Month: March 2022

I vividly recall my first job interview after graduating from college. I had filled out hand written applications to a number of nearby school districts and I had my fingers crossed that somebody would give me a call. Back then I had to attach a photo to the upper corner of my application which also asked for information about my religious preferences. Since I knew that every district required women to wear dresses or suits with panty hose and dress shoes, I had purchased a navy blue suit and a fresh pair of hose in a neutral in case I landed an appointment. 

I was over the moon when someone finally called. I mentally prepared myself for the kind of questions that I thought I might have to answer to demonstrate my skills. On the appointed day I nervously smoothed my skirt as I drove over hoping to keep it from getting any obvious wrinkles. My heart was almost jumping out of my chest as I waited in what was then called the Personnel Department. 

Finally I was ushered into an office where a commanding looking man sat behind a desk motioning at a chair where he wanted me to sit. He was a friendly sort who kept the situation at a chatty level. He began by complimenting my perfume which I found to be a bit strange, but I let it go. Then he pulled my application out of a manilla folder and paused for a moment to scan its contents. 

He first noted that I was Catholic and then proceeded to tell me that there had been a time in the not so distant past when I never would have had an interview much, less a job offer. He babbled on about how they had one school year when there was a shortage of teachers so they hired a couple of ex-nuns. The two women were such phenomenal educators that they changed their mindset of the district about the value of Catholics as teachers. Once I told him that I had gone to Catholic school for twelve years, he appeared to be ready to hire me on the spot, but instead he continued the interview.

The next focus of his attention was on my appearance. He actually mentioned how much he liked my suit and the fact that I had worn panty hose for our meeting. He noted that many women came looking like they were going bowling or had just finished cleaning house. He thought they my care in dressing myself was a good indicator of what type of person I would be in the classroom. I sat silently letting my thoughts stay inside my mind least I accidentally utter them and lose any chance of landing a job.

He was a wealth of information including telling me about a Catholic church near where he lived that had been burned down three times before members of the Klan gave up and let it stay. Amazingly he did not seem even remotely interested in finding out my philosophy of teaching or how I might handle classroom management. The fact that I had graduated Summa Cum Laude did not appear to matter to him either. Nor did he inquire about the various awards I had received as a student. He did mention that he liked my attentiveness to his statements and then he gave me a bit of history of his own climb up the career ladder in the district. 

That was my very strange interview, with him congratulating me and assuring me that he was going to call several principal to recommend that they hire me. Indeed I had requests from principals for interviews almost as soon as I got home. I ended up working in a great school with an inspiring principal, but I was still stunned by the nature of my initial meeting with the Head of Personal. Even before such topics became commonplace I found myself wondering how he had had the audacity to speak about my clothing and personal grooming, not to mention discussing my religious background in detail. 

Of course I would eventually hark back to that interview when I was earning an advanced degree and studying labor law. I knew that my experience would never happen in more enlightened times. At least this is what I believed, but when I watch the hearings for Supreme Court nominees I cringe. It seems that our Senators seem to think that it is more important to know someone’s views on religion than to discuss their knowledge and skills as a judge. They would rather ask unrelated medical questions than delve into the individual’s resume. It was not like this in the past when most nominees were approved quickly and with overwhelming majorities. Now instead of asking what strategies they would use to reach fair decisions, the inquisitors want to know the individual’s political philosophies and spread innuendo about their work history. 

Somehow the hearings have become sideshows rather than showcases for the talents of the nominees. They are opportunities for bloviating senators to grandstand and pontificate rather than politely listen to the candidates. It is sound and fury signifying nothing. 

I would like to see more rationality, decorum, and meaningful questions driven by critical thinking than what now takes place. Our Senate is turning the process into just as much of an insulting joke as my first job interview was. I never said how demeaned I felt by the patronizing and invasive comments of the man who had the power to decide my fate. Such a situation should not have happened then nor now. We the people need to speak out and let our senators know that we want to see professionalism and respect; not a devolution into times when impropriety was deemed okay. We know better, so we should all do better.

I often wonder why we humans sometimes treat each other badly. I can understand getting briefly angry about something. I honestly do that more often than I wish, especially when I am tired. What I cannot understand is deliberately and repeatedly hurting someone. I see posts on Facebook that ask how a person’s mother disciplined them and it features belts, and other forms of physically abusive instruments. I marvel when I see it because my mom never used any of those things on me. She whipped one of my brothers so half hearted with a belt one time that he was unable to maintain his composure and began laughing. She broke out in a knowing smile as well and that was the end of punishments designed to inflict pain. Instead she sat us down and talked about what we had done wrong and helped us to understand that there are better ways of doing things. She even had a rule that we should never go to sleep angry and so there were many late night apologies in our home. 

