Month: June 2025

I got up early on Saturday. It was No Kings protest day and I was feeling a bit anxious but determined to attend with my husband and grandson. I had been to an earlier event in April and it had been quite calm. There was a preponderance of older people on that day who were friendly and determined to voice their concerns about Trump’s return to the presidency. The one scheduled for June 14, felt different given the rhetoric about protestors voiced by the president and even our Texas governor in light of the tension in Los Angeles. Friends were urging me to be careful and suggesting what I should do if things turned violent.

I calmed myself by playing my early morning word games in the New York Times. Then I donned my protest t-shirt and put water, American flags, and portable stools in our truck. Keeping busy always seems to clam me and soon I felt confident that it was going to be fine. My only worry at that point was about the weather which seemed to be threatening to rain with dark clouds spreading  over the city.

First we picked up our grandson and were delighted to see that another grandson and his girlfriend were coming as well. We stopped at a nearby coffee shop for breakfast tacos and a bit of caffeine. We laughed about the irony of choosing tacos and then, fueled with good conversation and yummy food, we headed for downtown under skies that had almost miraculously turned sunny and blue. 

As we approached Houston city hall we saw people of every age walking in groups waving American flags and carrying posters. The atmosphere was exciting and positively joyful as we realized that thousands of citizens had shown up for the occasion. Then I learned that Mayor Whitmire and Harris County Judge Len Hidalgo had turned down the governor’s offer to send National Guard troops to the city. That’s when I knew without a doubt that everything was going to be okay. Houston folks are always friendly. We help each other and stay calm even in terrible situations.

The crowd was beautiful in every sense of that word. People had come in the spirit of our ancestors and founding fathers from two hundred fifty years ago. They were asserting their rights to freedom of speech and freedom to voice their concerns which varied from person to person. What united us all was a love of our country and democracy and concern that our president and his Republican party were chipping away at our Constitution. In particular most of us were appalled by the cruel and dangerous rhetoric that was pitting Americans against each other in hateful and vindictive ways. We were gravely unhappy about the damage done to our precious institutions and the despicable treatment of immigrants and their families. Nonetheless, there was no inappropriate behavior from anyone. It was a festival of love, peace, joy and a determination to save the ideals of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Somehow we were there for all Americans and all who live among us even if they are not yet citizens. 

After an hour of speeches from political figures, veterans and everyday citizens we formed lines to march through downtown Houston. Nobody pushed or shoved or got irritated with one another. The police were kind and helpful. It had been silly for me to be worried that there might be trouble. The only sign of trouble was the good kind that leads to positive change. 

The parade of people stretched from one side of the street to another and was many blocks long. We walked calmly along chanting and smiling at one another. Some people brought flowers for the police officers. Some simply thanked those who were watching to make sure that we would be safe. We smiled because we knew that we were part of something positive and important. We hoped that our message would be understood. 

We left feeling as though we had done something very important. We reveled in a sense of joy in being part of an historical event. As we ate lunch we checked our phones and learned that there had been protests all across the United States in one town and city after another. All of them had been peaceful. Everyone had understood the assignment. We all hoped that the world would understand the purpose of our message.

We want a return to our three separate branches of government. We want a president who works for all Americans, not just those who voted for him. We want a separation of church and state. We don’t want the military to be placed in a position of hurting Americans. We want the deportation of illegal immigrants to be done in a fair and legal way. We want our universities to be allowed to do their work without threats. We want a presidential cabinet filled with experts, not loyalists who will do whatever the president asks even when it is wrong. We want the cruelty toward any groups to stop. We want our scientists and medical experts to be in charge of agencies that work to help us. We don’t want a president who acts as though he is a king, or even worse, a dictator. 

If we have to do this again and again we will. The people who came out on Saturday are loyal Americans, people of good will. They came from every kind of backgrounds that may be described and walked together in harmony. I was with them in memory of my ancestors who fought in the American Revolution and in the union Army during the Civil War. I came for the young people in our nation who deserve a good future. I want to insure that the ideals of who we are as people in the world will be honored. Along with fifteen thousand other citizens of Houston I recited the Pledge of Allegiance, hoping that we will always insure that liberty and justice will be for all.    

