Author: Sharron Burnett

What a summer this has been! Europe was swarming with tourists. Airports were filled with travelers. We witnessed longer stretches of unusually high temperatures than many of us remember ever experiencing in our lives. We have been centered on attempts to return to a sense of normal after the privations and losses of the pandemic years, mostly looking away from all things unpleasant whenever possible. Certainly we deserve some respite from the distressing situations, but as we know the world is filled with tragedies with or without a worldwide pandemic. It can be a daunting task to pull us out of our doldrums and an even more gigantic task to discern what is the right way to approach the problems that continue to stalk the world’s people. 

Sometimes I wonder what I, as one person, can do to help those living in dire circumstances. It can be overwhelming to consider all of the problems in our own backyards and in far away places that are alien to us. Are there even enough resources on this earth to bring solace to every life, or should I simply shrug that things have always been this way and there is nothing that I can do? These kind of thoughts have confounded me for most of my life. I often think that my altruistic nature was born on the day that my father died. I vividly remember the people who went out of their way to help my family, those who went an extra mile to make sure that we were safe and secure. I become quite emotional thinking of how much their kindness meant to me and my mother and brothers. I have never ever forgotten a single one of them, Aunt Valeria, Uncle Jack, Uncle Willie, Mrs. Barry, Father Fiorenza, my grandparents, Aunt Opal, our neighbors on Belmark Street, the good people of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church.

Back then I made a promise to be observant and to notice those who are suffering in this world. My resolve was heightened by my sainted mother who showed me and my brothers how to be empathetic and generous. There were times when she literally cried for the poor in spirit, but then she always followed her tears with actions that hundreds of people remembered after she had died. She showed me that one person constantly doing small things is indeed able to change the direction of people’s lives. 

There was nothing showy about my mother’s efforts. In fact, she was quite humble about doing good. It was not something to brag about. She commanded no awards or rewards. She was kind because she believed it was the way we all should be. The people to whom she ministered were often forgotten or misunderstood by others. She did not judge them. She simply loved them and often told me and my brothers how she herself had been shunned when she was a child simply because she was the child of immigrants. Nonetheless, her father taught her to hold her head high and be grateful and proud that she was a citizen of the United States. He urged her to use her good fortune to help those who were not as lucky, and so she did.

We often wonder what our tiny efforts will accomplish, but we forget the power of the exponent. One caring act raised to the power of millions grows with a steep curve. When we unite together to do positive things rather than to gripe and complain about the state of the world we overwhelm the evil forces that destroy innocence. If we see problems it is up to each of us to act if only in a small way. 

We all know people who make great sacrifices to be the helpers in the world. Sometimes their impact isn’t as apparent as it should be. Like my mother they are quietly working on causes that have inspired them. Some do such things in their choices of work like firefighters, doctors, nurses, teachers, scientists, engineers, or even the people who clean up our messes. Each is bringing order and hope for the future to our lives and we often don’t even notice them. Some use their free time or their generous donations to improve the way we all live. Some create films or write essays to bring horrors to our attention or to remind us that we humans have a duality of characteristics that can be heavenly or hellish. It is up to us to choose which we want to foster and be.

It is not enough to simply sit around complaining about the problems of drugs, homelessness, wars, or refugees. There are not walls high enough nor concertina wire strong enough to protect ourselves from misfortune or to allow us to ignore the tired and suffering. We certainly don’t have to drive ourselves into states of despair over the issues of the world, but we can choose to do something positive about a situation that concerns us. Spreading kindness is a reward in itself, bringing us far more joy than time spent accruing things and status. 

I’m certainly not a cockeyed optimist. My life’s story has taught me that we sometimes face overwhelming challenges and that we don’t always get what we want in spite of our best efforts. Still, my mother’s life showed me that we don’t have to perform miracles or do the seemingly impossible to make a difference. All it takes is for each of us to consciously spend time doing something brave and wonderful wherever we think that it may help. Somebody has to do it. Why not be the one!

