Month: August 2025

Several years ago I received a notice calling me for jury duty in Harris County at the courthouse in Houston, Texas. I happened to be off for the summer so I was not particularly concerned about the likelihood of being chosen to hear a case. I knew that I had time to do so while others might have to miss work. I was actually hoping to have an opportunity to serve. 

I was sent to a courtroom almost immediately with a rather large group of prospective jurors. The judge announced that each of us would be considered for a criminal case involving the sexual abuse of three very young children children. Soon enough we learned that the man on trial was accused of luring the little ones into his home where he did incredibly lurid and despicable things to them. The brief descriptions of the crime as presented by the District Attorney made my stomach heave but I was determined to stay on the case in the event that I was chosen. I have always been an advocate for children and I actually thought that I would be a good person to pick because I would also do my best to hear the evidence before drawing any conclusions.

The judge summarily began asking each of us various questions, resulting in many among our number being excused from participation. Finally he commented that he often chose to give alternative sentences to defendants who were ultimately found guilty and described things like community service, counseling and such as possible substitutes for a prison sentence. He wondered if any of us might have a problem accepting punishment other than jail time in a case such as the one we were about to hear if the defendent was found guilty of the crimes as described. . 

With a forceful knee-jerk reaction my hand flew into the air. The judge asked me why I would have concerns about an alternative sentence in the particular case before us. I explained that I was a mom and a teacher and that I felt incredibly protective of children. I continued that if the defendent were actually found guilty of the horrific actions that had already been described that there was no way that I would be able to let him off with any consequence other than time behind bars. 

At that point the defense attorney rushed over to whisper something to the judge who was soon telling me that I was excused from the courtroom. I left immediately wondering if I had done the wrong thing in being so honest. I followed the case through the local newspaper because its nature had created a kind of notoriety that the public found interesting. As more and more details of the abuse emerged I found myself grieving for the sad looking children who had lost their innocence at the hands of a man who seemed so foul to me. 

Eventually the case ended and as I expected the man was found guilty on all counts. I was pleased to see that the judge did not hand down an alternative punishment. In fact he explained that given the horrific nature of the abuse he was not able in good conscience to do anything other than to give the guilty man the worst allowable punishment. It would be years before he emerged from jail if he managed to live long enough to complete his sentence. I felt somewhat vindicated for my outburst and wondered if I had influenced the judge i some small manner. 

I cannot abide by the cruelty and depravity of an adult taking sexual advantage of a child. Experience shows us again and again how incredibly difficult it is for an underage individual to overcome the emotional chaos that overtakes him/her after such a violation of innocence. For most people sexual crimes committed against them leave a lifetime of pain and suffering. Given the grotesque extent of harm that those children had to endure I still worry about their mental state even years after the life changing event. 

As a society it is up to each of us to protect the young and to believe them when they cry foul. It is so difficult to find the courage to accuse an abuser. There are so many negative feelings associated with the ugliness of the abuse and a great deal of fear and shame. Victims fear that they will not be believed or even worse that they might be blamed for what happened. For every brave soul who steps forward to report the pedophiles among us there are many who are hiding their encounters out of fear. Many adults carry such burdens in silence. There are no doubt many more cases of pedophilia than we might even imagine. 

I don’t like to speculate as to who participated in the sexual horrors of Jeffrey Epstein but there have been many accusations that have never been fully studied and addressed. We owe it to all of the victims to find and try every single person who participated in the sexual domination of underage girls. Simply looking the other way and suggesting that it is too late to do much about it is wrong. We owe it to the victims and to the truth to ferret out those who thought they were just having some fun at the expense of underage children whose lives were permanently changed. It matters not who the guilty are nor how powerful they may be. We must have the opportunity to hold those who can be proven to be pedophiles to the highest standards of decency. It’s time we look at the entire Epstein report outlining who appears to have been involved and, if necessary, file charges and have trials to determine their innocence or guilt for all time. 

I cannot understand why we are not all demanding to finally learn the truth. Those who have been hiding in the hopes that we will forget what they did should face a judge and jury. To me it seems as simple as that. Nobody should be above the law. It’s time to do the right thing.

