Month: October 2023

I have always enjoyed reading great novels, stories and poetry and then attempting to string words together to exercise my own feeble abilities at conveying great images. The best writers among us are originators. They have the ability to describe thoughts, people, places and moments with the eye of an artist. They manipulate phrases in unique ways to make statements that speak to every human who reads them. They are verbal dancers twisting and turning seemingly lighter than air itself. I love discovering the nuances of their ideas and being forever changed from the mere act of parsing the prose or poetry that they have set down in combinations and permutations of letters of the alphabet that transform into great thoughts. 

Thanks to my father, a collector of texts of every kind, and my high school English teacher who challenged me to read genres and authors unknown to me, I walk through bookstores noting the hundreds of books that I have read. Seeing them stacked on tables designed to capture the interest of novices who have yet to open their pages, is like encountering old friends. While I may not have been in touch with them lately, they live lovingly in corners of my heart. 

Reading is a sensual experience for me. I want to not only see the pages but also to feel them, to catch a scent of the paper and ink that that captures the essence of our shared human experience. For me it’s not just the bare bones of the story that seizes my attention, but the opportunity to meet and understand new people who leap from the pages. A great book has the power to transport me to other worlds, other universes inhabited by characters both perfect and frail. I want their stories to be fairy tales with happy ever afters while also knowing full well that reality is rarely like that. Nonetheless I love them so much that it crushes me when they fail. 

I find solace inside bookstores and libraries. When my anxieties are driving me to the brink I need only walk among the volumes demonstrating the glorious creativity of the human spirit. There is something soothing about the simple act of being surrounded by the multitude of compositions created by brilliant minds. Those texts unite me with authors who knew a different kind of world centuries ago but somehow shared the same longings that most of us feel today. The universality of our hopes and feelings helps me to realize that even in the darkest hours of my life I have never really been alone. The voices of the ages reach out to me to make me laugh or cry or simply learn. 

I truly believe that each of us should read more, not less. I celebrate the gift of literacy. The fact that I can read and write is no small treasure. It frees me from the bonds of ignorance. It makes me equal in possibilities with the richest and most powerful persons in the world. I am allowed to consider new ideas from people distanced from me by time and place, but not by thought. Reading truly is power. Being able to express my own ideas through writing is even more incredible. 

I have sometimes taken my freedom to read and write without restrictions for granted. I have lived in a time and place that has allowed me to seek knowledge unbound by censors. It has been an exhilerating experience, but of late I see that if I am not diligent things might change. I suppose that there have always been people who believe that we would be better served by policing ideas and topics that make them feel uncomfortable. They want to enforce taboos out of fear that there is something unhealthy about peering into descriptions of thoughts, places, actions, people who challenge the status quo. They fear that too much knowledge of controversial lifestyles and beliefs may infect our hearts and minds to the point of destroying our civilization. If they were better read they might realize that the opposite is true.

Stifling the human spirit, pretending that there should only be one way of thinking has always been the downfall of individuals, organization and nations. Dystopian novels are popular because we understand that humans with too much power and sway over the populace are the problem, not the differences that we inevitably have. Each of us should be able to choose the kind of existence that suits us best and reading provides us with unlimited examples from which to choose. 

There is much ado about nothing in schools these days. Concerned and no doubt loving parents want to monitor the content of lessons and the texts used to convey them. The problem is that all too often they insist on eliminating or banning books and theories that they do not personally like. Instead they would do well to prohibit only their own children, not the progeny of others who have been changed for the better by reading To Kill a Mockingbird or Things Fall Apart. I want those I love to have the same opportunities to browse freely through a library that I had. I am the person I am today because my parents and my teachers taught me to have an open mind, not one who is afraid to read or hear about the dark side of human nature. I have been able to navigate the tragedies of my own story because I have so intimately known the characters portrayed honestly in the books I have read. They prove to me that my personal trials are not unique. They provide me with courage.

My father read his newspaper in the morning before he left for work. He seemed to rarely be without his nose intently aimed inside a book. I saw the joy that he felt whenever he pointed to his collection of volumes that would not doubt have grown had he lived. I suppose that even in his death he left me one of the grandest lessons of all. He showed me the power and the joy of reading. It has served me so well.

Diversity, equity and inclusion are three words that are often misunderstood and even feared, especially when they are used in the context of education. Just what are the real meanings and intent of DEI efforts in the worlds of business and academia? Why are they suddenly creating so much furor in politics?

