Month: May 2022

I have a friend who has been struggling every single day since the murder of his son. The man is doing his very best to deal with the reality of what has happened to him and his family, but life has mostly been a rollercoaster ride since that fateful night in July. So many things remind him of his son and the times that might have been. So it is with each of us who have lost significant people in our lives. We eventually heal from our wounds, but small things can tear off the scabs and cause our hearts to bleed even when we think that we have overcome our sorrows. 

The triggers that do these things are different for each of us, unique to our personal experiences. It may be a sound or a smell or a memory that rouses our feelings and reignites the pain that lies mostly dormant until that moment. I’ve known people who cannot listen to certain songs or think of particular places without becoming emotional. For me the month of May lurks like a marauder in my memory, threatening to bring me down without warning. It was on the last day of that month in nineteen fifty seven that my father so suddenly died. 

While I am long past the gut wrenching grief that enveloped me back then there is a kind of regret that nibbles at me each time we enter the month of my father’s passing into eternity. I think of how he was a young man of thirty three forever frozen in time while I have grown old. I wonder how he might have marveled at the progress of the world. Would he be driving an electric car? What would he think of his grandchildren and great grandchildren? What kind of wonderful discussions might I have with him like he often had with his own father? 

Mostly the month itself is a time that I have to muscle through. Some years are better than others. The final moments before I retired were not so good because in that May my mother was dying and she would leave the world only days after I had officially left my job. The party that my daughters had planned for me had to be cancelled. There was no celebrating that year, only sorry once again. Last May it was my dear Aunt Valeria who died near the anniversary of my father’s death. She had been the one who broke the news of his demise to me when I was eight years old. She had been a stalwart in my life and losing her was harder than I had ever imagined it would be. 

May is doing no better this year at distracting me or keeping me feeling optimistic. News that one million Americans have died from Covid has shattered my joy at least for the moment. I wonder how many of these souls might have lived if we had genuinely joined together as a nation to make every possible sacrifice to keep our population well. It is mind boggling to think of how much pain and sorrow a tiny virus has wrought, but also to realize that many of these deaths happened after we had readily available vaccines. 

The war in Ukraine has kept me in a continuous state of anxiety. The Slavic people there look and sound so much like my grandmother who once lived just across the border from them in Slovakia. I weep at the images of destruction and the dead and dying that continue without pause. I try to imagine the terror and horror of having to leave the safety and calm of my home because invaders are attacking me and my neighbors for no good reason. It feels so wrong to only watch what is happening but what else am I to do aside from sending support for medical supplies and praying that God will stop the madness, end the death with a miracle?

Eighteen years ago my beloved mother-in-law, Mary, died just before Christmas. I have missed her so, but our family carried on just as people always do. My father-in-law met a sweet woman named Janell who helped him to set aside his sorrow. They married sixteen years ago and their time together has been fun and good for both of them. It took awhile for me to call this lady my mother-in-law but when I saw how much joy she brought to our Papa, I knew that she deserved the honor of that designation. I too have enjoyed her presence in our lives. We talk just like Mary and I used to do, but the conversations are different. We speak of decorating and cooking and where to find good shopping deals. She is fun and happy and I like being with her. I love her.

Now in the month of May that so often weighs heavily on my spirit my new mother-in-law is dying. Her heart is slowly failing her and the doctors can do no more. Her suffering is great and it is difficult to watch her discomfort. I am reminded once again of how fragile we all are and how important it is for each of us to treasure the time that we have. 

May is a reminder that all of our fighting and disagreements are a waste of the precious moments that we are allotted on this earth. Instead of battling with those who differ from ourselves we should be building legacies of understanding and acceptance and peace. We don’t have to own power but we should possess love. Our eyes should be on the future of our families and the world at large. We should be willing to sacrifice and compromise to provide as many people as possible with a fair chance of finding happiness and security. That means setting aside our fears and our prejudices and working together while we can because the Mays of our lives will ultimately catch up with us all. Each of us will one day be that soul drawing a final breath. In that moment my hope is that we can let go knowing that we have done everything possible to leave behind a world even better than the one that we entered on the day of our birth.  

My mother had many friends when I was a child. They often dropped by our house without warning. At those times the unwritten, but very understood rule, was that we children had to make ourselves scarce so that the adults would be able to visit without worrying that we might hear something meant only for their adult ears. We would step into the living room for a brief moment just to say hello and then disappear into our rooms or go outside to play while the ladies talked. 

