Month: April 2025

Perception is everything. How we see the world determines so many of our thoughts and choices in life. Now that I am four years away from beginning my ninetieth decade on the earth I see my life from a different perspective than I did when I was a little girl of eight who had just learned that her father had died in a car crash. 

Back then I saw my thirty three year old father as a paragon of wisdom and grace. He was perfection in my eyes and my mother would only enhance his mythical status with her own stories of his stature. As I aged from decade to decade I began to realize that there were indeed tiny cracks in my father’s life, flaws that made him as human as anyone. I saw that he was grieving from the loss of his best friend and searching for meaning in his work that he had yet to find. 

What never really crossed my mind was how incredibly young he was when he died. He was my father after all and therefore a wise elder in my mind. Only recently did his youthfulness become real to me when I was sending birthday greetings to one of my former students who was celebrating his thirty third birthday. Suddenly it dawned on me that the man I have idolized for all of my like was still in the adventurous, experimental phase of his life. He was in the first stages of the process of finding satisfaction in his work and family life, a period of time that all of us experience as we attempt to learn the meaning of who we are and what we are supposed to do. 

I was an inquisitive child who took delight in listening to adult conversations even when my elders assumed that I was not hearing what they were saying. I still recall my father speaking about his work as a mechanical engineer and expressing disappointment that it was not more interesting and challenging. His movement from one job to another, our journey to California and back, and the variety of his interests and the books that he read speak of a man who wanted to make a difference in the world. Sadly much of the work he was assigned to do struck him as being mundane. He often commented that perhaps he would have been better suited to electrical engineering but had been drawn to the mechanical because he had always enjoyed building and tinkering with things. 

As I look back on my own career with great satisfaction I realize that I was in my early forties before I hit my stride and felt as though I was actually where I was always meant to be. That feeling of satisfaction that I had found my true vocation made my work seem important and even invigorating. To this day I feel a sense of pride and purpose in what I was able to do as a teacher. When people suggest that I did not fulfill my potential I internally scoff. The happiness that I feel when thinking about my decades as an educator assures me that I may even have exceeded my own expectations.

I am an old woman now but my heart and my thoughts are young. It is difficult for me to imagine my father as an old man but sometimes I like to dream of what he might have been but for that terrible wreck that took his life. I suspect that if he had lived just a bit longer he would have been incredibly excited about NASA coming to our backyard. I see him working at the Space Center and being part of the thrilling days of the first rockets in space, the first orbits around the earth, the first humans on the moon. That is the kind of experience that filled his dreams and I truly believe that he would have made the team of engineers who worked behind the scenes of the space program. 

I laugh when I think of him being the first person on our block to purchase a television. I can still see him eagerly plugging it in and settling down to watch his favorite comedians. I hear his laughs that came from deep down in his belly and it fills me with joy. Somehow I have little doubt that he would have eagerly purchased one of the first computers and rejoiced at the incredible pace of discovery and invention. Of course he was not meant to be secured in a car with seatbelts and air bags that would have saved his life. Instead he became somewhat immortal in my little girl mind. 

I am old enough and wise enough not to dwell on the might have beens. I am satisfied with the image of my father as a very young man. In just over three decades he had already accomplished much. He inspired me to be a lifelong learner. He taught me how to appreciate art and music. He instilled in me the importance of knowing and understanding the implications of history. He showed me how to be generous with my love. His presence in my life notwithstanding how short it was has guided the totality of my life. That alone was a glorious achievement that I suspect he hoped to reach. I hope he knows how well he did.

Houston, Texas, now the fourth largest city in the United States, was more of a town than a city when I was a child. I grew up in a neighborhood in southeast Houston that was one of the farthest neighborhoods from the center of downtown near what is now Hobby Airport. The road from Houston to Galveston quickly took on the feel of a rural highway and if I met somebody new there was good chance that they knew someone who lived near where my mother grew up as a child just outside of the center of town. 

