Month: June 2025

My husband and I moved into our present home in 2025. We had not been here very long when a woman who lived across the street stopped her car to greet us and welcome us to the neighborhood. She explained that she had not come over earlier to introduce herself because she had been driving back and forth to the hospital where her premature baby girl had spent many weeks fighting to hang onto life. The child had been born so small that diapers had to be adapted to her tiny size. Her lungs were barely functioning and whether or not she would make it was touch and go. 

Eventually the tiny girl came home with her parents who were delightful and incredibly gracious and friendly. I truly felt blessed that they lived so close to us and we engaged in a friendship that rivaled those we had made in our old neighborhood. Sadly, the couple decided to move closer to work and were gone much sooner that we had hoped. 

We kept in touch via Facebook and watched as they brought home another baby. This time it was a boy. In the twenty years since we first met them so much has happened. They adopted a  child from India and entertained us and all of their friends with video cook offs during Covid when most of us were mostly staying home. Their joy and vitality was a kind of panacea for our isolation during that time. 

As most parents do, they shared stories about their children. The eldest daughter, Maya, developed a beautiful voice and headed off to the University of Houston where she would study in the Moore’s School of Music. There she would enjoy the best of two worlds, living on campus but also being close enough to meet up with her family now and again. Her choral performances became a diversion for her proud mother and father and for those of us following the beautiful story of her family. 

Recently Maya sang a solo with her church choir. It demonstrated the culmination of her hard work, but also the glories of the God who saved her at birth and gave her the lungs to praise with a beautiful voice. Her talent is stunning and I literally cried tears of joy and appreciation as  I listened to her perfect pitch and the angelic notes that came from her beautiful heart. 

I am not someone who normally cries easily. In fact I tend to go through funerals with a dry eye. It is only later when no one is around that my body lets go of the emotions I am feeling. The only time that I have zero control over shedding tears is when I hear beautiful music. The notes of a grand performance by another person seems to push away all of my inhibitions and efforts to control my composure. There is something spiritual about the ability to humans to make sounds that touch our very being. 

I have sobbed uncontrollably at a live performance of Phantom of the Opera but also when listening to a recording of that musical at home. I cried at a concert of music written by Hans Zimmer and when I listen to Jesus Christ Superstar each Easter. It did not surprise me when the tears rolled down my face after hearing Maya singing with her incredible voice. Somehow she brought out all of the feelings that I have for her family and for the glory of creativity and talent that raises humans to a state that is heavenly. 

We have a tendency in our world today to want our youngsters to cultivate some kind of abilities to work at a trade that will provide them with jobs that pay them enough to thrive and survive. While this is often the goal of education and the guidance that we give them, we all too often neglect to encourage them to develop the talents that make them soar with joy. We look at music, acting, comedy, writing as being luxuries that few of us can afford to pursue. We prefer seeing our young being practical and realistic. The arts have taken a back seat to science and technology in our adulation even as history has shown us that artistic talents live on through the centuries. 

We go to museums to see the artwork work of ancient Greeks. We are in awe of paintings and sculptures created by the great masters. Music is passed down from generation to generation and yet we too often become wary if one of our children desires to try a hand at forging a career in the arts. We worry that they will have dreary lives is they are not more practical and yet we all know of individuals who have followed their hearts and engaged in a lifetime of the arts and been some of the happiest people we have ever known. 

Money and status are not the be all and end all. I should know. I have been a teacher. Even with an advanced degree I made far less money that my peers who chose careers in business or technology. I came home happy each day that I worked which was worth more to me than double the salary. There really are some things that money cannot buy. 

I wish that we would encourage our most talented people as a society rather than worrying that that they may not be as financially secure as we would like them to be. We need the arts in our lives and it is a great gift whenever someone has the talent to bring us joy. A true artist, like Maya, is truly a gift to us all.  

I recently posted a photo of me and my grandson at a protest rally in Houston, Texas. I was wearing a shirt with the image of the Statue of Liberty and holding a sign that proclaimed, “Hate does not make us great.” 

I received a number of replies from people who agreed with the sentiments of my stance, but those among my friends and relatives who disagree with my political views mostly ignored the whole thing. Only one person, a cousin whom I have known and loved since we were children, responded. His comment said, “So let’s start by loving Trump, not hating him.” 

I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback by my cousin’s response, but not surprised. I know that he is a strong supporter of Donald Trump and a believer that Trump’s ideas are good for the country. He is also a good man who has raised a wonderful loving family. He is a few years younger than I am so I have actually been in his life since the day he was born and in spite of what he may think of me and my views I love him and always will. Nonetheless I will continue to insist that Trump is a hate-filled man.

