the letter excepting the time when she decided to risk pregnancy. She had great faith in the modernization of medicine that had extended her life in a way that had been unimaginable when she was a child back in the nineteen twenties and thirties. 

Mary would have adored all of her great grandchildren as well as her two granddaughters who have proven themselves to be the kind of woman that she hoped they would be. She would have been particularly delighted by her great granddaughter, Abigail, for in Abby she would have seen a reflection of herself. Abby, at the age of eighteen, is a strong woman with a plan for living life on her own terms. She wants to eventually study law and use her talents and her influence on the national stage just as Mary once dreamed of doing. Abby is a kind of reincarnation of Mary with her dogged independence and grit. Like here great grandmother, Abby is highly intelligent and persuasive with her arguments about what the future of the world should be. Sometimes I wonder how it is possible for someone to be so much like one of her ancestors.

Somehow Mary’s spirit is filling my rooms, my thoughts and my heart this Christmas season. I wish she were here with us again, if only for a day or a few hours. I have so much I want to say to her, so much I want to ask her. I suppose that she is telling me that she taught me all that I need to know. She always looked to the future while treasuring and learning from the truths of the past. She would urge me to encourage Abby and all of my grandchildren to seek knowledge and justice just as she so brilliantly did. 

There are presents for everyone under my tree, but my time with Mary will always be one of the greatest gifts of my life. I hope that I will be able to adequately pass down her beliefs and her spirit to all of her descendants. They have much of which to be proud in the stories and facts of her life. Memories of her make this season bright.