Diversity is often defined as “the practice or quality of including or involving people of different social and ethnic backgrounds and of different genders and sexual orientation.”  It has in many cases become a goal of workplaces, schools and universities to design training and educational opportunities for the communities of workers and students to widen their understandings of people unlike themselves. At times it has also been a reason for recruiting a variety of people from differing backgrounds with the goal of more closely mirroring the reality that there is no one group whose culture and philosophies should dominate any society or institution. Up until recently efforts to become more diverse have rarely been questioned, but presently ultra conservative groups are expressing their concerns through legislation that limits and sometimes outright bans such programs.

Equity is likewise defined as “the quality of being fair and impartial.” Given our past history there have been efforts to right some of the wrongs and defects of our fairness and justice, particularly in our judicial systems. There are now laws that protect groups in the workplace and strive to insure equal opportunities for all without discrimination. Universities have offered courses that focus on our nation’s evolution of fairness and its impact on particular groups. Such offerings were meant to enlighten workers and and students, to teach them about injustices that they may not have known. Equity became an integral effort not just to become more just but to understand why it is necessary to make changes in the way we view people unlike ourselves, to understand their histories and challenges. Such programs are also currently being challenged particularly in schools and universities.

Inclusion is “the act or policy of providing access to opportunity and resources to people or groups who might otherwise be excluded or marginalized.” Inclusion efforts include those with disabilities and minority groups who have often been underrepresented. More recently they have also focused on those with differing gender and sexual preferences.

It’s difficult for me to understand why anyone would think of DEI programs as being dangerous enough to warrant outlawing them in our public educational systems. As I think back on my own lifetime I know all too well that without mandates to encourage diversity, equity and inclusion entire groups of Americans would have little or no access to certain jobs, schools or societal institutions.

I am of a generation that witnessed cruel racial injustice and segregations. I have seen young women being harassed for attempting to prepare for formerly male dominated careers like architecture or engineering. I have lived long enough to know of the cruelty inflicted on those whose sexual preferences were deemed to be somehow evil. I know all too well how isolating and demeaning those former practices often were. It was through the concerted efforts of DEI programs as well as legislation that we became a kinder and more informed society. Through such efforts our worldviews and our institutions were transformed in ways that allowed a beautiful variety of thought and culture to bloom and flourish. 

Democracy for all should be more than just an ideal. It takes hard work and education to make everyone feel respected, understood, part of the great American dream. We are a huge country spanning from one great ocean to another. It is all too easy to simply live in ignorance in our own little bubbles. While it may feel more comfortable not to have our thinking and our beliefs challenged, it is not the way to build a strong and equitable nation. For far too long in our history white Anglo-Saxon Protestant males dominated every aspect of power and opportunity in our country. While that was simply the accepted norm of the times, it created problems for anyone who was excluded from that group. Over time we corrected those errors and it would be a mistake to return to a time when one group was more dominant and valued than others. 

We are a nation of many people with many different histories, cultures, and beliefs. We have slowly and often with great pain become more tolerant of those differences both in our personal lives and our public institutions. Turning back the clock by banning books, disallowing our young to learn about the importance of diversity, equity and inclusion will stifle the progress we have made.

Learning truths can be painful but not nearly as much as hiding either our flaws. Having difficult discussions about our differences builds bridges. Avoiding such topics creates walls. We should never be afraid to introduce our young to an honest rendering of history or current events. As an educator I know full well that they are thirsting for truth from us. My experience is that young people are most upset when they learn that we have been hiding reality from them.

Educators rarely force their thinking on their students. In most case they simply introduce them to differing points of view and then allow them to form their own conclusions. Any time I have witnessed “grooming” it has mostly involved sincerely religious individuals attempting to convert nonbelievers to their faith. Most teachers instead encourage their students to debate ideas, to look for the pros and cons of philosophies. They teach students how to question texts that they read. Teachers actively demonstrate the skills of critical thinking by offering multiple points of view. If this widens the horizons of the students all the better, but only a scant few educators have political agendas which they force on their pupils. If the students have been exposed to the ideals of DEI they spot the propaganda immediately just as my seventh grade teacher taught me to do.

I am saddened that my state has passed laws limiting DEI programs in our public schools and universities. These politicians have created a state of chaos and confusion as teachers and professors worry that their curriculum will somehow land them in trouble. Much of the furor is being directed under the guise of parental rights, but all too often those parents most likely to urge the banning of books or ideas are actually wanting to force their own thinking on all students. It is a sad state of affairs when some of our best and brightest teachers and students are looking to move to other states out of fear that somehow our fine institutions have been forced to move backward rather than forward. We had so much of which to be proud that is slowly being dismantled by fear induced propaganda that is so sadly untrue. 

