Month: August 2023

It would be easy to assume that today’s young people are selfish, lazy and ignorant if one only heard comments from adults who have little contact with our youngest citizens. The age old trope about how pathetic the youth of the era appear to be has been around for as long as there have been humans roaming the earth. There always seem to be adults who take great pride in their own generation while insulting the most recent one. 

The truth is that there are in fact some young people who are sadly selfish, lazy and ignorant, but they tend to be the exception rather than the rule. For the most part the kids that I encounter are earnest, kind, thoughtful and bright. They think about the world and the people around them and often demonstrate new and well conceived points of view to those of us who are older that challenge the status quo with an eye to improving the world. They are generally good souls with a touch of innocence in tandem with honest critiques that need to be voiced. Their concerns for our earth and for each other are deeply generous. 

This morning as I was sipping on my morning tea and munching my breakfast biscuit, I read a story about a young man who noticed an older man who was having difficulty shopping. The older fellow was bent with age and had difficult lifting his head. He had to make painful motions to view the contents of every aisle and sometimes his glances missed the items that he was hoping to find. The boy noticed this and stepped up to ask if he might be of help. The old man was more than happy to have assistance and the young man joyfully zipped around the store acquiring every item on the shopping list. Then the boy accompanied the man to the checkout station, helped to bag his purchases and walked with him to the bus that was waiting to take him home. When the older man tried to give the youngster a reward, the boy shook his head and insisted that his tip had been the honor of being helpful. 

There are truly angels among us and often they are young and seemingly unaware. In truth there is an untarnished innocence in most young people along with a desire to clearly see truth without filters. They are unafraid to challenge lies or change ugly status quos because they have not yet been beaten down by society’s rules and prejudices. They often see the world around us much more honestly because of their curiosity and desires to learn. This makes them more open to people and situations that are different from themselves.  

I have spent my lifetime working with children and being a child myself. I remember deep conversations with friends when I was quite young. We wanted to make sense of life and death and injustices that we observed. We discussed what we felt was right and what definitely appeared to be wrong. We may not have had all the answers but we were more than willing to begin even taboo discussions in our efforts to understand our histories and our futures. Today’s young people are no less engaged than we were. Between the childhood games and silliness they too have questions and seek answers. If they cannot talk about such things with the adults who should be open to their queries they will take it upon themselves to right the wrongs that they see. 

I’ve been watching a series on PBS called Southern Stories. A recent episode featured an author of children’s books who grew up in a depressed area of Jackson, Mississippi. While filming the documentary she visited a park where she used to play as a child. Some young people were lurking in the background and asked her not to take pictures of them. She explained that she was an author who had grown up there and asked them if they would like to be part of the documentary. Their surly demeanors changed immediately as she told them what books she had written. They wanted to know if it was hard to be an author and she explained that anyone can write stories about their lives if the practice. The eagerness of the young people was beautiful to watch and the change in their demeanor that came from being seen and heard proved that encouragement always brings better results than criticism.

It is in our nature as humans to seek comfort. We respond to our elders with smiles and sparkling eyes, with laughter and acknowledgement when we feel safe and loved. That is how our own realities of goodness begin. It feels so comfortable to be accepted and loved that we instinctively spread those good vibes to others. Very soon we witness discrepancies in how people behave. We cry when we witness a loud and ugly argument. We draw back when someone is gruff. As we become older we learn about the long history of inhumanity that has darkened the world. If we hear truths and are able to openly discuss the fears that such ideas create in us, we will focus on being better. If we make excuses for bad behaviors we will begin  to believe that might makes right even when it at first appears to be wrong. Luckily most children do not hear such things and even those who do are often able to think for themselves and end the cycle of ugliness that has snaked its way into existence time and again.

it pains my heart when adults assume the worst of children. If we begin by believing in them and teach them patiently when they make mistakes they almost always respond. The key lies in paying attention to what they have to say. They tend to be very honest in asserting their feelings. Our goal should not be to deny and punish their beliefs but to provide them with opportunities to learn. Most times, unless the young person is ill or completely broken we ill be able to reach him/her without lectures or insults. 

The fact is the vast majority of kids today are truly wonderful and yet we too often fall into the centuries old mistake of bemoaning how awful they are compared to how we were when we were young. Instead we might strive to experience the joy of hearing their ideas. We might encourage them to dream big dreams and make positive changes rather than insisting that things are just the way they have always been and it is futile to think that we might make a difference. We should applaud their hopefulness and desires to be even better than we have ever been. My grandfather, father and mother did that with me and my brothers and it made all of the difference in our lives. They freed us to be ourselves and it was glorious. Perhaps we would all do well to not just teach respect but also to show it. This is how we help create a glorious future with the next generation. 