I remember the newspaper headline touting the city’s entrance into the one million citizens club in the early nineteen sixties. Anyone who left during that timeframe and never came back until the present would be totally shocked by the changes that I hardly even noticed because they happened so incrementally. Now the metropolitan area stretches far out to little towns that once boasted farms and ranches. 

Houston just keeps growing and growing in spite of a tendency to flood and traffic that rivals Chicago and Los Angeles. It is a place that does seem to have followed any kind of plan in setting down roots farther and farther away from downtown. When it needs to expand it tends to tear things down rather than carefully preserving history. Much that once was is long gone in the name of progress. 

The Texas Medical Center has become a behemoth and with hospitals, research centers and medical schools. People come from all over the world for heart procedures and cancer cures. On any given day the place is bustling with activity. Perhaps it is the one place that actually began as a dream that has been very carefully nurtured from city’s earliest days. It’s location adjacent to Rice University is not ab accident. In fact the founder of Rice, William Marsh Rice, had a hand in envisioning and supporting the idea of a world class medical facility. 

The Shamrock Hilton Hotel once sat across from the Medical Center and it was a mecca for celebrities and the city’s movers and shakers. It was iconic in both its style and its history but the need for more space for the many medical facilities trumped any idea of saving it from the bulldozer’s brute force. Like so many Houston sites it had its moment and then quietly went away but those of us old enough to have seen it recall the movie stars and famous people who were regulars there lounging around the olympic sized pool. 

My grandparents’ homes have miraculously survived the “tear it down” attitude of the city’s real estate focus. My father’s family lived in the Houston Heights in a stucco home that my grandfather renovated in the nineteen forties. It still stands on Arlington Street and it warms my heart to see how well the present owners have cared for it. My memories of Sunday dinners there are nothing less than bliss. I can still see the dining room with the mahogany table, the sideboard and the china cabinet that my grandmother kept gleaming with pride. 

My job was always the same. I carefully removed the china from the cabinet and gently placed a plate in front of each chair. Then I opened the beautiful box that held my grandmother’s silver and set the knives and spoons and forks around the plates just as she had shown me how to do. For a little girl setting her lovely table was a highlight of each week. 

After dinner Grandma always gave us a tour of her garden to gaze at whatever happened to be blooming at the time. Her neighbors would wave and shout their hellos just like I imagined it was done in little towns all over the world. Sometimes someone would be burning leaves in the drainage ditch in front of the homes. The smell was so lovely that if I close my eyes and let my mind reimagine those days I am able to catch a whiff of that aroma once again.

My other Grandmother lived east of downtown. Friday nights were the time for the designated visits with her and all of my aunts and uncles and cousins. Back then there were lovely homes on the street which ended at a fenced in gate at the end of the street. Behind the fence there was a warehouse for a local grocery store chain called Weingarten’s. Sometimes I thought I smelled bread being baked over there but I never knew for sure. Just down the way was a coffee plant and on most Friday evenings the lovely scent of fresh coffee beans filled the air. 

We played games in the street and listened to the laughter and music from the bar just across Navigation Street. We were never afraid back then. Everyone seemed to be friendly and if there were mass shooting somewhere we had never heard about them. Life felt as calm and gentle as can be. 

Today my grandmother’s house is the only one left on the street. Businesses have encroached on what was once a quiet neighborhood. The little house looks out of place but the new owners have attempted to make it cheerful with a fresh coat of bright blue paint. It’s the last remnant of my childhood memories there so it delights me to know that it is still there even if nothing else looks the same.

I suppose that progress is a good thing but sometimes I think that I would prefer to see more preservation in my city. I’ve witnessed so much change. I was at the opening of the first shopping mall and later the first mall that was indoors. I’ve watched the oldest buildings in downtown become dwarfed by magnificent skyscrapers and sometimes even removed. The beautiful Sacred Heart Cathedral of my youth is now a parking lot. The Astrodome sits abandoned and waiting for someone to decide whether to tear it down or turn it into something useful. Astroworld where I had so much fun with my children is now a parking lot as well. Life goes on and Houston seems poised to move up a slot in the ranks of population. Sometimes I can’t keep up with all the change but the memories of old never fade and they always make me smile.