There is ample proof of Trump’s cruelty on any given day. He continually insults women in vile ways that would have been considered quite gauche and ungentlemanly in the past. He lies constantly with almost every word that comes out of his mouth. His disdain for minorities of every sort is apparent and he does not just despise them, he seems intent on torturing them for his own amusement. He belittles people who attempt to speak the truth and almost begs people to love and admire them. There is so little about him to stir my compassion other than the fact that he is a sad creature who makes himself so unlikeable. My sense of morality and kindness does indeed feel something for him, but it will never be love as long as he is so vindictively cruel to anyone who does not march in cadence with him. 

I know that my cousin means well and has his reasons for loving Trump, but even as I attempt not to hate anyone, it is impossible for me to love a person who inflicts so much misery on the world. Unlike many Americans I cannot see a hint of kindness in Donald Trump. He pretends to be a Christian man but I rarely see him attending church or actually leading a prayer. On the few times he has publicly been inside a church for the funerals of Jimmy Carter and Pope Francis he seemed confused by the readings and rituals and eventually fell asleep. 

I believe that it is between God and Trump as to their relationship. I would not presume to know what is really inside Trump’s head anymore than I would want someone to make presumptions about me. I only know that even if it is quite naive, I believe in the concept of redemption. Jesus told us that when we genuinely ask for forgiveness and enact our intentions of changing our hateful ways, we are saved. I would like to believe that somewhere in Trump’s heart there is a speck of decency that makes him truly care about all people, not just those who loyally pledge their fealty to him. The problem is that so far I have not observed any indication that he is ready to stop being a bully and become a true man of peace and love. 

Thus I will continue to insist that Trump’s form of hate will not make our country or any place on earth great. Love and kindness and unflinching morality are the things that bring out the best in humankind. Attempting to genuinely understand and appreciate those who are different from ourselves builds a powerful force of cooperation and unity. Our goals as a nation should not be to diminish but to grow and prosper together. Hate never created happiness, peacefulness or success. It can seem to devastate those we call our enemies for a time but such effects are temporary and ultimately leave out too many among us. 

So I will tell my cousin that he will always have my love no matter how much our beliefs differ He is a wonderful part of the story of my life. I marvel in his success as a man, a husband, a father and a grandfather. He is a talented photographer and a man of faith. He was a good son to his parents. He brought me pleasure as we grew up together. For these things I cherish him, but I suppose that we will never agree politically, especially when it comes to loving Donald Trump. 

I will persist in my resistance of Donald Trump’s destruction of the nation that I have so loved for seventy six years. Those who know me well realize that I do not hate. I remember a fellow teacher once proclaiming that I would be able to find something positive about the foulest person on the planet. I suppose that when it comes to Trump my only kudo for him would be that he appears to be a masterful salesman. Sadly he is selling a pile of junk.   

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Right now the media is focusing on things that do not matter while remaining silent about things that must be discussed. A case in point is rhe fanning and fainting over Biden’s mental condition in his final days as president while little or nothing is being noted regarding the multiple illegal actions that Trump has taken since his inauguration. It represents a bona fide case of changing the narrative to cover up an even more terrible situation.

Frankly I don’t care about what kind of mental condition Biden was in because ultimately somebody convinced him not to run for a second term. He was a lame duck from the moment that he hesitated while answering questions in his debate with Donald Trump. What Americans needed to hear from the press was a scathing assessment of the many lies that Trump told during the campaign. Now that Trump is president what really matters is pointing out the horrendous things that he does on an almost daily basis. The American people have the right to know that Trump is attempting to overturn amendments to the Constitution and laws that he thinks don’t matter. Instead the brouhaha over Biden’s mental condition continues as though somehow the fact that he was struggling is more important than the dismantling of our government that Trump is attempting with little or no pushback. 

I hate to say this but it appears that a rather large number of American citizens have not fully understood that there are supposed to be three branches of government, not one man forcing his views on everyone. Trump is behaving as though he gets to decide what is right and what is wrong. He has installed a group of highly unqualified individuals as members of his cabinet and the Republican members of Congress have supported his choices without question even though I would like to think that they do indeed know that some of the loyal yes men and women should not be in charge of anything. 

I’ve tried to be polite in my essays but I have had enough. Every single day brings more and more absurdity to our nation and all too often it is met with silence. History shows that when citizens look the other way when illegal actions are being committed, it becomes more and more certain that our freedoms will diminish and perhaps even disappear. It is an especially egregious attitide when we boast that we will not be affected by the present mistakes because it is doubtful that we will live long enough to endure the full force of the dismantling of important aspects of our democracy. 

As a nation the most economically sound plan for the future is to invest heavily in our young, not our richest citizens. Better education for everyone pays off for everyone. Keeping kids healthy with good food and easy medical access is far more important that providing the richest Americans with even more wealth. We should all be wanting to help fund programs that care for the least among us before we consider massive tax cuts for the rich. We should be doing everything possible to ensure that our youngest workers are not footing the bill so that oligarchs can keep increasing their bottom lines. How much money does anyone really need? Our focus should be on insuring that every American has food in the pantry, a doctor nearby that they can afford to see, and an education that will help them to find meaningful work. These are the things that should be part of a “big beautiful” spending bill. 