It was not until my mother developed extreme episodes of mania that she would utter hurtful things to us. Since her only professions had always been encouraging and loving we understood that it was not her speaking, but rather her illness. When she was well she was profuse in her declarations of devotion to each of us. I suppose that I developed my own way of relating to other people from her examples. She was always forgiving and guileless in all of her human interactions. 

When I was studying to be a teacher I encountered a professor who cautioned me to never degrade either my students or my colleagues regardless of the situation. She noted that I would spend more hours in contact with my students once I was working than I would with my own family since many of my hours at home would be spent sleeping. She pointed out that I would learn the triggers for the individuals that I taught and that it would be bordering on evil to use them. I always tried to remember her words even when a particular child was frustrating me. I chose not to tear anyone down. In fact, I would always assert that I never hated a person but, I sometimes hated what they had done. My students understood and appreciated that distinction and many came to call me “Mama B.”

My mother was a beautiful single woman who wanted and deserved a happy social life beyond spending time with me and my brothers. When I was in college she met a man that she had known as a teen. They began doing things together, but there were things about him that bothered her so she kept him at arm’s length for a very long time. Eventually her loving spirit and compassion led her to consider entering a long term relationship with him, mostly because she believed that he and his young daughter really needed someone like her in their lives. Unfortunately he ended up being a controlling and angry man who emotionally abused her with fear. As I witnessed him destroying her optimism and saw the laughter leaving her I found myself actually hating him and wanting my mother to assert herself and send him away. It was the first and only time my emotions were so strongly negative.

Eventually things came to a head and he left the scene but not before he had done grave damage to her. He had taken advantage of her kindness and had slowly chipped away at her confidence and courage. I saw in real time what my professor at college had warned me to avoid, using my intimate knowledge of someone to destroy them. 

I have learned over time that people who verbally or physically attack others have generally been damaged by someone themselves. While I am able to understand why they seem to be filled with rage and hateful behavior, I grieve that there is so much of it in the world. The fact that entire nations sometimes suffer under the weight of psychological terror from a despot is even more tragic. For such a thing to happen in a supposedly free country is even more difficult to understand. Anyone can be strong and tough without ever degrading another person.

I laugh when I think about the time that I served as summer school principal at one of my schools. I had to rather strictly discipline a student who had disregarded the rules on multiple occasions. I used my mother’s method of letting the student know that I truly cared about him, but could not let him think that his poor behavior was acceptable. He took my lecture and his consequences rather well, telling me at the conclusion of our meeting that I would make a great principal. “You are good and mean and fair all at the same time!” he proclaimed.

I wish that everyone learned how to be good and mean and fair all at the same time like I did from my mom. I wish that nobody ever purposely abused another either with words or physicality. Life is hard and we each struggle to find our place in it. We look in the mirror and into our hearts and seem to perceive every flaw that we have. We would all benefit from a kind and lovely talk and a big hunk of forgiveness when we mess things up. My mother understood that so very well. I learned a very important lesson from her. As a teacher it’s the one wish I most like to convey to the world. I would urge everyone to take a breath and be kind, hate the sin but never the sinner. Imagine how great that would be if everyone heeded my word. 

I miss the days when I was young and thought nothing of climbing a tall tree and reclining in the fork of two branches. I remember one tree that was strong and sturdy enough to hold me while I read a book. The sensation of happiness and oneness with nature was so exhilarating that I can literally feel the rustling of the leaves and the smoothness of the branches. All I have to do is close my eyes and that glorious memory comes flooding back into my mind with a clarity that makes me feel nine or ten years old once again. 

I recall scurrying up the trunk of a tree and finding a low hanging branch that I might reach. Then I would pull my body up into the shade and work my way as high as I was able to get. I had so much strength then and absolutely no fear fo falling. I never thought that one day I would have bones that break easily or that I would need a ladder to get into a tree, if I even dared to risk such a challenge. Back then climbing a tree was as natural as running or jumping rope. 

I always thought that it would be wonderful to have a real tree house. Of course none of the trees that I found were large enough to hold a structure like that much less the people inside. Nonetheless, I suppose I was fascinated with the idea of having a clubhouse of my own that gave me a bird’s eye view of the world. Forget dollhouses. I wanted a house in the sky like the ones in books and movies. 

The closest I ever came to fulfilling my dream was when someone built a rope swing platform in a big tree that grew along the bayou. There was a ladder made from boards nailed to the trunk because the tree was so massive that nobody would have otherwise been able to scale it. There was a big board attached to a confluence of huge limbs. It was so high up that a fall would have been lethal, but it never occurred to me back then that I might be harmed as I moved up the trunk holding on to the swing. Once I got to the top I positioned myself on the board fastened to a long rope that comprised the swing. Then I pushed off and sailed back and forth over the bayou. It was heavenly!

