Month: June 2024

When I read Barack Obama’s inspiring autobiography, Dreams From My Father, I immediately felt a kinship with him. Much like the former President I have spent time wondering exactly what my father would have been like if he had not died and what he would have thought of the person that I have become. Losing my daddy was the most traumatic event in my life but I have preserved my memories of him through my own experiences and from the comments that others often made about him. I have spent a lifetime searching for a way to know him better and imagining what it would be like to have spent adult time with him. 

My grandmother always told me that my father was a good boy, a model child, a loving son. I know that he adored his mother and reveled in being with her. While she was never able to read or write she devoted herself to educating him and he in turn shared what he had learned with her. He once tried to teach her but she felt too much like an old dog attempting to master new tricks and she finally insisted that it was too late to even try. She said that it crushed him to be unable to help her to master those things.

My grandfather was an avid reader and his love of books and newspapers and magazines seemed to flow naturally to my father who was slowly but surely building an impressive library for himself and for me and my brothers. Daddy came home from work each evening and immediately read the evening newspaper from the front page to the very end. He seemed to have a photographic memory because he would quote entire paragraphs almost word for word. After dinner his favorite pastime was reading from one of his books and sharing his favorite passages out loud while classical music filled the air. He delighted in seeing our reactions, especially those of my mother.

My father liked everything. He was an engineer but he also loved poetry and fictional pieces. He had so many humorous books, but also scientific texts that often predicted the future. He enjoyed sports of every kind and was able to rattle off statistics without even thinking. In many ways I remember him as being a hybrid of me and my two brothers. He gave me the gift of reading and seemed to pass down his genes to a brother who is a quiet master mathematician and engineer. Our youngest brother is a people person who loves jokes and being outdoors and looks so much like him that it is remarkable. According to one of my aunts, our youngest sibling also sounds just like our father.

One of my older cousins often spoke of how interesting my father was. He would come to our home when he was a teenager and he and my father would sit together talking about every possible topic. My cousin often opined that he missed those intellectual gatherings with my dad which was quite a compliment because he himself turned out to be an incredibly deep thinker.

My father made friends easily and our home was always filled with his buddies and their families or neighbors from down the street. He was a devoted fan of the Texas A&M Aggies never missing a game or competition of any kind even if it meant just listening on the radio. He loved the humorous shows on television best and his laugh came from deep down in his belly and echoed delightfully through the house. I really enjoyed sitting near him when he tuned in to his favorite programs like Your Show of Shows. I didn’t always understand the jokes but when he guffawed I knew that I should as well.

My father loved my mother deeply and the feeling was mutual. They had been married for eleven years when he died but they still walked together holding hands like two lovebirds. My father took great joy in showing his affection for my mother and surprising her with lovely gifts that reflected her beauty. He was as affectionate with me and my brothers as he was with her and he often took great pains to show us how much he loved us. I loved how he would lift us up into the air and tell us how wonderful we were.

I have often supposed that because my father had so many talents he had a difficult time finding work that challenged him. In his final year of life he seemed to be searching for something that he was unable to find. I have surmised that the death of one of his best friends and his grief over that loss had affected him more deeply than anyone realized. He was different after his buddy was gone and seemed determined to create more meaning from his life and work rather than just earning a paycheck. I don’t know that he ever got over that loss because the two of them were like brothers.

I loved it whenever my father took me along with him when he was running his errands. We would visit bookstores and libraries or we might find ourselves listening to recordings of the classical music that he so loved. His face would light up with unbridled joy when he found a new rendering of Beethoven or when he saw a copy of a book that he had been wanting to read. He shared his thoughts with me as though I was his peer, seeming not to notice that I was only eight years old. I loved that about him as well!

None of us were ever quite the same after my father was gone. My grandmother seemed to slowly shrivel away. My mother shouldered her responsibilities with aplomb but her perennially impish joy was diminished. I silently suffered and went into a kind of cocoon for many years before I finally emerged hoping that I was the butterfly that he had always urged me to be. 

There have been many Father’s Days since his death and I have remembered him on each one of them. The impact he made on me in a few short years is immeasurable. I somehow feel his spirit inside of me telling me to be kind, to be my best, to seize the day. My biggest regret is that my husband and children never got to meet him. I am certain that they would have loved him as much as all of us did.