My mother was always very protective of me. When I became older she would speak to me about instances when men would attempt to take advantage of her. She was an incredibly beautiful woman so I always believed her when she told me that she often had to fend off unwanted advances. She was a scrappy woman who generally knew how to take care of herself. She often attributed her courage to being the youngest child in a family of eight that included four brothers. She claimed to be streetwise and proved her point by raising me and my brothers alone during a time when women when were still mostly under the thumb of men. 

I sometimes grew weary of her warnings about how I should protect myself because for the most part I was generally treated with great respect by the men and boys. There were a few times when men got out of line with me but luckily nothing too awful happened. Nontehless, those moments would haunt me because I somehow wondered if I had done something wrong to incite their horrific behavior. Eventually I matured enough to understand that mine was a common feeling that women often have. It is the reason why they sometimes hide the traumatic events from anyone’s knowledge. 

The first time something untoward happened to me was when I was very young. My mother had gone next door to procure something from a neighbor. She promised to be back home before I even knew that she was gone. She wanted me to keep the door locked and to listen for the cries of my baby brother who was taking a nap. She also told me not to answer the phone because she did not want anyone to know that she was not there..

No sooner had Mama gone than our phone began to ring. I knew that I was supposed to let it go but I worried that the sound of the ringing might awaken my brother so I picked up the receiver and quietly said, “Hello.” It was a man whose voice I did not recognize and he somehow seemed to know that my mother was not there. He explained that he had called to talk to me. He began to instruct me in how to take a bath with my brother. I knew that what he was saying was nasty but I was frozen and did not even have the good sense to hang up at first. I just kept listening to his ugly suggestions feeling sick inside as I did so. Luckily finally I came to my senses and slammed down the receiver just before my mother came back into the house. 

I should have told her what had happened but I feared telling her that I had disobeyed. Somehow I also wondered if I was a bit guilty for listening the the vile conversation and I did not want anyone to know that I had done so. I never in all of my life told my mother or anyone else what had happened. I instead reverted to the kind of behavior that is quite common among victims of sexual abuse. 

When I was a bit older a man exposed himself to me on a pier where my cousins were fishing. As I ran to meet them he stopped me and opened the fly of his pants. Instead of going past him to the safety of my cousins I instead ran back to where my mother and aunts and uncles were sitting in lawn chairs conversing. Once again I felt shame and never told any adults about the horrific man on the pier. It has only been in recent years that I have been able to bring myself to talk about it. I now know that I did nothing wrong and that it would have been a better idea for me to report him to the adults to keep him from traumatizing another child. In that moment I was simply stunned into a sickening silence. To this day I can see the lurid grin on the man’s face as he shocked me. It frightened me so much that I did not even want to utter the words to describe his sickening deed.

The last incident that happened to me involved a teacher from my high school. He was young and somewhat handsome and he seemed to like me as a student. One afternoon he grabbed me in the hallway and pulled my back toward his chest with a kind of stranglehold. All the while he was whispering in my ear suggesting that if he were a boy in the school I would be his choice as a girlfriend. I felt as though I wanted to vomit or scream or run away but I was frozen in disbelief and hardly moved.

Eventually I freaked out and came to my senses. I got away by lying that my mother was going to pick me up and was probably already waiting for me outside. He let me go immediately and from that moment I avoided him like the plague. Once again I never told anyone what had transpired because I wondered if I had been imagining that he was being inappropriate. I just made sure that I I did not want to ruin his reputation or his career if I was just imagining things. From that moment forward I handled it by only being around him in large groups.

Years later I learned that he had also abused another student only in that instance things got really out of hand. He molested her and threatened her with violence and death if she told anyone. It was only then that I came forward to tell the story of my own encounter with the man who quite obviously did indeed have bad intentions with me. 

We keep hearing so much about the Epstein case and the files that supposedly name men who took advantage of young girls. It would be easy to place some of the blame on the girls and even to ask why they did not immediately seek help. What I know is that such events are so disturbing that a girl or even a grown woman begins to second guess herself and to wonder if somehow she is guilty of causing the negative attention. It is an horrific feeling that might not make sense but feels very real. There is also a huge fear of coming forth and not being believed so we bury such moments in our hearts but we never forget how dirty and ugly we felt. 