I suspect that the current state of affairs is just one more chapter in our country’s history. My hope is that we will one day come to our senses and move from the restriction of ideas that is currently being forced upon us. It is the product of fears being stoked by individuals who seek power. By creating culture wars among the populace they hope to gain ascendency. They know that if we teach diversity, equity and inclusion well we will not fall prey to their tactics. I believe that they are enforcing ignorance on our young to keep them in line. My seventh grade teacher who taught me to be aware of such things would be appalled. 

I have a brilliant friend who answered a request for her views on the war between Israel and Hamas by noting that “the situation is nuanced.” While some might see this kind of response as being enigmatic, a “both sides” unwillingness to take a stand, or even a non answer, I understand the wisdom in her brief remark. Wars don’t tend to instantly begin. Instead they occur after years of disagreements between people, nations, ideologies. Study of the Middle East is a complex history dating so far back that it is often difficult to keep track of all of the issues that have plagued that part of the world. 

In truth the recent attack by Hamas was barbaric and sickening. It is impossible to see the images of bullet holes in baby carriages and bodies of innocents without feeling visceral anger. Since the attack Hamas officials have made it clear that the carnage was intentional. One of their leaders has appeared on Russian television boasting that Hamas has patiently and purposely lulled Israel into complasence with the goal of mounting this surprise attack. Little wonder that the people of Israel are more determined than ever to defend their nation, but the complexity of the situation is to be found in the reality of the history of the Gaza strip. Everyday Palestinians have suffered in crowded conditions, walled in on three sides and unable to leave without enduring a difficult and complex process of applying for the freedom to depart. The last election they had was in 2006, and since then they have in essence been human pawns in a geopolitical chess game in which they have had little voice but much misery. While there is no excuse for the bloodbath produced by Hamas terrorists, it is also true that innocents on both sides of the conflict will pay the horrific price of war.

Wars are political and more often than not produced by groups of individuals rather than the populace. In most cases ordinary men and women simply want to be left alone. They hope to live their lives in peace and harmony. Now both Israelis and Palestinians and are instead caught in the vortex of war, losing loved ones and any sense of security.

Evil lies in the ill conceived notion that might makes right and in the lust of power hungry strongmen who are unwilling to lose. Many such actors on the world stage are manipulating the current situation from afar. Hate and jealousy are the fuel for wars and those emotions have coursed throughout human history from the time that Cain murdered his brother Abel. 

I pray for the people of Israel and cannot imagine how they presently feel, but I also grieve for the horror that the innocent families living in the Gaza strip who have nowhere to go to escape the hell of war will no doubt endure. I admittedly feel naive in wishing that we might all just get along, because I have witnessed the dark side of humanity more often than I might wish. I have seen instances here in my own country that have made me weep. I find it difficult to understand why we have to fight with each other even as I admit that it happens all the time. 

History is filled with wars over borders, shifting alliances, human efforts to parcel peace one square foot at a time. As a modern world we believe that such disagreements should be brokered with reason rather than force, but there always seems to be some person or group or country that is unwilling to follow our rules of diplomacy. The dark side of human nature overcomes patience and willingness to compromise. So it is with the shocking nature of the attack on ordinary Israelis by the forces of Hamas.  

After the murder of George Floyd there were protests all across the United States. Most of them were peaceful but a few became violent and destructive. Emotions became unhinged. The result was loss of property and even loss of life. The eye for an eye response by only a handful of the protestors was not helpful. The message at times became lost in their acts of violence, resulting in an even greater rift rather than a solution for the very legitimate concerns of the vast majority of those who rallied to demonstrate their frustration. The trouble makers may have had very good reasons to be angry but they derailed a powerful movement that might have elicited needed changes had they not alienated much of the citizenry and opened themselves to being used for negative propaganda.

It always saddens me when we are unable to join in common efforts that cross borders, beliefs, and differences to peacefully broker solutions. Sometimes we manage to do so, but other times we seem to be mired in the concrete of our unwillingness to see, hear and understand other points of view. Right now our own country is broken by divisions and we would be wise to note that if we cannot begin to mend our own disagreements we might easily find ourselves in a chronic state of chaos. 