Before I could believe it I my daughters were in middle and high school. That’s when time really moved fast and I had to keep track of our schedules like an air traffic controller. There were after school extracurricular events, music, dance and voice lessons, school events, weekly football games and performances. With both girls taking advanced classes we were all up until late at night studying, doing homework, and keeping up with the always growing piles of laundry. Luckily we were not plagued with illnesses and deaths as much as we had been in the past. Even my mother’s mental difficulties seemed to appear less often. Thus we were able to have lots of fun at work, school and home.

Our house was filled with young people all of the time and began to feel more and more crowded. The one bathroom that we had was not working so well with so many females attempting to style their hair and put on lovely faces each morning, so we decided to remodel the places and add more rooms and storage space. The results were phenomenal and made entertaining so much better which was great because we always seemed to be celebrating something or just chilling with friends.

MTV with all of its visual music somehow became a constant in our home and I have to admit that I did not mind it at all. While I had a teenager I was only thirty five years old and just as excited about the eighties music and movies as my girls were. We’d dance in our new great room and when the television was not on the sounds of eighties music blared from our stereo system. We had a collection of LPs and CDs that was enormous and ran the gamut of classics from the sixties to symphonies to the latest hits from Depeche Mode and Michael Jackson. I even cleaned house on Saturday mornings with Madonna and Prince serenading in the background.

We had girl nights with our friend, Pat, and her daughter Lisa that usually involved going to movies like The Breakfast Club or Pretty In Pink. They were the kind of films that our husbands would not be caught dead watching, but that we found to be wonderfully entertaining. Pat was a free spirit who often insisted that we visit the 59 Diner after a movie where we ordered milkshakes and cheesy fries. We were so young and energetic that we didn’t even gain weight from our foodie binges. 

After satisfying our appetites we often wandered across the street to a huge music store that stayed open until midnight. We’d wander up and down the aisles perusing all of the titles and listening to the featured albums playing over the speakers. We never failed to leave without purchasing something new to add to our collections and we chattered like magpies as we discussed the fun that we had enjoyed and made plans for the our next weekend adventures. 

Football games were really fun. Maryellen was one of the Janette Dancers at South Houston High School and the halftime performances were always so good. Even better was the gathering of parents who always sat in the same places each week allowing us to find them without any trouble. We bonded over those games and became good friends much as our children were doing as well. Catherine performed in the middle school choir and began to demonstrate an interest and aptitude in science. She became a favorite student among the science department teachers who trusted her to help them set up labs and care for equipment. She was the star in our Leave It To Beaver life in the eighties with her best friend, Traci, practically living at our house.

Mike rocked along with this very feminine household. If he longed for some male companionship he never let on. He was proud of his girls and even taught them computer skills and how to repair things. He puffed up with pride at the mere mention of them. They were his “Minnie” and “Pookie” who were becoming exactly the kind of people that we had hoped they would be.

The only mars on this time of our lives were the deaths of my grandfather and my beloved Uncle Jack. I have already spoken of how difficult it was to lose Grandpa Little. I don’t think I’ve ever recovered, but the loss of Uncle Jack was a great blow as well. He was the person who had helped us the most when our father died. He found a good car for us and made sure that we purchased a great house as well. He was the man who introduced me to westerns on television and knew how to relate to kids better than anyone I had ever met. I loved him dearly and even had a strange premonition before his death. 

I was driving home from work one day when I suddenly felt the need to visit Gulfgate Mall. I walked into the Sakowitz store and wandered aimlessly among the ladies dresses. I suppose that I must have looked a bit strange because a saleslady approached me to find out if I needed help. I looked at her rather dazed and announced that I needed a nice black dress. When she asked where I would be wearing it I did not hesitate to say that I needed it for a funeral. She very sweetly inquired who had died and I told her that nobody was yet gone but I had a feeling that I would nonetheless need the dress soon. The two of us found a very nice outfit and I took it home feeling as puzzled as the clerk must have been. A day or so later we got a phone call announcing that Uncle Jack was in critical condition. A few days later he died. I suppose that in some ways his spirit and mine were intertwined. My mother felt that I had just been very observant and had somehow seen that he was not as well as we all thought he had been. Whatever it was I knew that he had taught me so much about being helpful and happy.