Wow! My father would have been one hundred years old last Saturday if he had lived instead of dying at the age of thirty three. Of course there is no reason to believe that he would have made it this far since he had a tendency to be a bit too daring and had more than one scrape with broken bones. Nonetheless his father lived to the ripe old age of one hundred eight and there was quite a streak of longevity among his ancestors. He just might have managed to witness some of the inventiveness of humankind that he had predicted would happen. I suspect that he would have enjoyed that, but a the same time I’ve never been one for “what ifs.” Things happen and we have to adjust to our realities in spite of how difficult that sometimes is. Still, I would have liked for my husband and my daughters and maybe even my grandchildren to have talked with him if only for an hour or so. 

We are all formed by people that we have never met. Their DNA resides within us. Their intellect and philosophies get passed down to us in small but meaningful ways. We all belong to a long and complicated strand of the past that shapes so much more than just the color of our eyes or the texture of our hair. We are the culmination of centuries and the purveyors of future generations. I like to think that some of my past features are already percolating in my grandchildren and will one day be evident in some person whom I will never meet.

Have you ever seen those striking photos of a young adult next to a photo or painting of a relative from many generations past? The nuances of similarity are strikingly uncanny. It is as though the individual from long ago has come alive in the modern world. We have such a family portrait in our home that features my husband Mike’s great great grandfather, great grandfather and a gathering of children one of whom bears an uncanny resemblance to my grandson, Ian. It appears to have been taken in Newcastle, Great Britain in the first decade of the twentieth century. If not for their dated clothing I would have actually believed that Ian was in the picture.

Everyone agrees that my brother, Pat, his son, Shawn, and my grandson, Andrew, look very much like my father. Since Shawn’s son, Lex, looks almost identical to his grandfather, Pat, at the same young age, it is a fair bet to assume that we have an idea of how my dad looked as a little boy even though we have no photos of him until he was in junior high. Some even say that I look more like my father than my mother, but it depends on which side of the family is studying my profile. If our physical characteristics can so clearly link us to our ancestors, just imagine how many unseen traits we carry. It is absolutely mind boggling. 

We already know that we may now connect ourselves to people we have never met simply by comparing our DNA to theirs. Often when we do, we find that the “perfect strangers” like the same kinds of things that we enjoy. They may even have identical idiosyncrasies. I marvel at the science that has demonstrated our interrelatedness, but even more at the phenomenon of similarities that have traveled down through the years. I like to think that even though my father has been gone for sixty seven of his “would have been” birthdays he is still alive and having an impact on the world through those of us who came after him and carry his traits. 

I know that Jack Little has been one of the strongest driving forces in my life, but I also marvel at how much my grandson, Andrew, is like him not just in appearance but temperament. The mix of other influences makes Andrew a bit different from my father, but there are times when I am talking with him that I catch glimpses of the same kind of intensity that Daddy felt for the people that he loved. 

I do not believe that our destinies are predetermined. Nor do I adhere to the philosophy that things happen for a reason. It would be difficult to accept that a divine being would be so cruel as to teach us lessons with the deaths of loved ones, serious illnesses, or wars. I think that we simply encounter random situations and it is in how we respond to them that the nature of our inheritances become surprisingly clear. All of the wisdom and DNA passed down through the ages influences our thinking and our beliefs. I already catch glimpses of long gone loved ones in the actions of the youngest members of our extended family. 

When answering the question of whom, living or dead, I would like to invite to dinner I never fail to include my father in the grouping. In fact I would prefer to just be alone with him on a bench overlooking the ocean. I’d like to share with him how much I have always loved him and how he guided the trajectory of my life even after he was gone. Then I would give him time to share his reactions to all that has happened since he left this earth. I suppose that everyone has a person or two that they would very much like to see just one more time. Instead I’ll just say Happy One Hundredth Birthday to my Daddy in heaven and tell him how much his influence lives on. Who could ask for any more wonderful gift than to know that we matter and always will! 

My mother used to tell me that there is a part of our being that makes us feel young even as we grow older. She would boast that she was just as vital at the age of sixty as she had been at 21. Of course being her daughter I found such conversations confounding. She was my mom after all and in my eyes she was born old. It is only as I inch toward the age at which her life ended that I truly understand the wisdom that she was attempting to convey to me. In her heart she never felt old, even as her body began to prove that she was vulnerable to the process of entropy. 