Unlike Peter Pan I grew up and over time got older and so much more cautious. My doctors tell me not to ski or skate or ride a bicycle lest I break a bone. I worry just climbing on a stool inside my home. I can’t imagine being daring enough to conquer a tree anymore, and even if I had the nerve I no longer have the strength. My arms and legs and knees would fail me. 

Sometimes I dream of being able to do such things again. The joy and contentment that I felt every single time I climbed a tree was just so remarkable. I suppose that much of that was mostly about feeling so free. I was at the top of my world and somehow life was so joyful. The innocence of childhood can be that way as long as nobody is being abusive or hateful. In that regard I know just how fortunate I was. 

I knew tragedy of course. My father had died and I often felt the sting of sorrow and loss, but otherwise I had the comfort of loving people around me. When I was in one of those trees I also felt confident and accomplished and worry free. It was just me in those branches viewing the blue sky above and feeling the wind caressing my face. I thought of myself as an adventurer and imagined that one day i would do great things, which I suppose that I did, at least by my estimation.

I’m not even sure that I am able to run anymore. My knees are so in need of partial replacement that I don’t dare even try to move too quickly. I sometimes imagine myself as a kid running like a gazelle and climbing into wonderful trees but those days are now behind me. What nobody can take away are my memories and those are so delicious. For now I’ll stick to walking under the canopy of trees in a forest and maybe build a dollhouse instead of a tree house. Sometimes keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground is not a bad idea at all. There is a wisdom to it that feels just right.

Like many I’ve been eagerly following Julian Fellow’s newest offering, The Guilded Age. I am fascinated by the values, manners, costumes and customs of the times. In some ways the era was somewhat like our own present times in that there was great industrialization and innovation that created unbelievable wealth that fueled conspicuous consumption among the lucky few. It is a fascinating moment in our history that coincides with the youth of my grandfather, William Mack Little. 

While Astors and Vanderbilts were enjoying the luxuries of their wealth most Americans were still living simply and sometimes even struggling to survive. My grandfather famously told of stories of his childhood and the times when he ventured out on his own to tackle the world. He remembered Coxey”s Army traveling through his town on its way to Washington D.C. to protest the poverty that haunted the lives of so many citizens. He recited stories of people he knew whose families were starving from lack of work. He described the almost primitive lifestyles that were still very much a way of life for most Americans. He spoke of living in a house with no glass windows and preserving food by smoking meats and canning vegetables. At the same time Grandpa was fascinated by the many innovations that came to fruition during that same Guilded Age.

I was watching one of the episodes of the television program when they featured a lighting ceremony by Thomas Edison. The magical feel of the moment almost brought me to tears as I recalled my grandfather describing his own first experience with seeing electric lights along a street. To him it was akin to traveling in space. It was almost magical and something over which he would continue to marvel for all of his life. When he spoke of it his face lit up with both joy and admiration. He knew from the first time that he saw the wonder of electric street lamps that the world around him was changing in ways that would ultimately benefit us all.

My grandfather was a great optimist. He saw the transition to the modern era as something to be celebrated. He was not envious of those who became wealthy from their ingenuity, but instead marveled at their contributions that changed the world of his childhood so dramatically. He was almost giddy as he ticked off the wonders of the inventions that had come to be during his lifetime. His favorite saying was that “these are the good old days.” He had no desire to backslide to an earlier time. She saw progress and change as something both inevitable and necessary. He embraced innovation with enthusiasm. 

Grandpa realistically understood that even with all of the great changes that had come to pass we were still far from being a perfect society, but he was a living testament to the incremental improvement of the world that he had experienced in his one hundred eight years on this earth. While he saw things that would have been unbelievable when he was a boy he did not live long enough to enjoy the explosion of technology that has continued the upward trend of innovation in the last many years. 

I feel certain that he would have delighted in having a computer on his lap that would allow him to draw on all of the knowledge included on the Internet. He would have been excited to have a phone that allowed him to contact people wherever he happened to be and do many other things as well. I smile at the thought of discussing the benefits and new jobs created by the creative minds of people around the world. I expect that all of it would have made him giddy. 

My grandfather never made a great deal of money. He spent his lifetime moving constantly to find construction work. Only twice did he settle down enough to purchase a home. My grandmother’s death from cancer before the advent of Medicare literally depleted all of his saving at a time when he was in his eighties. For the next thirty years he would live in a rented room with an income that took him from one monthly check to the next. 

One might suspect that he would be a bit bitter or envious of people who created vast pools of wealth, but the exact opposite was true. He instead counted his good fortune of living in a sturdy house with heat in the winter and cool air in the summer. He enjoyed driving his car instead of a horse and buggy. He appreciated his refrigerator more than anyone I have ever known. He never lost his joy of having a television or hearing broadcasts on the radio. He looked into the sky when a plane flew over with a sense of awe. He took nothing for granted because he had witnessed the before times. He would have laughed at a slogan wanting the Make America Great Again because he believed that the right pathway was always to look forward, not backward. 