Of course I was always curious about the muted whispers coming from my mother’s guests but I dared not intrude on the privacy of the conversations. Sometimes I would hear unbridled laughter. Other times the only sound was a kind a rhythmic cadence of voices speaking words that I was unable to decipher. One in awhile I heard mama’s visitors sobbing. Never did I actually attempt to find out the exact nature of the conversations. Those were private moments between the adults and I dared not breach the etiquette of the situation. 

My mother taught me the basics of talking in polite society. She warned me that there were particular topics that were taboo except in very private circumstances with trusted friends or family. According to Mama the big three subjects that I should avoid were politics, religion and sex. Because of that, I have to say that I grew up totally unaware of people’s thoughts on those particular topics. For most of my life I had no idea how people voted, what their religious views were or what their sexual preferences might be. The old school rules kept such discussions at bay. 

Following my mother’s lead I had conversations about the big three with only my closest and most trusted friends and family members. For the most part I was content with my Sunday afternoon tea time chats with my mother-in-law, my more raucous discussions with my brothers, and after dinner chats with my dear friends Pat, Bill, Egon and Marita. Even though I did not always agree with those folks I knew that my comments were safe and would not affect our relationships one way or another. Insofar as everyone else, I had no idea about their views and no inclination to find out what they were. 

I have to admit that there was great comfort in abiding by the protocols that my mother had imbued in me and realizing that somehow everyone else had also received instructions in how to have polite conversations. Nobody ever needed to know about my personal preferences nor did I push them to reveal theirs. All of that began to change about the time that George W. Bush was elected President and the world witnessed the horrors of 9/11. Suddenly it felt as though people began openly taking sides and judging the worth of friendships based on religion, politics and sexuality. I found myself more and more often being prodded to reveal my on thoughts on each of the matters, often by people that I only marginally knew. Worse yet, was the fact that if I demurred to the demands and honestly answered the questions I was often pilloried for not being in agreement with my inquisitors. 

Around the time of President Obama’s election the transparency trend seemed to become even more extreme. I remember being cornered by a coworker, with whom I had only a passing relationship, as he demanded to know how I had voted. When I attempted to remain mum he began a guessing game, using read my facial expressions to determined the truth of my beliefs. I felt as though I was in the hands of an inquisitor who would bludgeon me to the death if I did not comply with the answers that he hoped to get. While I stuck to my silence under duress, I felt incredibly discomfited by the encounter and sadly it would not be my last. 

By the time that Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump were running against each other in a national race it seemed as though every semblance of old time decorum was gone. Suddenly seemingly everyone was talking about politics, pushing religious ideas, and openly fielding opinions about sex. If these conversations had been reasoned and healthy I would not have minded so much, but the truth is that they were all too often tinged with divisive language that slowly began to pull people apart and parse them into differing camps. The ultimate shocker for me came at a child’s birthday party in which one group felt a sense of triumph over another and ended the fray by jumping in the air giving each other a high five. To say I was disturbed by the demonstration would be an understatement. 

Since that time the lack of traditional propriety has only accelerated. Far too many people have adopted an “in your face” attitude when it comes to talking about the big three that I was taught to keep at bay when in gatherings. I sense that as a society we are now engaged in behaviors that would have been disturbing to my mother. All of the ranting, flag waving, and almost blind allegiance to one point of view over another has become the fair game at any gathering. Nobody can even quietly voice opinions without have to engage in an intense debate that often ends with hurt feelings and broken relationships. Little wonder that perfect strangers feel free to make assumptions and hurl insults at people based on as little evidence of a person’s beliefs as wearing a mask inside a crowded store. 

My best buddies for speaking of delicate topics are now mostly gone. I find refuge with my children and grandchildren these days and even then I have to be somewhat circumspect. I have learned to follow my mother’s rules which means that my conversations are ever so polite. I talk about the weather, the trips, the good news but never ever dare speak of politics, religion or sex. Those subjects are best kept to myself lest they taint the good feelings that my friends and family members still have for each other. Sadly it may take time to forget the shadows that have already threatened our closeness because I said too many things out loud. If only I had stuck with the rules that my mother taught me, I would not have spoke or heard about things that surprised me and those that I love. Sometimes our elders really do know what’s best.  