Somehow age is relative. In July Mick Jagger turned eighty and he’s still out there recording and entertaining although with a tiny bit less spring in his sneakers. Four years ago I watched him perform live and never miss a beat. His level of energy appeared to be endless, but I never saw him backstage where it is possible that he was sucking wind. 

Hearing that so many of my teen idols are actually what society would call old men is a bit disconcerting to me because I have learned that my mother was absolutely right. I do indeed feel far younger than my birth certificate claims or my image in the mirror seems to prove. I often find myself being startled when I see my reflection in a pane of glass. As I walk along I imagine how I appear because it is how I feel inside and can’t quite understand why younger people run to open doors for me or insist on carrying my packages for me as though I am somehow an invalid. My appearance fools nobody, but my inner feelings continually keep me feeling as though I am still young. That can be a very good thing or it can also create problems.

We have a rather impressive number of aging Baby Boomers who are still going strong and clinging to powerful positions as members of the younger generation wonder when it will be their turn to grab the baton. Depending on whose point of view is being considered all of the working seniors are either inspiring thing or annoying in their refusal to retire to make way for new voices and ideas.

It’s difficult to determine who is right and who is wrong. Is it laudable to remain active and hold on to power while the younger folk wait in the wings or is it an insult to younger adults? Sometimes I just don’t know, especially as I myself still feel so vital and desirous of continuing my contributions to the world. My mind works well although it may not be quite as sharp as it once was. I feel that I have a bit of wisdom to share that came from a lifetime of experiences and challenges. Still I have to admit that it sometimes takes me longer to recall a memory or lift myself out of a chair. My knees are playing out and if I do too much physical labor my back aches for days. The heat gets to me quickly and I find myself wanting to go bed much earlier at night than I have ever done. I suppose that as we age we fight to remain useful, important. We don’t want to become burdens or to be ignored. Nonetheless is there a time when it is actually best to give the younger folk a turn to show their mettle? 

Surely we can find a happy medium in which we share our wisdom but give away some of our power. The world is filled with stories both real and fictional regarding our concern with how we should act as we grow old. We either admire, disdain or feel pity for those who struggle to do the know how to retire gracefully when the time comes. We can’t seem to agree on what is the right way to behave. We can’t even decide what constitutes the idea of being too old to perform certain jobs. Perhaps the key really is in assessing each individual or maybe it is in having limits on how long a person should continue to be in command.

The children of Baby Boomers sometimes feel as though their time will never come because they will be too old by the when their parents relinquish their hold on the halls of power. Just as Queen Elizabeth left an old man to inherit the throne, many young men and women are reaching their fifties while still wondering if they will ever get their turn to demonstrate their abilities and enact their ideas. The Boomers continue to dominate virtually all aspects of life. Succession is very much on everyone’s mind as two old me seem destined to run for President of the United States and aging Senators and Justices refuse to retire. It almost feels as though we don’t trust the adults who come behind us. 

I keep harking back to my grandfather who was as wise as they come. He aged with such grace. It is little wonder that he made it to one hundred eight. He adjusted his role to being a source of historical perspective, a thoughtful counselor. He saw the greatness in young people and encouraged them to push forward and accept major responsibilities. He believed that older folk had a place but that they still had to step back to let progress move forward. Maybe we need to all learn how to adjust ourselves and our places in society to make certain that the young people have the experiences that they need to keep things going after we are gone. Maybe it’s time to demonstrate our confidence in our children and grandchildren by letting them decide how to prepare for the future. There is no greater gift than respect and handing over the baton. We can do that and still be vital and probably even more admired.

It would be easy to assume that today’s young people are selfish, lazy and ignorant if one only heard comments from adults who have little contact with our youngest citizens. The age old trope about how pathetic the youth of the era appear to be has been around for as long as there have been humans roaming the earth. There always seem to be adults who take great pride in their own generation while insulting the most recent one. 

