Author: Sharron Burnett

Does history repeat itself? If so, why don’t we humans learn from mistakes and follow processes that were successful. It sometimes feels as though humans keep stumbling into the same kind of messes over and over again, like children needing to get burned by a hot stove before they comply with parental warnings meant to keep them free from harm. 

I suppose that our diverse ways of thinking can create brilliant responses to problems or drive  us into states of war. Neither philosophers nor historians have been able to keep us from arguing with each other over how best to live in harmony. Our darker natures seem to get us into trouble over and over again and as our inventiveness improves so do the horrors that we are capable of inflicting on one another. 

We all have an innate sense of what is morally right and what is very wrong and yet we find ways to wriggle around even our strongest beliefs. Most of us would agree that killing another human is immoral but we allow ourselves to kill in self defense. That seems to be a logical way of thinking and yet we have those who would die rather than take up arms against another person. We condone wars as a sometimes necessary evil while some among us conscientiously object. The lines begin to blur and the differing opinions about what actually constitutes murder multiply creating rancor between us. Our social contracts become strained as we attempt to sort out what should be acceptable and what should be only a matter of personal beliefs. 

Compromise in our political gatherings has become a dirty word of late. Those who attempt to find common ground are sometimes seen as being wishy washy flip floppers. The trend today is to stand firmly intrenched in our respective philosophies about what is right and what is wrong. There is no patience with those who suggest that we approach societal problems incrementally with small wins for as many people as possible. We live in an all or nothing political era that feels toxic and hateful while nothing is ever resolved. The two sides argue back and forth instead of settling for small victories and progress rather than none. 

The result of the obstinance is stagnation with a growing list of unsolved problems that only become worse as groups fight for dominance hoping to gain enough power to shove their ideas down everyone else’s throats. So many of our governmental systems are more concerned with winning the next election than doing their jobs in the intervening times. Only a few brave souls are willing to walk across the aisle to bridge differences and move forward rather than creating stagnation. The person who attempts to bridge the differences is all too often the pariah rather than the hero and so the tension between the groups grows and grows. 

We humans have found ourselves in the same kind of situations over and over again. Our obstinance leads to making poor choices in selecting those who lead us. We eschew the peace makers and cling to so called strong men who attract us by inflaming our anger and our fears. If we allow such people to gain too much power we risk becoming intrenched in a long cycle of bickering and sometimes of engaging in war. Nobody really comes out ahead in such environments. Everyone loses in one way or another. 

We need only look across the globe and across the years of history to witness the kind of behaviors that lead to horrific situations for innocent people who were tempted by bad actors to engage in tribal vengeance on perceived or imagined enemies. We become impatient and make bad decisions that may sate our own desires for a time but harm others in the process. We equate bravado and bullying with strength, believing that a quiet and rational option for solving our problems takes too long and requires us to give too much. 

Our present situation is not unique. Humankind has been here before. It is a sad and frightening time when we hold our breaths wondering if we will ever again feel safe and comfortable. We can’t even get along with each other within our own families and neighborhoods. We wonder why it has to be this way without realizing that we are wittingly or unwittingly creating the monsters that frighten us. We do so when we accept behaviors that we know are wrong rather than rejecting the people who display them. We are to blame for not having the will to stop the grumbling and the finger pointing so that we might sit down to discuss our worries without insulting or harming each other. Somehow that brand of cooperation seems to be totally out of style. 

I hear the voices of the suffering and I know that we are a world of many needs. Sometimes we gloriously rally in a spirit of kindness and unity and sometimes we bicker while harm continues to inflict innocent people. Surely we know that destroying each other has never led to good outcomes. Until we put ourselves into each other’s shoes how can we know what we need to do for the common good? Until we can accept that we do not have all of the answers how can we search for the solutions that lead to peace and good lives for most of us? 

I know that there is no pie in the sky, but surely there are ways to understand and even appreciate our common humanity. Life is short and we should all be working to make it as free of brutishness for everyone as possible. We need to at least attempt to understand different cultures, different ways of thinking without foisting a single way of living on the entire world. Governing is like parenting. We all know that too much permissiveness with children leads to bad behavior while guidance that is too strict and punishing leads to anger. We have to spend time communicating with each other without coming undone when our beliefs diverge. We might begin in small groups in which we find out what we have in common and why we feel the way that we do. 