The silence from the media and the bending of the knee of Republicans is deafening. They are sending the American people in the wrong direction. We should all be concerned about climate change and asking what we must do to slow the process. We should all care about whether or not our fellow citizens who live in rural areas have access to medical care. We should all be investing heavily in our public schools. We should understand the truth about the value of the immigrants among us. The vast majority of them are working hard, paying taxes and getting very little from our coffers. It’s time we showed some respect for what they do instead of stereotyping them as gang members and criminals and sending them away without due process. 

A brief look at the news should demonstrate the reality that somehow the journalists on whom we rely for the truth have been silent. They can get away with writing a negative story about Joe Biden, but they run the risk of inflaming the ire of Trump if they actually push him with hard questions and state the truth in their presentation of the news. 

Our Founding Fathers knew what it was like to be under the thumb of an authoritarian government. They not only revolted but then created a government of the people that protected our right to freedom of speech, separation of church and state and a clear plan for three branches of government designed to keep each other honest with checks and balances. We have to demand a return to a democracy that is focused on all citizens, not just those devoted to enriching themselves beyond their needs. We have to demand that our Constitution is followed and that our press is free to speak out loudly whenever they see problems. If we wait too long we will find ourselves in a mess that will haunt our youngest citizens for all of their lives. We should not be a dynasty government where fear determines how we will be allowed to act. I want to hear the voices of freedom, not crickets!

John McCain was a great man. He was also an honorable man. While I did not always agree with his political views I saw him as the kind of person that I would trust and on whose wisdom I would be willing to rely. John McCain demonstrated the kind of values that I most admire while serving time in a prisoner of war camp in Vietnam, It was there that his courage and patriotism rose to the highest level. His behavior while under extreme torture should serve as a case study of the best qualities of humanity when under extreme pressure. 

John McCain impressed me again when he received the Republican party nomination for the presidency. In his acceptance speech at the convention he outlined the details of his moral compass claiming that they were developed because he was “blessed by misfortune.” He went on to describe how the horrors of his imprisonment gave him the gift of a new perspective about his fellow humans and about the world in general. From it he learned what it truly meant to sacrifice and maintain loyalty to the people and the values that would change the course of his life. 

I was particularly moved by John McCain’s life story. While he seemed to be destined to be a golden boy with advantages that most of us never enjoy, the time he spent in a prison camp changed his perspective. He realized the impact of suffering but also the alliances with others that must never be taken for granted. He was also aware of his own weaknesses and was fully prepared to admit to them throughout the rest of his life. He had every opportunity to take advantage of his family connections even while in the hands of his captors, but he chose to stand with his fellow prisoners rather than exert his power and influence. When his opponent in the presidential race was demeaned by a voter, McCain boldly asserted that Barack Obama was a good man. When given an opportunity to dismantle the ACA act known as Obama Care relied on his vote, McCain gave it a thumbs down to the chagrin of his fellow Republicans. 

I have been thinking about McCain’s assertion that he was “blessed by misfortune” and I have been contemplating my own life. I always tell people that I have been a changing, a person who has shifted from one pathway to another. When my father was alive I took our wealth for granted. I was probably even a bit pretentious when I compared our beautiful homes to those of other people that I knew. I had a kind of childish snobbery when I observed the differences between my family’s economic situation and theirs. I viewed my father’s college degree as some kind of proof of his superiority and by extension of mine. I was proud and tried to be kind but a certain internal haughtiness  tainted my kinship with others who seemed to come from a lower economic and educational state. 

The misfortune of losing my father was an horrific blow that I never really overcame, but in a strange kind of way it was also a blessing. My family’s reduced state of income and security taught me many lessons, the most important of which was to honor people without consideration of wealth or power or other superficial qualities. I became a far better and more understanding person than I might have otherwise been. 

When my mother first showed signs of her mental illness I was devastated. I wondered in my prayers why God had so abandoned her and our family. I had to put my anger aside and get her the care that she needed. I had no idea at the time that her mental health would become a lifetime project for me. In the process the “misfortune” strengthened me and helped me to feel more confident in my abilities to protect others. It also taught me to see the needs of others in ways that almost seemed uncanny. I became much more sympathetic to those who chronically suffer.

I have grown with every misfortune that has come my way and there have been many. Sometimes I am not so brave when I first realize that I am being challenged once again. I moan and complain that I have had more than my share of difficulties and then I roll up my sleeves and get back to work again just as John McCain always seemed to do. Even as life dealt him one tragedy after another he seemed to get stronger and more resolute. Misfortunes help us lean about ourselves and others. We better understand what was most important in this life because of the adverse experiences that we must endure. 