Aside from the deaths of the two great men who had made such an enormous impact on my life I would have to admit that the rest of those eighties were a long wonderful celebration of good times for our family. My brothers were doing well in their careers and with their wives and children and life was less rocky and challenging than it had been in the past. I suppose that almost everything associated with that time still makes me smile. Even with the silly clothes and hardos it was a welcome break from troubles that allowed us all to grow in the confidence that we were all headed along the right pathway of life.  

I suppose I would have to say that I am a quasi-feminist. Perhaps I understand the societal difficulties of being a woman from watching my mother attempt to shoulder the responsibilities of being the soul caretaker of our family during the fifties and sixties of the twentieth century. She had incredible duties thrust upon her in a time when society still clung to stereotypical ideas about the roles of men and women. She was unprepared for the challenge that my father’s death forced her to face, but with time she certainly did her best to keep our family moving forward even as roadblocks made her task harder than it should have been. I often marvel at her determination and see her as the first feminist that I ever knew.

Growing up without a father made me more acutely aware of the ability of women to get things done just as well as men. My mother understood that she was facing many societal roadblocks that included being paid far less for her work than many men would have been, but she nonetheless made things work for me and my brothers. I can’t recall her ever bemoaning her fate. She simply shouldered her responsibilities and managed to buy and pay for two houses and earn a college degree in the years after my father’s death. 

In spite of my mother’s accomplishments I saw that few men honored her with the respect that she deserved including her own brothers. It was women who best understood the trails she was blazing and the difficulties that she faced just because she was a woman. While she might have written a book on how to stretch a dollar until it squeaks, there were nonetheless people in her life who accused her of not knowing how to manage her finances simply because she had so little with which to work. When her mental illness made her life even more complex, somehow she continued to persevere and overcome the cycles of depression and mania that interrupted her ability to regularly work and she still accomplished as much or more than many men. 

My mother constantly reminded me that I was as capable as anyone, male or female. She urged me to be independent minded and to follow my own dreams. I never thought to ask for permission from my husband to continue my education with graduate studies. It never occurred to me that anyone other than myself should have any say in the route that I chose to follow. Luckily my husband had been influenced by his mother and grandmother who were both advocates for women’s rights in their own ways. I decided what kind of work I would do and where it take place. My consultation with my husband was meant to get his wisdom in making those choices, not his okay to do what I wanted to do. 

In a recent conversation a man noted that Kamala Harris has been an disappointment as Vice President of the United States. He commented that she has not performed well. When I asked him what she had done or not done he was only able to make vague comments about her personality. When I mentioned that the role of Vice President has always been somewhat lackluster he defended the men who had held those roles before Vice President Harris. When I asked who those men were he was unable to even put a name to all but a few of them. He ultimately agreed that the Vice Presidency does not always allow an individual to display his/her greatest strengths. Nonetheless, he believed that our current Vice President was particularly bad at the job without being to identify exactly what that meant. 

It reminded me of a moment in the new Barbie movie when America Ferrera’s character frets about the impossible demands that are placed on women, You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line…It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory!” 

I thought about some of the stones and arrows hurled at women who do attempt to take the reins and prove themselves as valuable to society as the men. I realized that we women still have a long way to go as long as there are those who critique females in ways that would never be applied to men. Hillary Clinton was too abrasive and aggressive according to many judgements, but a man behaving in the same manner is often considered to be a strong leader. 

My sister-in-law rose to management positions in her profession. She received numerous awards for her work with NASA. She is brilliant, and yet even within our family the admiration goes more often to my brother for his well earned  brilliance while hers is often overlooked. It took my grandson to see her greatness when he accompanied the two of them to the Texas Star Party, a yearly extravaganza of star gazing. It was my sister-in-law who showed him how to use the telescope and explained the mysteries of the heavens. She was the one who truly inspired him to become an aerospace engineer. He still admires his incredible uncle, but he saw that this woman was a marvel as well. 

I have watched women becoming more and more accepted during my lifetime, but all of us know that we have yet to find parity when it comes to earning the same level of respect as the male half of the world. The rooms of power are still mostly filled with men. We have yet to elect a woman to the office of President. We tend to critique women who do rise to powerful positions in ways that no man has had to endure. Being a woman is really difficult just as it is to be a man. I long for the day when we will accept that both of the sexes are equally competent and able to lead us. We should all remember that we are members of the same team.  