The demonizing can be stopped if we refuse to support those who would have us engaged in a constant loop of fighting. We need to use our thinking rather than allow ourselves to be emotionally manipulated by men and women whose only accomplishments are raising our ire. Look behind the curtain to see how the rabble rousers treat people when nobody is looking. It will become very clear who is actually concerned about our society and who is only interested in stroking their own egos. These are the people who lead us to war with each other. Do not let them fool you. Look for the peacemakers and people of integrity. They are the true heroes and always have been. 

I was a Catholic school student for twelve years of my life. I enjoyed checking out books on the lives of the saints from our library but soon felt overwhelmed by the seeming perfection of most the people portrayed in those stories. Somehow they did not seem at all like the real people that I knew and loved. I recall once hearing that Mother Frances Xavier Cabrini was the first American saint but I knew little about her and had lost my interest in following up on her story. I had discovered the Nancy Drew mysteries by then and had abandoned my curiosity about the saints. 

Years later I would attend a church in Houston, Texas named for St. Frances Cabrini and eventually ran the religious education program for the children of the parish along with my friends Shirley, and two women named Judy. I remember seeing a photo of Mother Cabrini when I worked each day and she looked like a kindly person whom I assumed was another one of those perfect individuals who I would never be able to emulate with my many human flaws. It would be long after I had eventually become a teacher of mathematics and then a school administrator and finally a retiree that I would learn more about the patron saint of immigrants from a friend. 

During the height of the Covid 19 pandemic I sheltered in place like so many. I found ways of making the best of the situation by teaching home schooled students remotely and tutoring public school students who wanted a little extra push to better understand the concepts that they were learning via Zoom. I also spent more hours “connecting” with people on Facebook and writing blogs while checking on my husband’s ninety year old father and his wife. I made a game of being somewhat sequestered and somehow managed to make it through the times relatively unscathed. 

One day I received a message from a woman who had been in the class behind me in high school. She had been reading my posts on Facebook as well as my blogs and felt that there was a certain kinship between us. She wanted my phone number so that we might actually talk with each other and thus an amazing friendship began to bloom.

Dr. Bren Ortega Murphy was a tenured professor at Loyola University in Chicago and our conversations focused on the issues of the time and her work as a professor. We were both serious thinkers but we also had our impish sides and enjoyed decorating our homes for each of the seasons and holidays. Bren began sending me little cards and packages with items that she thought I might enjoy. She insisted that I must come stay with her for a visit when we were all free to travel again. We began to plot an extended friendship in between our more academic discussions. 

One day Bren asked me if I had seen her documentary about nuns in America. Of course I had no idea that she had created such a thing so I politely admitted my ignorance. She sent me a link to her film and I watched it as soon as we had ended our conversation. 

I new that Bren had a collection of photos, cartoons and porcelain renderings of nuns but I had not understood the extent to which she had studied their impact on society. Admittedly I wasn’t expecting much from the documentary. After all how interesting could stories about nuns actually be? Nonetheless I wanted to see Bren’s take on the ladies who had been so much a part of my own upbringing and history. 

Bren’s documentary was narrated by Susan Sarandon and it proved to be exceptional. It focused on the courage and gutsiness of several nuns who had impacted the lives of downtrodden groups and individuals. Among them was Mother Frances Cabrini, the namesake of my old parish church. From the film I learned that she had come to America from Italy to help Italian immigrants in New York City who were struggling in poverty, neglect and outright prejudice. With an iron will Mother Cabrini overcame one challenge after another to first create an orphanage for the many Italian children whose parents had died under the dire conditions of the Five Points slums in which they lived. Eventually she built a hospital as well and went on to repeat her work in Chicago and other parts of the United States and the world. She was my kind of saint, a tough and compassionate women determined to nurture the underserved and often invisible people of the world. 

My respect and awe for Bren soared after I watched the professional documentary that she had written and produced. I was quite excited about the future of our friendship but sadly that was not to be. With heartbreaking suddenness Dr. Bren Ortega Murphy died and I was devastated. I thought about our conversations and our correspondence over and over again and realized how she had accompanied me during the pandemic and the uncertain times. I knew that I would forever cherish our brief moments together. 