I come from a long line of adventurous and independent thinking and souls. My great grandfather grew up in the south, but joined the Union Army during the Civil War. One of my grandfathers traveled from a small town in Slovakia to find work and a new life in the United States. Another grandfather grew up as a virtual orphan in a remote area of Virginia and began a trek across the country finding work when he was still a young teenager. My father was a traveler who had lived in or visited most of the states by the time he was thirty. His goal was to see and experience it all, so I have little doubt that once airfare was in the grasp of ordinary souls he would have journeyed to other countries as well. 

All of these men were also voracious readers. Their interests spanned many topics and among their daily routines was time spent leafing through newspapers and books. They were curious souls who wanted to learn about and see as much of the world around them as possible. They were risk takers who found great joy in discovering new horizons and unique ideas. 

I suppose that I caught the family bug that continually leads me in search of the almost infinite variety of the world and its people. I am drawn to travel and learning like a moth to a light. Sadly my risk taking was somehow squelched, so my forays into the world are generally limited to vicarious experiences rather than grand adventures. I suppose that the death of my father at the conclusion of a cross country move dampened the fires that might have sent me on grand journeys around the world. When my mother became ill when I was in my early twenties my rooted fate seemed to be sealed. My risk taking days were done save for opening my mind to ideas and cultures and beliefs that I was able to gather through reading and study. My travel came only in the form of short vacations. 

I lead a conservative lifestyle but my research has cultivated a progressive mind. I suppose that the fire of my curiosity was first lit by my father, but it became a conflagration under the influence of my high school English teacher. My unrelenting determination to become a citizen of the world was further stoked by my college professors and as I encountered more information about the incredible history of humans, I wanted even more. 

My quest has led me to friendships with people from many different countries and cultures. My acquaintances represent a United Nations of backgrounds and stories. I have come to hold the deepest regard for different ways of doing things. While I cherish my freedoms and my own country I realize that it is counterproductive to believe that ours in the only best way of doing things. I have expanded my horizons by opening my mind to possibilities just as those who influenced me taught me to do. 

I have taken down the borders of my mind and pushed myself to consider the many ways that the people on this earth choose to live out their days. It is fascinating to read unedited and honest histories and biographies. It is humbling to learn how much alike we are as humans, but also how many different points of view there are. In trying to understand why things I see patterns in our behaviors and the underlying desires that drive us. Nothing is actually happening in isolation. The theory of the butterfly in Africa influencing the weather in Antarctica is a powerful metaphor for our connections whether we realize those relationships or not. 

Each of us depends on the other in a long thread that stretches around the earth. The trees cut down in a South American rainforest will affect us all. The war in Ukraine is part of a long arc of history, and while we may not see its connection to us in the moment, over time its importance will become quite clear. Diseases and poverty anywhere on the planet affect us even when we are blind to their existence. Whether we like it or not, we are one gigantic family of humankind that has yet to fully understand the importance of working together. 

We tend to resign ourselves to particular ways of thinking and then languish there even when out beliefs somehow feel uncomfortable. Instead I would challenge everyone to consider looking honestly at the many different sides of an idea even when doing so feels uncomfortable. The process allows us to better see our place in the long arc of history and to appreciate the contributions of people very unlike ourselves.

I often think of the revolution that came about at the beginning of what would become the United States of America. According to what I have read, only about thirty percent of the colonists were so unhappy with the status quo that they saw rebellion as the only way forward. I find myself feeling a kind of connection with the rest of the people who must have been horrified by the chaos that ensued. I know that some of them even pulled up stakes and left for Canada for a time. They were caught in the midst of a political disagreement that they did not desire or even support. I suppose that such is the honest truth about any kind of war of ideas. It takes time and sometimes even grave hardship for people to adjust to new ways of seeing things. 

Brave souls in our past have considered means of moving societies forward. It’s a painful process often involving one step forward and two back. Galileo was persecuted for teaching that the earth is not the center of the universe. Rosa Parks was jailed for asserting her right to sit anywhere that she chose on a bus. Jesus was nailed to a cross for suggesting that the only commandment that mattered was love and that some rules were not just. Today across the globe heroes are teaching us where we humans have got it wrong and how we might repair our relations with one another. It’s up to us to at least listen to what they have to say. Whether we like it or not we are all citizens of the same world.