I have been lucky to only have superficial encounters that were more suggestive than brutal. I sometimes wonder if my mother’s advice helped me to steer clear of questionable situations. I don’t think I would have been able to avoid greater harm without her talks that made me realize that there is a dark side to many humans that we must be able to observe and get away from when needed. 

I have lately been thinking of those young girls who were recruited and used by Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. I know it had to take great courage for them to ultimately come forward to tell their horror stories of sexual abuse by wealthy and powerful men. I hope that one day everyone who ever did this to them will be revealed and that those people will earn our disgust and long overdue punishment Those who were harmed were not just underaged women, they were children! The crimes will never be fully resolved until all of the people who hurt the innoceny are finally held accountable. The women who have to live with the memory of being treated so horribly deserve our support. Those who harmed them in any way deserve our fullest disdain regardless of whom they may be or what excuses they may try to give. I wonder if we will ever learn who all of them are. I truly hope it happens one day.

Summer does not really come to an end in Texas until around November. I suppose that we used to begin the school year in September because none of the schools had air conditioning and it could get quite warm in those rooms even after Labor Day. We may have been more adapted to the heat because not all of the homes had the joys of cooled air. I know that my home relied on a huge attic fan until around nineteen sixty-eight. 

Back when I was young those of us who were kids lived outside on those steamy days. The girls wore shorts and crop tops and the boys generally went without shirts. All of us ran around in our bare feet and by the end of the day those feet would be quite dirty so our mother sometimes hosed us down before ushering us back inside the house. We actually loved it when our entire bodies got wet and the grime on our necks called “Grandma’s beads” would wash away in one glorious moment. 

I suppose that people today would be stunned by how much freedom we had as children. There were times when we would get on our bikes and ride to the woods that still stood in the area. There we would build forts and ride on a handmade swing that hurled us back and forth over the bayou. When I read the tales of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn I totally identify with the characters. My summers in the south were filled with the same kind of adventures that they had. 

My family lived on what seemed like a very long street in those days. Whenever I go back to see our house the block feels much shorter than it did back then. There were other children in virtually every single home. Our particular stree was heavy on the boys but that didn’t seem to matter. I would join in the street games and the competitions held on the lawns. It’s a wonder that more of us did not end up with broken bones as we hurled each other into strange poses while enjoying Swing the Statue, and charged past locked arms in our competitions of Red Rover. 

For fun we sometimes created shows just like in the movies and even had a neighborhood newspaper that I carefully wrote, edited and illustrated. I charged five cents for each handwritten copy and the kind mothers never balked at paying me for my efforts. Our shows were no doubt too much like an amateur hour but we imagined that one day our talents would be discovered and we would become bonafide stars.

Now and again I sat on the hot concrete with girls from the neighborhood playing with our dolls. During that time I dreamed of one day sharing an apartment with them in New York City while we jetted around the world as airline stewardesses. I envisioned us as interior decorators as well because we managed to use boxes and scrap cloth to create furniture for our dolls. We marveled at our creativity.

Life may have been hot but it felt so good. I suppose that is one of the joys of childhood. I look back on those years with great feelings. I lived in a little cocoon where everyone and everything seemed safe. Sadly it probably was not as idyllic as I thought because harsh things were happening to the adults, but when you are a child you tend to ignore such things unless they involve you personally.

When we got a bit older my mother hosted card parties for us in our kitchen. She made pimento cheese sandwiches and lemonade that were to die for. Only well behaved kids were allowed into our inner sanctum and they did their best to be both polite and grateful so that they would not be driven back out in the hot sun because of bad manners. 

I eventually graduated to being ushered in for Mrs. Janot’s daily viewing of General Hospital. Winning the lottery would not have been better because her invitation included air conditioning and watermelon as long as I did not talk or get silly during the program. I got hooked on that series for many years afterward but eventually the day came when I had to go to work in the summertime to earn funds for things like a school trips and my class ring. Once I was employed I felt as though the innocence of those days were gone.