I suppose that most of us remember our fathers as being the best, but in my case I am certain that I am right. The dreams from my father have unfolded through me and my brothers and they have been so wonderful. I see him in each of us and know that somewhere, somehow he is still watching over us.

Happy Father’s Day Everyone!   

There were times when students that I loved did bad things. It was always difficult to mete out the punishments that they had earned. I hated their thoughtless choices, behavior that was wrong, but I never hated them. I continued to love them and encourage them to start anew to attempt to be better. 

I remember one of my favorite students stealing laptops computers from the school. He was expelled for his actions. As he waited for his mother to pick him up and take him home he sat in an anteroom sobbing. When I went to talk with him he exclaimed with red eyes that he knew that I could no longer think well of him or like him. He was shocked when I told him that I disliked what he had done and agreed that he had to be disciplined, but that I would never stop caring for him. I expressed my hope that somehow he would be able to learn from what had happened and make changes in his life that would help him to follow a pathway of honesty. I hugged him and wished him well with tears in my own eyes. 

A few years later I saw this young man once again at his brother’s graduation. He was smiling and rushed over to give me a hug. He told me that he had worked hard to undo the harm he had done to others. He went to counseling and concentrated more on his schooling. He even got a job to earn the funds that he had once attempted to garner illegal by theft. His mother and brother were as proud of him as I was. He had paid for his crime and was ready to move on and live a good life. 

Each of us has no doubt encountered a situation in which someone for whom we care is found to be guilty of behaviors that appall us. For some it may be addiction to drugs or alcohol or both. For others it may be theft or physical violence. It hurts to know of their deception and criminal actions. We may never be able to forgive them for what they have done, but if they are our child it is difficult to turn away completely. It is normal to feel the bond of love and the abhorrence of their actions at one and the same time.

We have a President who has led a life filled with tragedy. His first wife died in a car accident along with his daughter. As someone who lost a parent when I was eight I know the emotional rollercoaster that overtakes the emotions. I have lived the depression and uncertainty of a child feeling so suddenly unmoored. I somehow made it through the darkness and found the light but I have seen many students whose lives were overturned with the loss of a parent. They went from happy children to morose and tortured souls who sometimes struck out at the world in their confusion. I suspect that Hunter Biden is one of those souls. His response to the trauma was to rely on drugs, to shatter his own life those around him hoping to kill the pain. 

I do not condone all that Hunter Biden has done, but I believe that I understand some of the impetus for his out of control lifestyle. He obviously hit rock bottom and hurt lots of people before he was able to pull himself out of the pit he had created. He has managed to get sober and remain there even though he would certainly know that each day has the potential to toss him back into the maelstrom.

Hunter’s father has no doubt spent many nights anxiously praying for his son, hoping that somehow he will change. He is certain to have asked himself if he is to blame for how Hunter became. This is what any loving parent does in such a situation. It is to the President’s credit that he has refused to give up on Hunter. He rightfully hates the bad things that Hunter has done but loves him with the deepest kind of love that parents have for their children, good or bad.

Hunter committed a crime when he purchased a gun under the influence of drugs. He lied on a document that everyone who makes such a purchase must sign. A jury has determined that Hunter is guilty of breaking the law and his father accepts the verdict even as he show his love for his prodigal son. This is what good parents do. 

There are people who are using this very personal family tragedy as a political cudgel. They are mocking the President for loving his ‘criminal” son. They seem not to understand that to do otherwise would demonstrate a lack of humanity. They hurl insults at Hunter and his entire family knowing that their darts might pierce his resolve to stay drug free. They show a total lack of sensitivity to a situation that would be heartbreaking to any parent who possesses an ounce of feeling. 

I think of my students who were saved when they learned that people cared about them in spite of their sins. I wonder how any of us can dare to judge a father who openly demonstrates his love for his son in spite of his transgressions. Most of us have witnessed similar situations in our own lives or in the families of people that we know. Such moments are always intensely difficult but there is always a small grain of hope as long as love prevails. I dislike what Hunter did and I agree that he must pay a price but then we should all cheer him if he continues to work to be a better man and we should respect our President for showing us how to love.