The truth is that there are in fact some young people who are sadly selfish, lazy and ignorant, but they tend to be the exception rather than the rule. For the most part the kids that I encounter are earnest, kind, thoughtful and bright. They think about the world and the people around them and often demonstrate new and well conceived points of view to those of us who are older that challenge the status quo with an eye to improving the world. They are generally good souls with a touch of innocence in tandem with honest critiques that need to be voiced. Their concerns for our earth and for each other are deeply generous. 

This morning as I was sipping on my morning tea and munching my breakfast biscuit, I read a story about a young man who noticed an older man who was having difficulty shopping. The older fellow was bent with age and had difficult lifting his head. He had to make painful motions to view the contents of every aisle and sometimes his glances missed the items that he was hoping to find. The boy noticed this and stepped up to ask if he might be of help. The old man was more than happy to have assistance and the young man joyfully zipped around the store acquiring every item on the shopping list. Then the boy accompanied the man to the checkout station, helped to bag his purchases and walked with him to the bus that was waiting to take him home. When the older man tried to give the youngster a reward, the boy shook his head and insisted that his tip had been the honor of being helpful. 

There are truly angels among us and often they are young and seemingly unaware. In truth there is an untarnished innocence in most young people along with a desire to clearly see truth without filters. They are unafraid to challenge lies or change ugly status quos because they have not yet been beaten down by society’s rules and prejudices. They often see the world around us much more honestly because of their curiosity and desires to learn. This makes them more open to people and situations that are different from themselves.  

I have spent my lifetime working with children and being a child myself. I remember deep conversations with friends when I was quite young. We wanted to make sense of life and death and injustices that we observed. We discussed what we felt was right and what definitely appeared to be wrong. We may not have had all the answers but we were more than willing to begin even taboo discussions in our efforts to understand our histories and our futures. Today’s young people are no less engaged than we were. Between the childhood games and silliness they too have questions and seek answers. If they cannot talk about such things with the adults who should be open to their queries they will take it upon themselves to right the wrongs that they see. 

I’ve been watching a series on PBS called Southern Stories. A recent episode featured an author of children’s books who grew up in a depressed area of Jackson, Mississippi. While filming the documentary she visited a park where she used to play as a child. Some young people were lurking in the background and asked her not to take pictures of them. She explained that she was an author who had grown up there and asked them if they would like to be part of the documentary. Their surly demeanors changed immediately as she told them what books she had written. They wanted to know if it was hard to be an author and she explained that anyone can write stories about their lives if the practice. The eagerness of the young people was beautiful to watch and the change in their demeanor that came from being seen and heard proved that encouragement always brings better results than criticism.

It is in our nature as humans to seek comfort. We respond to our elders with smiles and sparkling eyes, with laughter and acknowledgement when we feel safe and loved. That is how our own realities of goodness begin. It feels so comfortable to be accepted and loved that we instinctively spread those good vibes to others. Very soon we witness discrepancies in how people behave. We cry when we witness a loud and ugly argument. We draw back when someone is gruff. As we become older we learn about the long history of inhumanity that has darkened the world. If we hear truths and are able to openly discuss the fears that such ideas create in us, we will focus on being better. If we make excuses for bad behaviors we will begin  to believe that might makes right even when it at first appears to be wrong. Luckily most children do not hear such things and even those who do are often able to think for themselves and end the cycle of ugliness that has snaked its way into existence time and again.

it pains my heart when adults assume the worst of children. If we begin by believing in them and teach them patiently when they make mistakes they almost always respond. The key lies in paying attention to what they have to say. They tend to be very honest in asserting their feelings. Our goal should not be to deny and punish their beliefs but to provide them with opportunities to learn. Most times, unless the young person is ill or completely broken we ill be able to reach him/her without lectures or insults. 

The fact is the vast majority of kids today are truly wonderful and yet we too often fall into the centuries old mistake of bemoaning how awful they are compared to how we were when we were young. Instead we might strive to experience the joy of hearing their ideas. We might encourage them to dream big dreams and make positive changes rather than insisting that things are just the way they have always been and it is futile to think that we might make a difference. We should applaud their hopefulness and desires to be even better than we have ever been. My grandfather, father and mother did that with me and my brothers and it made all of the difference in our lives. They freed us to be ourselves and it was glorious. Perhaps we would all do well to not just teach respect but also to show it. This is how we help create a glorious future with the next generation. 