At a time when we should be coming together to defend freedoms everywhere we are hurling insults at each other and weakening the bonds that we should feel with our fellow citizens. We know full well that the “Cains” among us are fomenting hate and distrust. They are labeling each of us as though we are not unique. They are turning refugees into criminals and fomenting fears that only lead to unreasonable anger. If we learn anything from the situation in Israel it should be that our best pathway is the one of inclusion of the many voices that comprise our nation without the hatred that sometimes taints our willingness to get along. We can certainly root out evil doers. We know they exist, but we would do well to avoid the lazy temptation to see everyone as either a hero or a villain. We should understand that life is much more nuanced than that. 

I pray for peace in our world and in our nation. The times are tumultuous and may get worse before they get better. Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me. Pray for the innocents across the globe who are victims of war.

I was at a teachers’ conference when my cell phone vibrated and I saw that Catherine was calling me. I excused myself and walked to a less crowded area as I accepted the call. It was February and she sounded ecstatically happy. I assumed that she was just going to tell me that she loved me because it was so close to Valentine’s Day. Instead her words tumbled forth like an avalanche. She was many weeks pregnant with twins. Her fertility doctor had successfully helped her to both conceive and keep the pregnancy viable. It was a miracle that made us both cry with immeasurable joy. 

I was hardly able to wait until summer when I would be able to visit Catherine and Jeremy in Chicago. They lived in a cute two bedroom apartment near Wrigley Stadium. It was a third floor walkup with gleaming wood floors and steam heaters. It looked as though it had been built in the nineteen twenties or thirties. It was a cozy place that Catherine had already begun to decorate for the babies that were to come around the end of October or early November. 

Before we had an opportunity to even plan a summer visit, a fire broke out on the second floor of Catherine’s building during the middle of the night. She had been having difficulty sleeping so she was able to hear noises and smell something burning. When she peeked outside the door to her place she saw smoke rising up the stairs. She immediately awakened Jeremy and the two of them grabbed their dog, Maggie, and raced out of the building using the fire escape. Jeremy called 911 and then reentered the building to awaken as many residents as he was safely able to do. The only person who did not leave the building was the man in whose apartment the conflagration had begun. Luckily the fire fighters came quickly enough to save him, but he was badly burned. 

In order to control the blaze the firefighters had to break through the roof of the building. Since Catherine’s apartment was on the top floor virtually everything that she owned was damaged even though the fire itself never got that high. She stood on the street watching the action in her bare feet, three months pregnant hugging her little dog and feeling thankful that she, Jeremy and her neighbors had all escape mostly unscathed. She was homeless at a time when she had a strong nesting instinct but thanks to her father’s advice she and Jeremy had carried renter’s insurance so they would have at least some compensation for setting up a new household somewhere else. They hoped that the unborn babies had not been adversely affected by the smoke. 

As it so happened our nephew, Daniel, was graduating from the University of Chicago in early June. By then Catherine and Jeremy had found an apartment in the suburbs that was closer to his work. We gathered there along with my brother, Mike, and sister-in-law, Becky to celebrate Daniel’s graduation and to help Catherine and Jeremy to get resettled. We made dozens of trips back and forth to Babies R Us purchasing cribs, bassinets, and other supplies. We has sessions filled with joy as we put all of the gear together. We were sharing so much love and happy expectation in spite of the tragedy that had occurred.

Later that summer it was my good friend, Linda, who once again hosted a baby shower for Catherine. There were so many gifts that they would not all fit into the car that she and Jeremy had driven down to Texas. We had to help get all of the gear back to Chicago. 

It seemed as though Catherine’s dreams of a family were coming true when she went into labor far too early. The doctors did everything in their power to stop the process but their efforts seemed to be in vain. They were warning Catherine and Jeremy that the babies were not yet ready to enter the world and if they were born they might be riddled with very serious health issues. They might even be unable to breathe or be blind or deaf. It was a punch to the gut for all of us to hear such things. I have never been so anxious in my life.

Just when it appeared that an early birth was inevitable Catherine’s labor stopped. She went on bedrest for many weeks and eventually reached a point at which birth would be safe for her and for the babies even if it came a bit early. On October 1, 2003, Ian and Abby were born in Chicago. They were tiny babies who had fought hard to be in this world. Even though they were still a month early, there was nothing seriously wrong with them. They were breathing. They were not blind. They were two bundles of joy who instantly brought happiness into our world. This Gammy was overjoyed as I held them in my arms and rejoiced that they were well.

Catherine was another story. She developed a serious infection from her Cesarean section. I had returned home but had to hop on a plane immediately to care for her and help with the babies. A home healthcare nurse taught me how to clean and dress her wound several times each day. I was afraid of hurting her at first but soon overcame my squeamishness. I was actually rather proud when the nurse returned after a week and complimented my efforts. The part of me that had once dreamed of being a nurse silently wondered if I might have done well in that profession after all. More importantly Catherine was feeling well again and ready to become a supermom with her little ones. She would dedicate herself to that task with all of her heart and soul.