When my eldest daughter was at the University of Texas she sent me a CD that featured the singer, Celine Dion. I had never heard of the performer before that moment but I instantly fell in love with her and played the CD over and over again. From about 1990 forward I closely followed Celine’s meteoric career and found myself loving any song that she performed. 

I had often considered traveling to Las Vegas for the sole purpose of seeing Celine in person but I somehow never got there nor was I able to see her when she toured. Nonetheless I considered her to be one of the most incredible singers in the world. She had a range and a sensitivity for delivering lyrics that was magical. I imagined that I would still have time to one day witness one of her shows in person. Little did I know that Celine was harboring a secret that was terrifying her and would stun those of us who are her fans. 

It seems that Celine Dion was noticing troubling things about her voice and even her body particularly after a performance. She began to experience spasms in her limbs and her voice would sometimes be uncharacteristically raspy. She took Valium to calm the skittishness of her body, often more than once during a live show. She admits now that it was a dangerous tactic that might have killed her if she had continued. Eventually she would begin cancelling performances instead, using excuses like having a sinus infection or a virus of some kind. Before long her symptoms became so severe that she had to pull the plug on touring at all and she announced that she was resting for a time. 

It seems that Celine Dion had been diagnosed with Stiff Person Syndrome or SDS, a rare autoimmune disease that affects one or two people in a million. It is a neurological disorder that causes spasms of the limbs and even of the lungs. As her illness progressed, Celine was unable to sing as wonderfully as she once had. Her octaves were set in the high range with little power to propel them. She began to experience dangerous episodes in which she lost control of her body. She had to seek treatments and spend her days in physical therapy sessions. For now she is mostly homebound, fighting with all of her will to become strong enough to return to the occupation that she feels defines her. 

Recently I watched a documentary on Amazon Prime called I Am Celine Dion. It was admittedly difficult to watch because Celine did not attempt to sugar coat her experience with SPS. In fact she was quite honest about how difficult her journey has been and how lost she now feels because the singing that represents her very being is no longer possible. She misses the excitement of the crowd and the exuberance of hitting the right notes. She has been passionate about singing since she was a child and she does not mince words about how tragic this turn of events has been for her. 

During the filming Celine goes into a frightening total body spasm. Seeing her contorted face and limbs which she cannot control in those moments brought me to tears. I viscerally felt her pain. I recently experience spasms in my back that were so strong that I felt as though I was literally going to fall to the ground. In the worst moments just moving from one position to another was excruciating. I cannot imagine enduring this kind of thing in the hands, feet, limbs, back and even in the very act of breathing. It has to be terrifying and debilitating. 

Celine Dion feels her loss. The gift of a magnificent voice has been cruelly taken away from her. For me it would be like being unable to see so that I can read, and write and teach. We each find our talents if we are lucky and having them struck down is perhaps the cruelest irony anyone might endure. For such a thing to happen to a person who is extraordinary is a nightmare. Nonetheless Celine Dion seems determined to return to performing one day even if she has to crawl back to the stage. 

During the documentary Celine sang a song with her new condition and quite obviously her voice has changed considerably, but she still sounded beautiful. I can imagine her doing like Frank Sinatra eventually did as he grew older. She might sit on a stool or a chair with only a spotlight while she croons in a raspy but still stunning voice. It would be different, but I believe that her fans would cheer her on and love her as much as always. We all like stories of courage and hers is certainly one for the ages. 

I’ll be thinking of Celine Dion from here on out. I’ll be cheering her hopeful progress. She deserves to be able to use the beautiful gift that is her voice. For now she has proven to once again be an inspiration with her humility and honesty about how she feels. There are surely others who are suffering who will find hope in her message. I know that she has had a deep effect on me. 

In the documentary Celine Dion attempts to consider who she is. She admits that singing has always defined her very existence. I hope she will learn that she is doing as much for the world by revealing her difficult journey as when she sang like an angel. I certainly wish her well and I truly believe that through this beautiful documentary her heart will go on.  

I have always enjoyed studying history. I find it fascinating to learn about the people who came before me. When I was still a student I generally excelled in history classes because of my curiosity about the past. I find so much that we humans might learn about ourselves from honestly gathering factual information about the way our ancestors once lived. Sadly in my fascination about history I came to realize that most of what we learn in the limited and hurried classes that we take as youngsters is akin to reading a generalized synopsis of what really happened in the past. It takes much more study to become genuinely informed.