I love a good story teller. My Grandpa Little was one of the best. I never quite knew if his tales were one hundred percent accurate but I didn’t care because they were so darn good. They almost always included a bit of history mixed with a whole lot of humor. It was as though he could not stay too dark and serious even when describing a smallpox outbreak in his town. 

From my grandfather I learned a great deal about the last two decades of the nineteenth century. They were not quite the Gilded Age that some people like to believe unless you happened to be among the wealthy robber barons of the time as Grandpa liked to call them. He would insist until the day that he died that the good old days are in the present times. His boyhood was spent fighting cold, heat, insects, poverty, disease and ignorance. He much preferred the perks of modern day living.  

One of his oft repeated tales occurred when he was a young man traveling from one town to the next in search of work. He was in a bar one night when a man began ferociously beating on his wife. Being the gentleman that he would always be, Grandpa entered the fray like a brave knight intent on saving the maiden. Sadly his chivalry backfired and both the woman and her husband turned on him and bloodied him up enough to teach him a valuable lesson. From that day forward he never again got between a couple when they were feuding with each other and he warned me and my brothers to heed his advice. He would always end this little fable by winking and insisting that he at least was successful in bringing the two lovebirds back together.

That’s the way Grandpa liked to tell a story. Every single one spoke to his outlook on life. Somehow he found hopefulness even in the most dire moments. He never failed to notice that there were always far more good people around at any moment than bad ones and he marveled at the human ability to adapt. 

Grandpa was at this best whenever one of his old timer buddies came to visit. The two of them spent hours reminiscing and trying to top each other with their stories of Indians and the many times that they just missed amassing immense wealth. I could have listened to those two all day long even when they began to repeat tales that they had already told. 

I suppose that memoirs are my favorite kind of books. I love reading about people’s lives from their own words. Somehow they become more real than when another author simply attempts to describe and interpret their impact on the world. A while back I saw a post from Bill Gates in which he suggested the five best memoirs that he has ever read. They included a wide range of people from Katherine Graham, the once powerful editor of The Washington Post, to the comedian, Trevor Noah.

I ordered all five of the memoirs and immediately began reading the first one that arrived, Born A Crime: Stories From A South African Childhood, by Trevor Noah. As expected it is a fascinating read of his memories of living in apartheid South Africa as young boy. Trevor’s joy pops out of every page as he describes growing up with his mother, grandmother and aunties who instilled optimism in his very being in spite of grinding poverty that might have destroyed most of us. 

Trevor was literally a child deemed to be a criminal because his father was a white man from Switzerland and his mother was African. it was against the law for Blacks and Whites to engage in sexual acts together and if he had been noticed he would have been taken from his mother and sent to an orphanage where he would have been an outcast in a highly regimented society. Luckily his daring mother knew how to protect him and keep him in her care. It was her courage and faith that guided his childhood and helped him to develop the gift of comedy that he shares with the world.

Born A Crime is delightfully inspiring and instructive much like the old stories that Grandpa used to spin. They have a folksy charm that has a way of soothing the soul of the reader. Just as my grandfather’s stories used to tamp down my worries and stress, so too does Trevor Noah reach into my heart and show me how to calm any demons that might be there. His is a talent that harks back centuries to the bards who either orally or in writing captured the essence of different times and places with a skill that brings them alive.

Grandpa certainly appreciated modern inventions and conveniences and I suppose that Trevor Noah does as well but there are true pearls of wisdom in learning how humans overcome even the most difficult situations with joy and laughter. We should all pause now and again to hear or read such tales. The smiles that they bring just may get us through another day. 

Bowdoin College is nestled in a small town in Maine. It has a long history of excellence in education. One of its many traditions is to have incoming freshmen students sign a book that contains the names of every person who has ever attended the school. The list of famous people is long and illustrious and what graduates of Bowdoin College know is that every individual who attends leaves ready to make a positive difference in the world. 