I drove a long way to work each day in the late nineties and early in the twenty first century. I was the Magnet Coordinator at Revere Middle School which was a good thirty miles away from my house in Southeast Houston. I had to rise early and fight traffic for an hour just to get there. I had followed my principal to the school after he asked me to come help the faculty just as I had at South Houston Intermediate. I quickly learned that there was a great deal of suspicion about why I was there. The teachers either embraced me or pushed me away in fear that I was more about threatening their jobs than actually assisting them in their work. It was difficult to be disliked because I had always had excellent relationships with my teaching colleagues. I knew I had to prove myself by first learning about what is it like in a large urban school district.

There always seemed to be some kind of turmoil in progress in Houston ISD and within the walls of Paul Revere as well. I was working longer and harder than I ever before had. On Friday afternoons I picked up my mother for dinner and shopping. We usually had fun together but she was beginning to be more and more anxious whenever I met up with her. At first I thought that she was just dealing with the stresses of being retired and living on a rather small fixed income, but soon it became apparent to me that she was devolving into a psychotic state. 

When my mother was working her boss would call to warn me when Mama was showing signs of needing help. Now there was nobody to keep me apprised of her daily habits and she had sadly become incredibly ill. When I tried to make an appointment for her to see the psychiatrist that had kept her well for so many years I learned that she had left his care and was relying on her primary care physician to provide her with medication which she apparently had not been taking. Her psychiatrist told me that he was too old to deal with a noncompliant patient and despite my pleas he refused to see her. I had to find someone willing to take her as a patient quickly, but that proved to be an almost impossible task. 

I found out the hard way that the state of care for mental health in Texas is chaotic at best. I literally spent days in my office at school with the door locked and the blinds drawn calling one doctor after another hoping to find someone willing to see. her. Some wanted only cash for their services, on Medicare, no insurance. Others specialized in younger patients. Some had practices that were full. I followed one lead after another only to be turned away again and again. I ended up sobbing uncontrollably while talking with yet another doctor who had insisted that he would not be able to give my mother an appointment. He kindly talked with me for over an hour until I was once more in control of my emotions. He provided me with the names of two more doctors that he thought might be willing to help. Sadly neither of them had opening for my mother but one of them gave me one more name, Dr. Jary Lesser, head of geriatric psychiatry at the University of Texas Mental Health Institute. It was there that I would find the miracle worker who would make my mother whole again. 

Once I had an appointment for Mama it would take me and both of my brothers to coax her to see the doctor. She was paranoid and manic all at once and fought us with everything she had, even threatening to run naked down the street if we did not leave her alone. With the help of one of her neighbors who told her that she should trust her children to take care of her and the quick thinking of my brother, Pat, who got her into his truck, we managed to get her to Dr. Lesser who finally diagnosed her illness correctly and provided medications that made her seem like the incredible mother who had sacrificed so much for us when we were children. She would live with my brother, Michael for a time while she recovered. 

Not long after that terrorists flew into the Twin Towers in New York City and chaos ensued at our school as parents worried that there might be attacks all over the country. it was a crazy time when I watched the beginnings of fissures and distrust in our nation. Those same things were present on a small scale in our school as well. Everything felt just a bit more difficult but the bright light was Maryellen’s announcement that she was once again pregnant. This time it would be twins. 

Immediately after her call I reached out to Catherine. I knew that she had been trying desperately to have children and I sensed that Maryellen’s news would compound her worries that she was never going to be a mother. When I called her she burst into tears. She had been seeing a fertility doctor, giving herself painful injections, working so hard to conceive and carry a baby to term. She was inconsolable in her fear that she would never have a successful pregnancy. There was so little that I could say to make her feel better. I knew not to try to give her false hopes. I only told her that I understood her concerns and that it was too early to give up. 

When the time came for Maryellen’s twins to be born Catherine surprised her sister by flying home overnight after working until midnight at the hospital. The two sisters embraced and cried when they saw each other. Soon after I had two more incredible grandsons, Benjamin and Eli who looked so much alike that Maryellen would have to dress them in different colors for people to know which was which. Ben would always wear blue and Eli would be donned in green. They were set to become more incredibly delightful that any of us might ever have imagined. Catherine would learn from Maryellen the art of successfully mothering two babies at once. it was something that she might need in her future.