When I was a little girl in the late nineteen fifties I played with dolls with my girlfriends from the neighborhood. I had a Madame Alexander doll named Crissy that had lovely blonde curls and wore high heels. I created a world for Crissy using boxes and fabric to make furniture. I collected miniature items to use in decorating her little home that I set up on the driveway. My mother added to the fun by sewing new outfits for her.  I pretended that Crissy was an airline stewardess living in New York City.

I’ll never forget the day when my friend, Kathy, who lived across the street came to the pretend time with a brand new doll that she said had been named after her big sister, Barbara. The doll known as Barbie had a long blonde pony tail and looked way more glamorous and grown up than my Crissy. She even bore such a resemblance to Kathy’s sister that I believed that the Barbie doll was indeed inspired by the real life Barbara that I knew.  

I stayed loyal to my Crissy doll but also fell in love with Kathy’s Barbie. When I grew up and had two daughters of my own I could not wait for them to be old enough to graduate from baby dolls to one of the many versions of Barbie that had become a phenomenon. Before long Maryellen and Catherine too were playing make believe with their friends and the many different Barbies that they had collected. 

One Christmas my husband Mike built a house for the Barbies that had four rooms. I had a blast decorating each section with paint, wallpaper, carpet, flooring and rugs. I built furniture just as I had done as a little girl, but this time my creations were more substantial and sturdy. It was so exciting to see both girls screeching with joy on Christmas Day as they walked in to find a Barbie house unlike any other. 

I had also found a woman who sewed Barbie clothes that were quite fashionable. I purchased many different outfits that allowed the Barbies living in our home to work and play in style. The Barbies with their house and accessories kept both of my daughters and their friends entertained for hours on end. It gave me a warm feeling to watch the girls having the same kind of fun that I had enjoyed when I was also a little girl. I knew that pretend time was a kind of therapy for deciding what paths to follow in life. It is an acting out of our hopes and dreams

My mother-in-law often took the children on shopping adventures at the mall. They invariably returned with a new Barbie chosen for her hair or outfit or the profession that she portrayed. Before long we had a whole dormitory of Barbies who resided in the house that Mike built. They slept on the beds, lounged on the sofa and chairs or prepared food in the kitchen. Sometimes they went on trips in the car parked near their home. 

Once we purchased raffle tickets for some kind of charity that I can’t recall, but what I do remember is that in an unusual streak of good luck Mike won a prize, a Barbie Dream House. I thought our daughters were going to float up to the moon. Since the quarters in the hand crafted Barbie home was very crowded, the Dream House came in quite handy. Suddenly there was a village of Barbies under our roof. 

As always happens with children the years flew past and before long my Maryellen and Catherine were feeling grown up and had little interest in playing with their Barbie dolls. They were packed away and stored in the far reaches of the closet. The house that Mike built became a repository for books and other possessions, a shelf for storing things. It would not be until my granddaughter, Abby, showed an interest in such things that the house moved to her bedroom and was remodeled by Catherine with new paint and updated furniture. 

When I think of Barbie I smile because I remember first meeting that iconic doll when my friend, Kathy, introduced me to her. I can still hear the giggles and joy that Barbie brought to my Mayellen and Catherine and their friends Lynn and Missy and Lisa. I watched their Barbie dolls grow in stature and become confident enough to evolve as a role models willing to tackle the many challenges of being a woman in the make believe worlds that many little girls have always loved to create. Just as my Crissy doll had the courage to move to New York City from Texas to become an airline stewardess, my daughter’s Barbies became doctors, explorers, scientists. Over time Barbie showed little girls that they could be anything that they wished to be. 

When the Barbie movie opened I wanted to go see it with one of my daughters. Somehow it would not have been right to watch in with anyone else except maybe Kathy. Maryellen and I ended up attending a screening with my grandson, Eli, and his girlfriend, Elizabeth. Everyone wanted to dress for the occasion so we all wore pink. Elizabeth had her hair pulled back into a long pony tail and I was stunned at how much she resembled the Barbie that Kathy had shown me in the long ago. Eli good naturedly pulled off a very good impersonation of Ken. 