Bowdoin College has multiple traditions associated with graduation. The ceremony is held outside on the lush lawn shaded by ancient oaks. The farewell speeches come from students who are selected for the inspiriting content of the essays that they submit for consideration. This year the commencement was held under stormy skies and one of the speakers was a young man known to the students and faculty as Weatherspoon. Somehow both the weather and the speaker tapped into the feelings that so many of this year’s graduates are feeling.

Weatherspoon is a poet whose ability to artfully put words together has already been recognized in the books of his work that have been published. His story and his speech for the 2025 class of Bowdoin College are perhaps some of the most inspiring that I have ever heard. They touched my heart in ways that only those who have worked with students who are often ignored and underserved will ever completely understand.

Weatherspoon’s life has been one of relentless struggle and ultimate success. His family was poor even to the point of being homeless for a time. His single mom worked hard for her children but the meagerness of her income often fell short of providing them with all of the necessities that most Americans take for granted. At one time Weatherspoon even lived with a foster family until his mother was able to pull her life together enough to provide a bit of stability. 

Weatherspoon’s story is one of chaos and uncertainty and yet he is known by his classmates and his professors as one of the kindest and most optimistic persons that they have ever known. He has found purpose in life in spite of the many challenges that might have threatened to lead him astray. His teachers and family members understood his talents and urged him to use them to forge a pathway out of the generational difficulties that had battered both him and his ancestors. With the encouragement and support of programs and people dedicated to insuring that he would be able to hone his skills he has become the first college graduate in the history of his family. 

Weatherspoon will soon be heading to Los Angeles where a screenwriting job already awaits him. His teachers and fellow students know how talented he is and believe that his is a name that we will certainly hear again. When I read his speech I thought of the students that I have taught who came from similar backgrounds. Many of them were the first to earn high school diplomas. They lived in difficult circumstances but with hard work rose above the societal ills threatening to bring them down. They left our care to travel across the Untied State to colleges and universities that identified their skills and produced incredibly talented individuals. They perfectly demonstrate the value and importance of finding and nurturing outstanding young people who often are hidden in unexpected places. 

I remember a student who came to me in tears during his senior year of high school. He was distraught because he was in danger of failing. He explained that his grandfather had given him a family heirloom because he would be the first in his family to complete high school. He did not know how he would be able to face the people who so believed in him if he did not make it to the finish line. He and I crafted a plan for resurrecting his grades. We spoke with each of his teachers to determine what he needed to do. He worked like a madman and was soon earning top marks in every class. He even got the highest score on his senior research paper. He was overjoyed in the self-realization that he was indeed a brilliant young man with incredible potential for the future. 

I have witnessed so many young people’s lives being turned around because the laws and programs in our nation provided them with the funding and safety nets that allowed them to focus on their studies. The opportunities that we afford students are never wasted. Programs encouraging diversity, equality and inclusion lead to the discovery of young people with great minds, talents and creativity who might otherwise be overlooked. Without concerted effort they might be deemed to be without merit simply because they have not had the financial security to fund the kind of experiences that so often result in higher scores on standardized tests. The goal of our nation should be to look for these gifted souls wherever they may be. Feeding their bodies and their minds should be a top priority. There are Weatherspoons in every city and town. We should always be dedicated to discovering them and nurturing them. They will ultimately pay their way forward just as Weatherspoon’s teachers and friends know that he will do.

I see the success of my former students who were like Weatherspoon and I feel a sense of contentment in knowing that I was part of a system that focused not on individual test scores and grades but on the totality of each individual. It is so important to understand that everyone has something special to offer the world if we are willing to invest in his or her development. Gutting programs that keep our young moving forward is a huge mistake. Instead we should be investing in them no matter what their circumstances may appear to be. Instead of increasing the riches of the wealthy we should be concentrating our funding on those who have the lowest incomes, especially for those who are young. Weatherspoon will change the world and we will be all the better because our systems gave him the tools he needed to reach for the stars. I hope we are wise enough to keep helping the Weatherspoons to be the best among us.