Things started to change so rapidly that I now take my cool home for granted and I spend most of my summers only looking out the window rather than daring to get active in the heat. I don’t see any of the children in our neighborhood. It is too hot for them. They will not return outside until the temperature falls. I suspect that they are meeting up with each other inside homes and I miss their laughter and their antics. 

My childhood sometime seems like a dream. I no longer have the stamina to stay in the heat of August anymore. I feel for teachers and kids who start school in the middle of the month that was once the final push to grab every bit of freedom that we had. 

I know that I have idealized my youth and the joys of playing outside for hours with bare feet and arms and legs. I’ve seen folks my age with severe skin cancers and I wonder if all that time in the sun has caused them problems in the present. I know that times have changed and today’s children seem to still be enjoying life as much as I did. I doubt that they would last long if we tossed them outside and suggested that they find ways to have fun while sweltering in the ever more common heat. Still, I would not give up the memories of those days for anything. They were surely grand. We had so much fun in the sun.

When I travelled to New York City with my daughters this summer I essentially went along for the ride. I let them decide where we would stay, what we would eat and how we would spend our time. They did a lovely job of finding a great hotel that did not cost an arm and a leg even on the July Fourth weekend. They found unique restaurants representing a diversity of cultures. They chose wonderful sightseeing venues that hit the spot. Among them was attending a performance of the musical Cabaret.

I have to admit that I was a bit worried about seeing an update of that iconic musical. My first thought was that it would be impossible to enjoy the show without the incredible talent of Joel Grey and Liza Minelli. Their performances set the standard for the major roles and I worried that I would be comparing those in such a way that I would never be able to truly enjoy the efforts of the new cast. Happily I was wrong. 

The director of the musical was brilliant in updating the characters so that they were new and fresh and nothing like the originals. The Master of Ceremonies at the Kit Kat Club was his own man, not a imitation of Joel Grey, with a voice that was haunting. Sally Bowles was a very English girl with a seemingly cheery outlook on life that was tainted by her longing for money and success. The Jewish love story was about an older couple portrayed by actors with a sterling professionalism that elevated the importance of their tragedy. In the background was the fascism that would ultimately dominate the lives of everyone. 

The theater itself became the Kit Kat Club from the time that we entered. There was jazz music playing and performers danced, did acrobatics and performed magic as we took our seats. The audience became part of the scenery as they sat at tables encircling the round stage. The orchestra was as important for the story as the actors, and what a story it was. 

The atmosphere in the theater was tense from the beginning and became even more so as the lighting eventually dimmed into almost darkness. The lines seemed to echo today’s headlines and we felt as though we were witnessing the downfall of humanity in real time. There were moments when we felt a chill and goosebumps rose up on our skin. By the end we were sobbing both for the characters and for the world as portrayed. Somehow that world felt closer to us thab we wanted to think. The play became a parable of life and a warning of how darkness might descend upon us if we are not constantly aware of reality. 

We were all moved by this musical and had the kind of feeling that happens only when you have seen something quite brilliant. We talked about what we had viewed for days afterward. We saw the universality of the themes, the poetry of the songs, the incredible talent of the actors. It was a tour de force that will live in our minds forever. We somehow keep circling back to the feelings and thoughts that we had inside that theater.

The two versions of Cabaret that I have seen were both excellent in their own right. Minnellii and Grey stole the show in the original while the production and the sense of horror that has the power to destroy people’s lives became the centerpiece of the newest version. The characters were pawns in a game of life, losing on all counts while the Master of Ceremonies bended his knee to the Nazis and became the evil itself. 

There is much happening in the United States right now that eerily feels like the stealthy takeover of Germany. We are watching forces in real time that are literally pledging to tear down our institutions so that they may rebuild them in their desired form, They seem to want to create a new way of doing things without the agreement of all Americans.

I have watched what is taking place with as much horror as I felt watching the latest Broadway presentation of Cabaret. I see masked men stalking immigrants and taking them away without so much as a trial to determine their actual status. I see agencies being dismantled without thought about what will be lost when they are gone. I see the poorest among us being shamed and losing programs that had been safety nets for them. I see a president who thinks himself immune to worrying about whether or not his actions are actually legal. I see a darkness of cruelty moving over my country that once felt like a shining example of democracy and generosity. All the while we citizens are being fed a diet of bread and the distractions of a circus so that we will not realize what is really happening until it is too late. 