There were no College Board approved Advanced Placement courses in my high school. I’m not even sure if such a thing existed anywhere at the time. The result is that my encounter with courses on the United States and the western world were watered down recitations of a few fact here and there without many details as to why things happened the way that they did. Studying the Civil War that broke the union of the United States is a perfect example of how shallow the information actually was. 

My teacher swept through that era with a listing of dates and battles and leaders on each side of the conflict. We did not read primary sources of the time that would have enlightened our beliefs. I did not know about the articles of secession that each Confederate State used to outline reasons for breaking away from the rest of the nation. If I had encountered such documents I would have learned that slavery was very clearly stated as the main source of the conflict. With primary source material I might have found out that the Vice President of the Confederacy bluntly outlined his belief that the black slaves were inferior human beings whose only purpose on the earth was to be used for labor. I would have immediately seen that the Civil War was totally predicated on keeping people enslaved to boost the economy of slave owners who had mostly justified the imprisonment of people with horrific beliefs about race.

The Advanced Placement History classes of today provide students with first person truths garnered from the writings and speeches of the players in the stories of the world. They also consider writings from contemporaries of the times. No longer do students have to simply take the word of those who have written textbooks. They learn how to parse the actual thoughts and ideas of people living in different times. It is an enlightening experience that also pushes students to think critically about our historical evolution. It focuses on provable facts insofar as it possible.

I have taken a number of continuing education history classes at Rice University. The professors use primary sources that come from the mouths of people who actually lived in particular times. With writings of an era they produce a glimpse into the minds of the movers and shakers of history. I vividly learn about their prejudices, philosophies and foibles. I can see the imperfections along with the wisdom or courage that has led to and shaped the world that we now know. With the gift of hindsight I almost want to have a super power that allows me to warn the heroes and villains of the past about the problems that their follies will ultimately create. Such mind exercises prompt me to think more carefully about the consequences of the future that our present day decisions will determine. 

I am truly saddened when I witness politicians and people who are quite ignorant of history attempting to silence those whose research has uncovered evidence of grave errors in the past. They want to enshrine heroes without admitting that none of them were perfect. They protect their own philosophies and ideals by ignoring the truths that might lead them to question the ways that we have always done things. They do not want to hear honest critiques or debate ideas for progress. Instead they preach a doctrine of rock hard stasis in which nothing ever changes even when the evidence indicates that it must do so. They fear admitting that maybe the heroes of the past had the same clay feet that most of us do. 

As a Dean of Faculty at a high school that was lauded for its excellence in academics I sat in many Advanced Placement history classes. I was awed by the knowledge and honesty of the teachers. I was excited by the depth of the discussions that they initiated with their students. They were dedicated to showing their pupils how to parse and research and write about the past. Their students eagerly engaged in critical thinking. I always felt that by demanding debates and searches for truth these teachers were preparing their charges to make far better choices for the future than most of us know how to do. Those young people learned how to look back, consider the present and prepare for the times that are to come. 

There is a time when adults use fairytales to teach the very young. Stories and fables can be quite powerful, but ultimately those children must also learn how things really work. My experience with adolescents and teens has shown me that they are ready and eager to be treated as the intelligent people that they are. They not only want to encounter honesty in their classrooms, but they actually need to do so. The teaching of history is critical to debunking the myth that prejudices of the past were somehow more benign than they actually were. Anything less than confronting truths will keep backward thinking alive. Let our students read the actual words of the people that they are studying. It will be an extraordinary experience. 

As I grow older I have the time to notice things about which I once knew little. I was always up to my eyeballs in being busy with life. I’ve had jobs since I was fifteen years old in addition to going to school, earning degrees, managing a household, having children, doing all of the things that modern women do. I’d leave my home in the dark each morning and rarely go to bed before it was almost the next day. Whenever my mother became ill with her bipolar disorder my balancing act became even busier as I cared for her until she was well again. 