A few weeks ago an advertisement for a movie called Cabrini appeared on my Facebook feed. I wondered why it had so randomly come there and so I investigated reviews of the film only to read a critique from a Jesuit priest who marveled at how beautifully human the story portrayed the now St. Frances Cabrini. He assured his readers that she was not portrayed as a cloying model of perfection but instead a very real person whose sense of kindness propelled her to fight for her Italian brothers and sisters who were living in squalor in a place where rats were treated better. I knew that I had to go see the movie, so last week my husband and I made the film the centerpiece of our Thursday date night. 

I am happy to proclaim that Cabrini is a beautifully rendered film that tells the story of an amazing woman who travelled into uncertainty from her native country of Italy and took on prejudice with courage and determination. Nothing about her mission was easy and yet she found the inner strength to fight for what she believed she needed to do. The movie captures both her gentle nature and her steel hard convictions. It is a worthy offering that resonates even in our modern times. I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone. it is not so much a religious film as a commentary on our responsibilities as humans living in a sometimes uncertain and cruel world. It reminded of my friend, Bren, and somehow I knew that she would have loved it. 

Our nation still struggles to know how to deal with immigrants who come to our country hoping to find better lives for themselves and their families. Many among us continue to stereotype and even shun them. They are all too often viewed as a horde that will destroy the fabric of our nation. Some forget that once the Irish and the Poles and the Jews and the Italians and the Slovakians like my grandparents were feared and mistreated as much as those who come to us today. Cabrini asks us to see the immigrants as people just like us. It tells us the story of a woman who set aside politics and helped them when they were in need. It challenges us to view immigrants from a different perspective just as Bren often challenged me to be my best self. 

We hear a great deal about Boeing Aircraft of late and most of it is not so good. There was a time when Boeing was known as the epitome of care and craftsmanship in their products, but a merger with MacDonald Douglas led to a business model based less on quality control and more on profits and streamlined production. While such a focus might work well in some companies, it is imperative that makers of planes should seek quality and safety first. So too it is with the ridiculous idea of using production and profit models for all kinds of organizations that require a different kind of measurement to determine success. 

I will never forget a time when my eldest daughter celebrated her first birthday without even making an attempt to walk. As the weeks and then months passed and people began to bombard me with advice regarding her unwillingness to stand upright and take steps. They made me quite anxious with their insistence that something had to be wrong or she would certainly be toddling about. I lay awake at night worrying and wondering if I had somehow done something or neglected to do something that had impeded her movements. 

When she was about fourteen months old I was constantly anxious that she was still unwilling to walk, but I showed a confident face to my critics. I watched them shake their heads and wag their tongues when they saw my child still crawling around in the grass when we went outside to play each day. I tried not to let them see the panic that was growing inside and then something remarkable happened. One day my little girl and I were watching a group of older children toss a rubber ball back and forth. At one point one of the little ones dropped the orb and it rolled in our direction. To my amazement my daughter quickly stood up and literally ran to retrieve the ball before someone else did. From that point forward she not only walked but ran with ease. 

I had always been taught that we humans develop at different rates. There is no ironclad rule that determines when any of us will master any skill. I took heart from my experience with my own child whenever I encountered students who progressed rather slowly in learning different mathematical processes. I often saw some of my pupils soaring with success after only one lesson and others who took many iterations of instruction before finally demonstrating understanding. In fact, in one of my earliest experiences teaching long division I found myself becoming discouraged with the lack of progress with several of my charges when we worked on long division. 

When I expressed my concerns to a teacher who was nearing her retirement she assured me that with patience and motivation all of my students would ultimately master the concepts that seemed to elude them. In fact, she reminded me once again that we each learn at a different pace and as long as we do not give up on the child who is struggling success will eventually blossom. 

My experiences have shown me that anyone can learn, but the rate and timing of learning may differ vastly. Sadly both students and teachers are all too often tested, not to determine where the youngsters fall along the continuum of progress, but to rank them as though there is some magical moment when all humans should be capable of doing certain things or be deemed failures. Society has turned learning into a competition measured by production and high scores on tests. 

What we have witnessed is that much like Boeing when quantity of learning is more valued than taking time to improve the quality things fall apart. Lives are hurt. Both children and their teachers are damaged. The oft heard expression, “I’m no good at that!,” usually results from pushing an individual to master something too soon. It ignores the truth that we all learn different things at different rates. 