I’m glad that I had the privilege of seeing Cabaret on the weekend of the celebration of our American independence. We would all do well to pay attention and ignore the attempts to fool us. If we do not pay attention our cabaret will become a nightmare. 

As I was browsing my Facebook page recently I saw these words, “Everyone has a story worth telling.” It struck me that I enjoy writing about people I have known or admired more than any other topic. I often find myself thinking about ordinary folks who are actually quite extraordinary and I do my best work when I choose to tell their stories. 

When I first began my journey through college I had a scholarship that paid for my tuition and books but I was a commuter student who had no transportation to the university. Initially I paid a person to get me there each morning. I gave her enough to purchase gasoline each week which was a fair price, but I had limited funds so I did the math and realized that I would never be able to buy anything more than that ride with what I had saved from working during the summer. That meant that I could not even afford a drink or lunch or any other such luxury or I would run out of money before the end of the school year. 

I casually mentioned my dilemma to a couple of my friends, Linda and Nancy, who were also attending the school and soon enough both of them had graciously offered to get me to school and back home at no cost. It was one of the most generous gifts that I have ever received. I was able to breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I would not reach a point of being unable to get to the campus and now and again I was even able to purchase a snack or even a burger to stave off hunger until I got back home. I was admittedly silly in that I had been embarrassed by my situation but these two insisted that it would be their pleasure to help me. 

Linda and Nancy have both been lifelong friends who accept me just the way I am even though we do not always see the world eye to eye. They are incredibly wonderful people who have accompanied me on my long journey of life. Linda and I raised our children together and I don’t know how she felt about my daughters but I sometimes dreamed of them marrying her sons. That did not work out because our children were so close that they felt more like siblings than romantic partners.

I don’t think I would have made it through my twenties, thirties and forties without Linda. She has always been wise and kind and I learned much from her. She was also a wonderful sounding board with whom I was able to share my innermost dreams, doubts, and failures. I never felt as though I had to hide my true self from her like I sometimes did with others. Ours has been a wonderful friendship that has been as close to being sisters as two women might be without being actually being related to each other. 

Nancy and I played cards with a group of ladies long after I was married. She worked for a time in Houston but eventually moved to Atlanta, Georgia. A long period of time passed during which we had little or no contact. Then she decided to return to Houston and we began talking for hours on the phone as though we had always been together. We can laugh and carry on for so long that our cell phones die while we are still conversing. The love we have between the two of us is incredible and ours is a very accepting relationship. She can be herself and so can I. Nothing comes between us even when I get a bit silly. 

Having two lifelong friends like Linda and Nancy is priceless and I always know that no matter how long it has been since we have been together we always pick up right where we left off. I am fortunate enough to understand that I can be challenging at times because my personality is such that I all too often play devil’s advocate as I attempt to navigate through the difficulties of life. Luckily for me neither of these amazing women get insulted when I start asking them questions or disagreeing with their opinions. There does not seem to be anything that will ever tear us apart and I give most of the credit for that to them because sometimes I don’t let up on voicing how I feel. 

In today’s world so many relationships have fallen apart over petty disagreements. I read about families that have been rent in two and childhood friendships that have gone awry. I’ve only experienced that kind of thing once and the hurt from it still stings even as I love the person who no longer wants my friendship. I suppose I know myself well enough to understand how difficult I can sometimes be when I take hold of a particular way of thinking. With Linda and Nancy my foibles don’t seem to matter and I celebrate that fact every single day. 

I knew Linda in elementary school and admired her from afar. I thought that she was the most beautiful and loving person I had ever encountered. When we became friends I was deeply honored. Nancy and I met in high school and we clicked from the first. I can laugh and cry and totally enjoy every chance meeting that I have with these two wonderful women. They are a gift to me that I will never take for granted. Their amazing stories would fill a book. Perhaps I may take the time to write it all down one day. Till then I just want them to know how important they are to me and how much I will always love them.