The world of social media has shown me that my own misfortunes are rather bland compared to others. I have never experienced homelessness or false imprisonment. I have never gone hungry or heard bombs blowing things apart in my neighborhood. Nobody has ever pushed me away because of the color of my skin or the religion that I have chosen to follow. There are so many more terrible experiences that my fellow humans are enduring that I have never known. I even realize that some misfortunes are so horrific that it would be almost impossible to find a blessing in them. I see that because my own misfortunes have been easy enough to overcome that they have blessed me with an awareness that I might otherwise have never known. It’s a hard way to learn and change but worth the pain. I must also remember to always be willing to help those whose misfortune is so overwhelming that they need assistance just to stay alive. My blessings require me to never turn my back on their needs.

I find myself thinking about my maternal grandfather quite often these days. I never met him. He died shorty before I was born. Nonetheless my mother often spoke of him with a tone of respect for his hard work and his wisdom. He had left his place of birth in an area of Eastern Europe that would eventually become the nation of Slovakia. 

At the time of my grandfather’s migration to the United States tensions were brewing in Europe. The area where he lived was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian empire and there were many reasons for him to want a better life for himself and my grandmother. The Hungarian wing of the government was pushing for uniformity of language and political thinking. The many languages of the differing areas had been outlawed in schools and all of public life. Everyone was commanded to speak only Hungarian and to tow the line of dominance by the ministers of the empire. 

My grandfather saw that he needed to leave his homeland and start a new life in a country with a democratic government. Thus he saved his money until he had set aside enough to pay for his passage across the Atlantic to America. He set his hopes on Houston, Texas, a somewhat fledgling town that often advertised its possibilities with a great deal of exaggeration in brochures sent all across Europe. Somehow the message made its way to my grandfather and soon he was making his way to the port in Galveston on a steamer ship from Bremen, Germany. 

My grandfather began his life in the new world with a job on a farm in the an area near the present day ship channel. He lived frugally in a boarding house quite near the area where the Houston Astros would one day build their baseball stadium. Within a year he had save enough to send for my grandmother and once she arrived their adventure in the United States would begin in earnest.

At first they both worked on the farm but eventually they would move around to wherever work was available. My grandfather officially earned his citizenship before the outbreak of World War I. While he was a bit old for service in the military he nonetheless had a draft card that originated from the Beaumont area of Texas. Shortly thereafter his first son was born to be followed by nine other babies in the nineteen twenties. Two of them would die as infants but the remaining eight would be a lively bunch and my grandfather and grandmother were both up to the task of caring for them. 

Grandpa worked diligently and saved every penny until he had purchased land in the east end of Houston. Then he paid cash to a builder to complete one room at a time until there was a home that still stands on North Adams Street. When the Great Depression devastated the country my grandfather kept his job at a meat packing plant. With a garden in back of the house and a cow that provided milk his children never missed a meal even if the offerings were sometimes meager by today’s standards. 

My mother spoke over and over again of her father’s love of the Untied States of America and the freedoms it gave him and his family. He urged his children to always cherish and protect their freedoms. He lead Sunday meetings in which he taught them about the importance of hard work and temperance in all things. He spoke of his own childhood and the country from which he came. He expressed his hopes that one day the people there might enjoy the same freedoms as those in the United States. He cried openly when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia and cried again when the Soviets took charge of the country after World War II.

My mother described how their father would gather them around the radio whenever President Franklin D. Roosevelt or his wife spoke to the nation. Her father would speak of them as exemplars of leaders who cared about the people. He urged his children to be proud Americans and to never take their freedoms for granted even when they were taunted as “dirty Pollack immigrants” 

With the chaos of Trumps second presidency I have felt the kind of concern for my country that my grandfather so surely must have felt for his homeland. I too have cried many times as I have witnessed the ugly disregard for immigrants, minorities, women and people who have made different choices regarding their religion or sexualities. I have cringed at the threats being hurled at our freedoms, but I have also marveled at the courageous men and women who have been willing to risk speaking out, standing firm in their resolve to follow the Constitution. Somehow I believe that if my grandfather were still alive today he would exhort us to speak out to keep our nation intact. He would tell us to continue voicing our concerns and using the rights that have made this nation a haven for those who want a good and decent life for themselves and their children. 

My grandfather was grateful for the opportunity that the United States gave him with few restrictions. He literally just showed up one day and built a new life with little more pushback than a few insults hurled his way. He loved his country and that love has trickled down to me and my brothers and my children. When we protest or speak out it is only because my grandfather’s legacy continues to voice our need to vigilantly defend our right to speak our minds, a luxury that was denied to him in his homeland by tyrants. Grandpa taught me how fragile and precious our freedom can be. Now I will defend it and resist any efforts to weaken it for anyone. It is my duty.