When my grandfather was a teenager he was able to land a job in a general store. He was mostly on his own with only a distant uncle serving as the guardian of the small inheritance that he received when his grandmother died. She had raised him after his mother’s death during childbirth but when he was thirteen she was gone and so he found ways to support himself with little jobs here and there. The position in the store kept him fed in a time when a depression was decimating the country. This was not in the twentieth century but at the end of the nineteenth century during the so called Gilded Age. 

Grandpa often described the desperation of ordinary Americans who became so despairing that they joined protest groups or resorted to theft to keep their families from starving. He saw Coxey’s Army marching through his town on its way to Washington DC with a ragtag group citizens determined to get the notice of Congress and hopefully get some help. He also witnessed his neighbors stealing from the store where he worked and sometimes even looked away from their thefts when he saw the dire situations in which they lived.

Later, when my grandfather was the head of a family he would all too often find himself out of work during the Great Depression. He told me that people, including himself, would do whatever it took to stay alive. He described driving to South Texas to purchase cabbages from the farmers there and then selling them for a small profit that allowed him to purchase food for his family for one more week. He often commented that a truly good man would move heaven and earth to take care of his children and that might even include moving, lying and in the worst case scenarios stealing. 

I never got the idea that my grandfather ever had to become a thief but he certainly moved over and over again following the jobs and seeking the places where people were kind enough to work together and share whatever they had. He admired people who were brave enough to take risks in pursuit of survival and was never too proud to do the most menial of jobs or even to take charity if needed. 

I think of the wisdom of my grandfather quite often, especially in the present times when our nation is divided as to what to do about people who have immigrated to our country without going through the proper channels to get here. I wonder how many of those souls are just like my grandfather was when he literally took pride in keeping his family housed and fed no matter what it took to do so. He was a protector for all of his one hundred eight years and I think he would have seen the immigrants from a different point of view than just the kind of black and white indictments that deem them to be criminals for taking the risk of getting their families to a safe place. 

I worked with many children who were brought to our nation without proper papers. They were mostly from proud families like my own. Their parents worked long hours seven days a week to provide them with the opportunities that were unavailable in their home nations. They did the kind of jobs that most Americans do not want. They were not taking from anyone. They paid their bills and their taxes and taught their children to love this nation and to be grateful for their good fortune. Nonetheless they often conveyed their fears and hoped that one day their families would no longer feel unwelcome even as they worked so hard to prove themselves. 

I suppose that my grandfather showed me how to look at the situation of those who have immigrated to our nation illegally a bit differently from those who want them gone. While I am not so naive as to believe that none of them had bad intentions and indeed have engaged in criminal acts I know from experience that the vast majority of them only wanted better lives for their children. They knew that their existence would be difficult but it was a sacrifice that they made out of love. Indeed they were not so different from my own maternal grandparents who were lucky to be allowed to come to the United States without any restrictions or quotas in the early twentieth century. 

My heart breaks for the people who are being hunted by the present administration. The fears inside immigrant communities are wreaking havoc on people who have been serving us well with their skills and willingness to work long hours at jobs that few of us would ever wish to do. Not all of them are illegal but in the sweeping deportations that are happening across America even those who are here with permission are being uprooted and sent to uncertain futures. Children are being handcuffed as though they are criminals. The whole situation is absurd and should be frightening to all of us. 

I learned a long time ago as an educator that I had the power to rile up my students enough that they would lose their composure and strike out against me. I never used that power because baiting someone is vile and yet this is what our nation appears to be doing with both those who are being sent to detention centers and jail and those who are defending them. What is happening is very wrong and surely we all can see that. It is time to put a stop to the insanity and cruelty of it all. 

I don’t know where this will lead but the potential for the destruction of all of our freedoms is frightening. There is a vindictiveness overtaking our land that is unAmerican and those of us who love our nation know that we must voice our concerns while we still have the right to do so.

The last five years have been tough for many people throughout the world. It would have been difficult enough just to endure the losses and sacrifices of the worldwide pandemic but life had to go on. People had to work, care for family members, endure challenges and attempt to stay sane and happy through the uncertainty of it all. Most of us had to keep moving one foot forward in spite of all the challenges. Some folks had to face wars and natural disasters that added insult to the injuries that they had already known. These years have been hard on all people and if ever there was a time when we needed good people to serve and guide us to come together it is surely now. Instead we are divided and anxious as our president and much of our Congress has decided that it is a good time to remove many of our safety nets and install people to tear down and destroy rather than to slowly and thoughtfully improve our sense of well being.