I knew about some of troubles that plague our American society through my interactions with the students whom I taught. For most of my years in the classroom I encountered a preponderance of young people eligible for free and reduced lunch. They lived in areas of town through which few middle or upper income people would want to even venture to drive. They were often lacking in books and things that many of us take for granted. They were more likely than not unaccustomed to the kind of preventive medical care that so many of us take for granted. Initially most of the schools where I worked had nurses who kept busy providing them with referrals to free clinics where they might receive the medical attention that they needed. Sadly, toward the last years when I was teaching more and more schools relied on traveling nurses who had little time do insure that every student was receiving regular medical care. Since retiring I have become more acutely aware of the strains on our medical system and the tremendous inequities in who is receiving attention from doctors.

My father-in-law has enjoyed a lifetime of exemplary medical care. Even as a child growing up in the great depression he did not experience the kind of want and desperation that most people of that era saw. As a young man without college he found work in a unionized company that provided him with free health insurance and a generous pension plan that sustains him with “Cadillac” style living into his ninety fifth year. He can afford a concierge physician who sees him every three months. He pays little or nothing to see the best heart specialists, opthamologists, dermatologists, and dentists in the city. At the age of ninety five his doctors keep him in tip top shape because his insurance will pay them without needing referrals. They will see him immediately if he feels even a twinge. 

My father-in-law has been blessed with good fortune that not many people in our country enjoy. We may have the best doctors anywhere but for far too many citizens seeing them is too costly and so they simply ignore symptoms until it is too late. Most Americans today have to pay exorbitant fees for health insurance and then face ridiculously high bills when they seek medical care. Younger workers today rarely earn the kind of pensions to protect them in old age that my father-in-law enjoys along with Social Security. Theirs is a quiet panic that is rarely discussed but needs to be addressed. Far too many people do not have the means to regularly visit doctors even as they continue to work hard and attempt to save for an uncertain future. Those who are poor have even drearier prospects. 

My mother, like me, worked from a very young age. She unexpectedly became a single parent at the age of thirty and enrolled in college to become a certified teacher. Hers was a balancing act that few would be able to handle, particularly given that when she was forty years old the first dramatic episode of her mental illness became apparent. She lost her position as a teacher and found herself hunting for work that would provide a reasonable healthcare benefit and flexibility in dealing with her illness. Luckily she became a member of a research team at the University of Texas Health Science Center. Her health insurance was free and she earned a pension with the Teachers Retirement System of Texas. More importantly her boss and coworkers were incredibly understanding of her bouts with mental illness. As a result she was always able to address her health issues with proper care even as things tended to get more and more difficult as she aged. 

The luxuries of free health insurance and generous pension plans are fewer than they once were. Even while my father-in-law was grandfathered into the incredible plans of the company where he worked until early retirement, those in my age group who worked along side him learned that such perks would be a thing of the past. He was the last of the people who would retire never having to pay into any of the plans. Today’s workers in the same company would not recognize the benefits that he earned simply for showing up to work. 

We have safety plans for Americans that are often inadequate. The poorest among us tend to wait until they are so sick that they verge on death. We comfort our feelings of guilt by making assumptions about them that are often far from the truth. Many times such people are actually working at many jobs, none of which provide them with viable benefits. They are not simply lazy or ignorant, but more often just victims of circumstances that have made their lives difficult. They have experienced a lifetime of drudgery and fear of becoming homeless and faceless in a world that does not always see them as people worthy of the same perks that some of us enjoy. 

My grandfather lived in a time before Social Security and Medicare. He was old when my grandmother became afflicted with cancer. Since Medicare was still a few years away Grandpa depleted the savings that he had stored away for his later years in order to provide her with the care she needed. When all of his money was gone the hospital sent my grandmother home to die. Grandpa became her nurse at the age of eighty nine. I was only fourteen years old and my mother was busy working so there was nobody to help him from day to day so he emptied my grandmother’s colostomy bag and dressed her wounds. When she died he moved into a rented room because his only source of funds was a very small Social Security check. Fortunately it was a win win situation for him and the young widow who used his payment to keep her home.

We think of ourselves as the greatest nation on earth and there is much to demonstrate that we have bragging rights. Nonetheless, it would be wrong to allow anyone in our country to flounder at any age in life without proper medical care or the ability to at least find a room with someone kind enough to share a home. With all our great wealth surely we should be willing to make certain that everyone has a minimal assurance of a roof overhead, food in a pantry and access to medicine when they need it. Making our country great has nothing to do with selecting one religion for all or flying flags. It is about making sure that all of our brothers and sisters have the care that they need.