Life is complicated for everyone. Even as children we may be forced to endure situations that might be better left for adulthood. We encounter bad people and horrible situations as we journey through our days. Our innocence is tainted by ugly events. Almost nobody manages to live without hurt no matter how hard they attempt to avoid it for themselves or their children. Simply interacting with the world can lead to disloyalty and disappointments. I doubt that there are many adults on the planet who have not been betrayed at one time or another. Sadly, sometimes such disappointment comes to even the very young. 

I probably seem to be a bit naive to most people. On most days I attempt to keep my optimism at the forefront. I believe that the vast majority of people on this planet are essentially good, even if they are flawed. None of us are perfect and most of us try every single day to be kind and compassionate. How we do that is often influenced by our cultures, our educations, our religious and our political beliefs. We come in many different varieties, but our essence is a striving to be the best versions of ourselves. It is in the moments when we are overcome by fears and anger or tiredness that we end up hurting someone else, often unintentionally. 

I believe in people. I love people and I try not to let my own weaknesses or differences of opinion color the way I interact with them. I understand that I will not always think the same way as everyone that I know. There will be times when their behavior and beliefs mystify me. There will be moments when our ideas and beliefs clash. This should not mean that we can no longer be friends or that I no longer care for them. In a perfect world we should be able to still love each other even when we seem to have little in common. 

Sometimes people do things that fracture our personal relationships with them so badly that we know that it would be unhealthy to continue to be around them. We must divorce ourselves from contact with them or descend into a cycle  self-abuse. Sometimes we even have to punish the most vile among us as a society, lock them away to protect ourselves. That does not mean that we must give up on them. It is truly possible to shield ourselves from hurtfulness while also continuing to hope that those persons will somehow find inner peace and a way of changing their lives. 

While many who hurt us never seem to find a way to mend and heal, it is something that happens, and when it does we should all be cautiously ready to celebrate their victory over the demons that once made them toxic. We each know of someone who managed to change for the better. I believe that it is incumbent on all of us to accept the possibility that each human can do penance and turn their lives around. We must be ready to forgive those who sincerely manage to do so. If we only want to keep punishing those who fell from grace no matter how they have tried to repent, then we may as well give up on a significant proportion of the world population. 

I am determined to never give up on anyone. There have been times when my willingness to forgive those who have hurt me has come to naught. Nonetheless my heart and my mind is open to the possibility that one day even the most horrible among us might genuinely live to regret their actions. While I may not see fit to return them to a normal life, I will encourage them to make peace with those they have harmed and with themselves. To me that is the essence of how we humans should all live.

The history of the world is filled with darkness and inhumanity. It is a fact of life that grave injustices have happened over and over again. We see them happening even now. They are both big and small. There are wars in many parts of the world and everyday hurts and abuse inside homes. We should be able to talk about these things and discuss how we might prevent the kind of anger that causes us to turn on each other. We need to consider how we might teach ourselves to hold our tongues when a sharp comment comes into our minds. We need to learn how to forgive and really forget the small slights that we experience. We must value and embrace people more rather than dividing ourselves into tribes. 

As a teacher I invariably encountered students who fell from grace. They did annoying things and sometimes horrible things. I had to discipline them and even punish them for their infractions, but I never turned on them. I never stopped caring about them. I always hoped and prayed that they would learn from their misadventures and grow in wisdom. I think of them to this very day and hope that they eventually found themselves.

I have been hurt by people that I thought were friends. They abandoned me and threw away our long time relationship over our diverging views. I attempted to explain myself and to apologize, but they gave up on me. They pushed me out of their lives. While it was and still is very hurtful to me, I have never given up on them. If they ever choose to return I will embrace them just as the father invited his prodigal son back to the family without reservations. 

People are too important to give up on them. We all need to have someone who believes in us, someone who thinks there is a chance that we might mend ourselves as long as we are drawing a breath. Some deeply evil and shattered souls may never get there, but if they do it is a glorious thing. We may be wary of their intent and be cautious about letting them back into society, but we should never give up on them. Call me cock-eyed. Call me what you will, but it is who I am and what I believe.