During these difficult times I find comfort remembering my grandfather. He taught me to look for the good around us, because he believed that it was always there. He saw the future as a wonderful place to be because in the grand scheme of things we humans always find ways to make things better. He was the consummate optimist who had once lived in darkness illuminated only by the flickering flame of a candle. He had seen the light that first time he walked down a street lit by Thomas Edison and knew at that moment that we humans do more good things than bad. For him life was a wonder as it now is for me. What a great gift he gave me!

One of the duties of middle and high school teachers is to serve as chaperones at dances. It can be a somewhat onerous job because it involves a great deal of policing. It begins at the door when eagle eyed adults scan the kids for improper clothing or other infractions of the stated rules for attendance. It continues for those unlucky enough to be assigned to walk through the hallways of the school and the outside grounds for the duration of the dance. The purpose of this duty is to find stray students attempting to make out, smoke, or even ingest drugs or alcohol. While it is actually rare to find anyone daring enough to try such things on a school campus, when it does happen a delicate and time consuming investigation ensues. Finally, there is the job of walking around the dance floor to be certain that no inappropriate groping, or gyrating takes place. 

Most of students at such functions are wonderful and with a bit of luck the evening can be quite fun. Even when the dancing becomes a bit inappropriate a gentle reminder or a stink-eyed look from one of the teachers usually calms down those teen-age hormones. Once in a great while there is a bit of sassiness which I always combated by reminding the offenders that a good metric for knowing how to behave is to consider whether or not they would do the offensive behavior in front of their grandmothers. That mostly elicited good laughs and willingness to comply with the rules for the event. 

I often had great fun at those occasions. I liked joining in with the line dances that were usually led by one of the students. Once in a great while one of the boys would ask me to take a spin around the floor with him and even though I felt a bit uncomfortable it was always in good fun. Mostly I enjoyed seeing the students all dressed up in their finery and being so much more relaxed than they ever were in class. They were generally joyful occasions, but once in awhile they descended into emotion ridden disasters. 

I vividly recall a lovely young student arriving in the early moments of one of those dances. She looked absolutely beautiful. It was apparent that she had made a great deal of effort to look her very best. I knew that she was nervously waiting for a particular young man to arrive. They had been a bit of a pair around campus for several weeks and all of us who taught them thought they were precious together. Both of them were very bright, well behaved and sweet. I knew that the young man for whom the girl was waiting would be delighted when he saw how lovely she looked on that night. 

Not long afterward the boy did arrive shocking us all. He had brought a date, a student from another school who seemed somewhat incongruous with him. She appeared to be older and more worldly than he was. She had an unpolished toughness about the way she was dressed and the tone of her voice. He appeared totally smitten with her and did not even acknowledge the young lady who had been so excited about meeting up with him at the dance. As he walked right past her as though she was invisible, she almost collapsed into a convulsion of tears. Several teachers and her many friends surrounded her with comforting hugs and comments, but she was beside herself. Meanwhile the young man and his date became the focus of everyone’s interest.

I felt so incredibly sad about the situation, but I knew that such things were simply part of the angst of the teen years. I wanted to do something or say something, but I knew that I needed to leave it alone. My heart broke for the girl who had been so humiliated. She was and always would be so sweet and kind. Her situation felt so brutally wrong. Meanwhile the boy seemed to be a hit with his peers as his date performed her dance moves that had to be corrected by the chaperones more than once. It felt as though he was being purposely cruel which stunned me because he had seemed as naive and innocent as the girl he had stood up. 

Things eventually worked out for everyone. The girl got over her sadness and the boy reverted back to the gentlemanly and compassionate behavior that had once been his trademark. They both moved on, went to college and created lovely lives for themselves. I suppose that the ugly event may have affected me more than it did either of them. I’d like to think that it was all just the result of immaturity and inexperience. I suppose we all had moments in our past that were as painful as pulling a scab from a wound. I doubt that many of us would ever want to go back to the awkward time of our adolescent and teen years when we made horrendous blunders in the way we treated others, especially those of the opposite sex. 

Chaperoning those dances and watching the young people so awkwardly attempting to slide into adult roles gave me a whole new perspective about growing up. I saw that even the very best and seemingly most mature of those kids created horrible debacles in their relationships. As I witnessed those things I found myself silently forgiving myself and anyone else who had really mucked things up when we were young. I understood how difficult the transition into becoming an adult really is for each of us.

Hopefully we learn from all of those horrible lessons that make us cry or appear to be heartless fools. We gain perspective about ourselves and those around us. We find the true meaning of love and respect. Too bad that wisdom often only comes after we have been hurt. Even worse is when we just keep repeating the same mistakes. I’m glad my two students found their way to making wise choices. It’s good to know that they got past the hard knocks and are now okay.