It was fun to see women and young girls of all ages flocking into the theater, taking photos of themselves, laughing and sharing their personal memories of playing with their Barbie dolls. Maryellen and I chuckled all the way through the movie as we remembered the many different Barbies that had once lived in our home. The film brought back so many precious memories of times that were so innocent and filled with joy. It also made us think about how far women have gone from that time in the nineteen fifties when women had a difficult time breaking the glass ceiling that hovered over their heads. So much has changed since I was a little girl and celebrating Barbie who went on the journey with me and all of the women who knew and loved her seemed liked the right thing to do. It’s amazing how much a little doll brought all of us together, different generations linked by the same kind of hopes and dreams. We’ve come a long long way!

The movie Oppenheimer is a master piece of screen writing, directing, acting and production. It well deserves to be one of the summer’s blockbusters, but it also opens up a kind of closeted fear of doomsday scenarios. The fact is that most of us who are known as Baby Boomers were not even alive when the bomb was unleashed on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the existence of such a loomed large in our childhood psyches. 

While today’s children have fire drills, tornado drills and active shooter drills, we Boomers had bomb drills. When the signal came we were instructed by our teachers to duck under our desks and cover our heads with our arms. While that may sound ridiculous to the younger generation, the fear of a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union was a very real specter that silently hovered over our daily lives. The fact that a tiny desk might actually save us in the event of a real attack on our country felt absurd even to those of use who respectfully practiced according to the commands of our teachers. Even as we obeyed knew that we were not really safe. 

Every Friday at noon the sound of an air raid horn boomed into the atmosphere reminding us that there were terrible dangers in the world that we hoped and prayed would never actually happen. Then when President Kennedy was President of the United States, we learned with all seriousness that the Soviet Union was attempting to install missiles in Cuba. For many days a disturbing shadow of terror gripped the nation as political heroes worked to keep us safe for at least one more moment. We escaped the worst back then, but somehow the terror of it all never completely left us. 

I remember laughing about Dr. Strangelove, a Cold War Era satirical movie that may have temporarily soothed our psyches, but deep down inside reminded us of the potential of world destruction that lingered over all of humankind. We understood the possibility, however remote, of a crazed leader setting a nuclear attack in motion. It was the dark threat that all of us knew, but attempted to push away from our consciousness.

I was born and raised in Houston, Texas. I understood even as a young person that our city is no doubt a likely target if any bad tyrant decided to use bombs. We have one of the busiest Ship Channels in the country. Our oil and gas production is important for the world. We are even home to NASA headquarters. As the fourth largest city in the United States we would potentially take one of the first hits. Such realization has always been sobering, even as the passing years helped us to more often than not forgot about the dangers that constantly hover in the universe.

When I became an adult I watched one of the early limited televisions series, The Day After. It depicted the aftermath of a nuclear attack on the United States through the eyes of a family in Kansas. It was horrifying in its depictions of what nuclear warfare can do. i remember thinking that if such a doomsday event were ever to occur I would want to die instantly rather than having to endure the slow death from radiation and the loss of loved ones and our entire way of life. 

In truth my mind has mostly sheltered me from thinking too much about the possibility of such an attack on our country. I have relied on the belief that nobody would ever want to trigger the chain reaction of destruction that would inevitably ensue if such an heinous event were ever to occur. Mostly I have believed that we are engaged in a mutual standoff in which no nation is willing to throw caution to the wind knowing that our bombs will react to their bombs without hesitation. The stalemate is a good thing but I shudder when I consider that it may not always hold.

The invention of weapons of mass destruction were bound to happen one way or another. Unleashing them for any reason will remain a topic of debate forevermore. We can only hope that the mutually enforced truce will remain steady and pray that no crazy authoritarian will ever dare to push the button that will forever change our planet. Even the man who lead the group that created the first atomic bomb understood the horror of what those scientists had unleashed on the order of the world. 

The Old Testament of the Bible tells us that in the beginning earth was a paradise where the first humans lived in harmony and peace. Adam and Eve had everything that they needed to be happy. The only thing that was taboo was to ingest the fruit from a particular tree. They opened the can of worms that haunt us all to this very day. Whether we view this story as a religious truth or a parable of human weakness, the moral is the same. We humans are capable of destruction.

We are all given a glorious opportunity to live in harmony but somehow we too often find ourselves wanting more than we need. Humans have to fight to control their jealous and angry instincts and somehow do not always behave in concert and compassion with one another. Thus dangers lurk around us with the granddaddy of them all being our capacity to create a means if of endangering everything and everyone that we know. Let us hope that caution will continue to prevail. Our capacity to harm has only grown with the introduction of hydrogen bombs more lethal than the first iterations of nuclear weapons. We must never again see the horrors of what Oppenheimer and his crew wrought.