People often ask for the secret behind my more than fifty years of marital bliss. While there are many important factors that have kept our love alive and ticking, I have to say that laughter is the glue that keeps it all together. My husband and I joke with one another all day, everyday. We enjoy humor from lighthearted to incredibly dark. We find something to laugh about everywhere that we go. It is our antidote for the realities of daily life that sometimes have the power to tear relationships apart. Sometimes we laugh so hard that our bellies move and our eyes water. Always we feel energized and ready to cope with whatever happens to be stressing us in the moment after the release of our anxieties into a round of good fun. 

My husband, Mike, “checks” on his ninety-three year old father each day by scanning his email account for the daily jokes that his father sends without fail. When I hear a big guffaw coming from Mike I too am assured that our Papa is okay, at least for now. Sometimes I also run into the next room to find out what was so hilariously funny and the laughter begins again. We only worry if those jewels of humor do not come. It’s always a sign that something is amiss.

There are family jokes that we treasure for decades. Humor runs deep among our relations. One of my brothers is so masterful in his delivery of funny lines that he might well have had a career as a comedian. Much of his commentary is quite original and satirical. He has a gift that has kept all of us holding our sides with glee from the time he was quite young. It appears that his grandson has the same gift of making the ordinary exceptionally hilarious. 

I too have a very funny grandson. On a cross country trip from Texas to California he kept us entertained with his stealth commentaries that made us lose our composure and laugh like hyenas. His gift is an ability to see the funny side of our human natures. Like most of the great comedians he selects his words carefully and uses his face to express just the right twinkle of the eye. He has an impishness that defines the masterful telling of jokes. 

My students invariably uncovered the truth that I am a sucker for humor. They constantly tested my reserve with actions and remarks that caused my lips to quiver and my eyes to give away my delight in the jokes they snuck into my lessons. Ultimately they understood that I would eventually cave and let the truth of my joy emerge from my whole being. I suppose that sharing amusing moments together was the real glue that kept my students engaged in my lessons. It made me human and reachable rather than being some high and mighty mathematics guru armed with sometimes unnerving formulae. 

The one form of humor that I despise is a weak effort to be mean and bully someone. If the official occasion is meant to be a roast of an individual who is in reality revered by the crowd, I have no problem. Those things can be absolutely hilarious as the performers jab at the individual who has willingly agreed to be honored in such a way. There is a long tradition of such humor in my own family with cousins and brothers lovingly and hilariously pointing out each others most joke worthy ways of interacting with the world. My unrelenting chattiness has long been the topic of family jokes as well as the moment when I accepted a dance with my very gallant cousin with the words,”better than nothing.” 

Rather than feeling hurt or slighted by our inside jokes, we laugh with knowing joy. Unfortunately our tendency to roast one another for the purpose of keeping it real has not always been appreciated by folks who have married into the family. We have had to learn when it is safe to joke around and when such things cause hurt and hard feelings. Sadly many of our very best family satirists and comedians have died and we are in the hopes that some of our younger members gifted with humor will carry on the long tradition of laughing at life and its challenges. 

One of the things I loved the most about President Barack Obama was his delight in the funny side of life, even when such moments were directed at him. I identified with his use of jest in sometimes dark and challenging moments. I too have used laughter to accompany through some of my most anxious times. I have been known to have doctors and nurses howling with delight just before I went under the influence of anesthesia before a surgery. Of course I was nervous, but I wanted to lighten my mood and theirs by bringing a bit of merriment into the room. 

I mostly tend to be the audience for humor rather than the creator of jokes. I’d love to be the subject of a roast sometime. I’d ask my brother to be the master of ceremonies and I would invite a couple of my funniest friends as well as a few of my former students who made me laugh every time they entered my classroom. I have no doubt that they would find many ways to roast me alive and that I would be aching from chuckling so hard at their jabs. 

I wish that everyone appreciated the value of really good humor. We grumble and cry and get angry a great deal these days when a bit of good old fashioned joking around would be good for us all. We still have lots of funny people in our midst and they know how to make us laugh only if we are willing to understand that they are commenting on our foibles in the good faith that we will be able to step back and smile at the ironies of life. I hope with all of my heart that we never become so stuffy that we shut down the funny men and women around us. I can’t think of any better way to solve many of our problems than with a good roasting of us all. It’s when we are able to laugh that we are most ready to come together., and we really do need to come together sooner rather than later.