I am always wary of any push to adopt a one size fits all methodology in any circumstance. it is almost always a mistake to gage progress or quality on some numerical formula that does not take differences and quality into account. Instead we should celebrate situations that take effort, improvement, and attention to detail into account. We destroy the morale of people when they realize that their value is little more than a set of statistics. People become unmotivated when nobody takes time to notice what they have done right rather than only focusing on what they have done wrong. That applies to any human endeavor. 

How many times have we heard of people who failed many times before ultimately doing remarkable things? My little girl who took fourteen months to perform the act of walking eventually became a beautiful dancer. She choreographed incredible routines and was the lead dancer in a number of school musicals. Nobody asked her how old she was when she first stood upright to take the steps into her future, so why are we in such a hurry in so many situations?

We humans are amazing in our ability to learn and create and produce. It should not always matter how quickly we are able to do such things. Taking time to do things right should be our goal. Celebrating success no matter how long it takes to get there, should be par for the course. Think of how much more we might actually accomplish if we were to focus on a natural progression according to each person’s needs. Soon we would all be running with delight.  

As Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

I recently saw this quote in an opinion piece by Anne Lamott in The Washington Post. Her assessment of the world as she sees it now that she takes the time to look with an open mind was just the sort of optimism and incredible writing that I needed at the moment. I have to admit that I worry about the constant focus on what is wrong with the world as opposed to what is right. I long for points of view that acknowledge the miracles that abound in the everyday experiences of life. Of late I have had to stave off a feeling that societies across the globe have forgotten how to see and rejoice in the  universal goodness of people that all too often is shrouded by a cacophony of complaints. 

On the same day that I read the hopeful piece by Ms. Lamonte I smiled at the photos that one of my cousins had posted on Facebook. They featured her toddler decked out in hockey gear learning to keep his balance on the ice. I laughed and cried at the same time while gazing at the image of the innocent little boy learning how to stay upright on the ice and shouting out his unbridled joy. 

I knew the story behind the happiness and love that literally leaped from the page. This little boy had suddenly lost his father one night when he was still just a baby. The unexpected death of a young man who seemed to have a lifetime of happiness ahead with his beautiful wife and tiny little boy seemed so unfair but a quiet miracle was about to evolve. 

The little boy’s family rose to the challenge of embracing him with a continuous stream of love. His mother devoted herself to his well being. His grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins made sure that he felt safe. They joined together to fill the void left by his father as best they could. The miracle of hope bloomed in the toddler’s heart. 

I was moved by the power and beauty of family as I scanned the photos and listened to the unfiltered joy of the child. I saw the courage of his mother and the compassion of all of the people who had so obviously built his confidence. With patience and determination they had assured the little boy that he would never be alone. The beauty of it all overwhelmed my heart. 

It sometimes feels as though there is a kind of disconnect between the longings of ordinary people and the stances of governments across the globe. My guess is that few of us actually want the discord that the power brokers hawk in their quest to stay in charge. Most of us only desire the kind of quiet miracles that give a little boy the certainty that he is loved.

I often wonder how it is that we seem to constantly battle one another over issues that should not be troublesome at all. Then I realize the manipulations that are imposed on us by people pretending to care for us the way the little boy’s family cares for him. The difference between the two situations is that love is always the foundation of what is good, not revenge or fear. The everyday miracles happen because of our goodness and willingness to embrace our beautiful world and its people with joy and appreciation for the smallest of wonders. 

Anne Lamott challenges us to quiet the noise in our hearts so that we will be able to listen for the beauty that abounds. If we change our focus from never seeing miracles to noticing how bountiful they are, our entire outlook on life will change. Discovering miracles opens our hearts and our minds. If we allow ourselves to find the beauty in everyday moments the joy from seeing them will multiply exponentially and drown out the ignorance that spawns distrust and anger. 

Our time on this earth is limited. We can choose to never see the miracles or we can find the comfort of watching them unfold in every moment of the day. Look around with your eyes wide open. When you see the beauty that surrounds you the direction of your life will forever change. Embrace the miracles and change your point of view.

Now and again I stumble upon a story that fascinates me because it involves an aspect of history that I have never before encountered. So it was when I read a little blurb about a man named William Sidis, a child prodigy who gained widespread fame as the youngest person to enter Harvard University during his times. 