I do understand why so many Americans are turned off, unwilling to delve deeply into learning what has actually been happening since Donald Trump assumed office as our president for a second time. It’s easier just to live as though everything is okay as long as it does not personally touch any of us. I’d like nothing more than to simply pretend that I am okay with the chaos that is disrupting people’s lives because I am not being affected by most of it. I can be almost invisible and invulnerable simply because I am an old white woman with a nice home, food in the pantry and a pension for my years of teaching children. I should just be going on trips and enjoying the fruits of my labors rather than spending hours each day attempting to learn what Trump and his legions are doing to change the very nature of our democracy. 

I always promised myself that I would never close the blinds on my windows and pretend not to see innocents being hurt by despots. My ancestors fought in the American Revolution and with the Union Army in the Civil War. I felt it was my duty to honor their valor by doing my part to insure that our freedoms will never be taken for granted. I vowed that I would always be willing to be a voice for those who are silenced. I never imagined that things would become as dire as they now seem to be. It never occurred to me that human nature would be such that those not directly impacted by the lawless decisions of the present administration would fall for an endless stream of lies and propaganda. 

I think of my seventh grade teacher who warned us that such a thing might happen anywhere. She shockingly told us that even in our great nation lies and half truths thrive unless we take the initiative to point them out. It is on all of us as American citizens to be the watchdogs of our republic. We begin that process with our voices and our votes. If we only endorse those who give us what we want while ignoring the pain and needs of our fellow Americans we are doing a disservice to everyone including ourselves.

I have always enjoyed studying the history of our nation and of the world. Even as a child I saw the patterns of evil that seem to always exist in the darkest corners of our humanity. I confronted my parents when I saw Black people being forced to the back of the buses that I rode on to downtown Houston. I knew innately that segregation was wrong. Nobody had to influence me to know what was horrific about hateful people. I reveled in goodness when I saw examples of it. I constantly thought about our human natures and our tendencies to become tribal and even violent to maintain control and status. In spite of all the mistakes of the United States like ever allowing slavery or conquering and abusing the Native Americans, I still believed that most of us shared a common desire to be honest and contrite about such original sins. I believed in a slow progress toward enlightened thinking and acceptance of each other regardless of differences. 

Sadly I did not take into account the fact that many of the worst aspects of human nature continue to smolder in generation after generation. Humans make progress and then along comes a time when the haters of the world find ways to gain power and to exercise their domination over those that they fear and despise. The kings and potentates of Europe thought of themselves as gifts from God for centuries. Authoritarians have played on the worries of common people again and again. The powerful vie for wealth and power while the rest of us are simply trying to live our lives in peace. 

I wish that it were easier for me to pretend that everything is fine. I wish that I did not worry so much about people that I do not even know when I witness abuse of them. As long as I am okay why should I be so anxious and torn apart because certain groups or individuals are being targeted without understanding or compassion? Why do I listen to some media outlets with so much disdain for the untruths and gaslighting that they are constantly feeding to the public? 

Perhaps it has always been inevitable that I would use my voice as tiny as it is to attempt to speak out for those who have been muted. I heard the stories of my mother and her family being targeted with slings and arrows only because they were immigrants from a part of the world that people had judged to be lazy and dirty. I listened to my father speaking truths about our nation’s history. I heard stories from my grandfather about the horrors of the so called good old days. My teachers were honest with me. My mother-in-law shared her insights about human nature with me. I am altruistic. I worked not for money, but to do good in the world. I suppose that it is in my nature to disrupt the contentment that I should just simply enjoy because I can easily hide among the favored people of our president. Instead I worry day and night that the beautiful things that the Untied States have done will be vindictively tossed aside. Thus I cannot and will not be quiet no matter how difficult it becomes. Thankfully there are many others like me and I have the courage of my ancestors to guide me. I will persist.