William Sidis was born in 1898 to brilliant parents. His mother was a medical doctor and his father was a renowned psychologist. Both of his parents had fled political persecution in Russia. When their son William was born they both believed that focusing on early learning experiences would enhance their son’s intellect. They read to their infant and spoke to him in different languages. They exposed him to mathematics and topics often thought to be the realm of adults. William seemingly thrived while his parents wrote articles and books touting his genius and their child rearing methods. 

While there are no official records of William taking an IQ test, his parents claimed that he may have scored in the 200 to 250 range which would have made him among the most brilliant persons in history. As a matter of fact William was indeed versed in high level mathematics while he was still a very young child. He also spoke a number of languages and wrote poetry. He appeared to be exceptional in any subject that he studied. 

William’s parents decided to send their incredible son to Harvard University at the age of nine but the school wisely refused to accept someone so young. However two years later the school agreed to give William a try at the age of eleven. There William excelled in academics but struggled to adapt to the older students who sometimes made fun of him with his short knickers and high button shoes that marked him as a child among his trouser wearing classmates. 

It should have become apparent to everyone that William was struggling with his social development but instead he became a sensation partly due to his parents who continued to insist that they had uncovered methods for tapping into a child’s intellect without bounds. William was suffering under the scrutiny of being famous. When he graduated at the age of sixteen he noted that the perfect life would be one of solitude but his parent’s had other ideas. They acquired a teaching post for him at Rice Institute in Houston, Texas where he taught undergraduate mathematics classes. The then seventeen year old struggled to connect with the students who were older than he was and after only a year the school he was asked to leave. 

Things began to fall apart for William after that. He was arrested during a protest in which he attacked a police officer. He was found guilty of assault and sentenced to jail but his parents once again interceded on his behalf and agreed to send him to a sanitarium where his father worked. He received treatment there for a year and then went to another facility for an additional year. When he was finally released he essentially went under the radar for the remainder of his life taking low level jobs that did not require much education. He was careful to hide his true abilities lest he be hounded by the press once again. 

William moved from place to place in relative obscurity. He seemed to find a certain kind of happiness in being unknown. He wrote several books under pseudonyms that included topics on thermodynamics and a history of Native Americans in the United States. At one point a writer from The New Yorker tracked him down, befriended him and then wrote an article about him that painted a picture that was unflattering. William sued and won a nice settlement but died from a cerebral hemorrhage in the same year. He was only forty six years old. 

Today we hear of Tiger Moms who strictly guide the activities and directions of their children’s lives. We debate whether or not such close monitoring is good or bad. We talk about letting children be free range inventors of their own destinies versus products of the careful planning of their parents. Perhaps the story of William Sidis might give us pause in structuring the life of a child without consideration of all aspects of development.

A genius should indeed be challenged and offered opportunities to learn at a deep level but if we neglect their socio/emotional needs we run the risk of creating an adult who is unable or even unwilling to interact with society. The good parent understands the need to allow a child to explore and interact with all facets of being human. That means providing their offspring with moments to run and play and live in the world of children where we all learn how to adapt to the most human aspects of our personalities. 

As an educator I never met a William Sidis who was so obviously more brilliant than his peers, but I did encounter very bright youngsters who were chomping at the bit to move more quickly through the curriculum. In most cases the schools were able to accommodate their needs without pushing them into a situation for which they were not yet emotionally ready. I think that perhaps the story of William Sidis might serve as a warning to parents that nurturing a child’s talents has to include age appropriate advancements. 

We have seen so many times that pushing a highly talented athlete into adult situations too soon can destroy their futures. The same is true of child actors or musicians So many prodigies in any field of endeavor crash and burn because they never got to just be children. Fame enveloped them all too soon and they were psychologically unprepared to to cope. Furthermore those of us expecting great things from them only add to the pressures that they are not yet ready to endure.  

Being a child should be a joyful experience. With balance we can help our youth to find their talents and guide them into greatness while also allowing them to make the choices about who they one day wish to be. It isn’t about rocket science. It’s about love. Our children are not extensions of ourselves. Their glory is not ours. If we remember that very important aspect of parenting they will ultimately find their way into lives that fulfill their dreams and make them happy as well. 

We can learn from the story of William Sidis. Some say that when he finally broke free from the domination of his parents and a society that turned him into a person he did not want to be that he was actually a quite content person. The true fact is that geniuses are not made by brute force. They simply become.