Before I could believe it I my daughters were in middle and high school. That’s when time really moved fast and I had to keep track of our schedules like an air traffic controller. There were after school extracurricular events, music, dance and voice lessons, school events, weekly football games and performances. With both girls taking advanced classes we were all up until late at night studying, doing homework, and keeping up with the always growing piles of laundry. Luckily we were not plagued with illnesses and deaths as much as we had been in the past. Even my mother’s mental difficulties seemed to appear less often. Thus we were able to have lots of fun at work, school and home.

Our house was filled with young people all of the time and began to feel more and more crowded. The one bathroom that we had was not working so well with so many females attempting to style their hair and put on lovely faces each morning, so we decided to remodel the places and add more rooms and storage space. The results were phenomenal and made entertaining so much better which was great because we always seemed to be celebrating something or just chilling with friends.

MTV with all of its visual music somehow became a constant in our home and I have to admit that I did not mind it at all. While I had a teenager I was only thirty five years old and just as excited about the eighties music and movies as my girls were. We’d dance in our new great room and when the television was not on the sounds of eighties music blared from our stereo system. We had a collection of LPs and CDs that was enormous and ran the gamut of classics from the sixties to symphonies to the latest hits from Depeche Mode and Michael Jackson. I even cleaned house on Saturday mornings with Madonna and Prince serenading in the background.

We had girl nights with our friend, Pat, and her daughter Lisa that usually involved going to movies like The Breakfast Club or Pretty In Pink. They were the kind of films that our husbands would not be caught dead watching, but that we found to be wonderfully entertaining. Pat was a free spirit who often insisted that we visit the 59 Diner after a movie where we ordered milkshakes and cheesy fries. We were so young and energetic that we didn’t even gain weight from our foodie binges. 

After satisfying our appetites we often wandered across the street to a huge music store that stayed open until midnight. We’d wander up and down the aisles perusing all of the titles and listening to the featured albums playing over the speakers. We never failed to leave without purchasing something new to add to our collections and we chattered like magpies as we discussed the fun that we had enjoyed and made plans for the our next weekend adventures. 

Football games were really fun. Maryellen was one of the Janette Dancers at South Houston High School and the halftime performances were always so good. Even better was the gathering of parents who always sat in the same places each week allowing us to find them without any trouble. We bonded over those games and became good friends much as our children were doing as well. Catherine performed in the middle school choir and began to demonstrate an interest and aptitude in science. She became a favorite student among the science department teachers who trusted her to help them set up labs and care for equipment. She was the star in our Leave It To Beaver life in the eighties with her best friend, Traci, practically living at our house.

Mike rocked along with this very feminine household. If he longed for some male companionship he never let on. He was proud of his girls and even taught them computer skills and how to repair things. He puffed up with pride at the mere mention of them. They were his “Minnie” and “Pookie” who were becoming exactly the kind of people that we had hoped they would be.

The only mars on this time of our lives were the deaths of my grandfather and my beloved Uncle Jack. I have already spoken of how difficult it was to lose Grandpa Little. I don’t think I’ve ever recovered, but the loss of Uncle Jack was a great blow as well. He was the person who had helped us the most when our father died. He found a good car for us and made sure that we purchased a great house as well. He was the man who introduced me to westerns on television and knew how to relate to kids better than anyone I had ever met. I loved him dearly and even had a strange premonition before his death. 

I was driving home from work one day when I suddenly felt the need to visit Gulfgate Mall. I walked into the Sakowitz store and wandered aimlessly among the ladies dresses. I suppose that I must have looked a bit strange because a saleslady approached me to find out if I needed help. I looked at her rather dazed and announced that I needed a nice black dress. When she asked where I would be wearing it I did not hesitate to say that I needed it for a funeral. She very sweetly inquired who had died and I told her that nobody was yet gone but I had a feeling that I would nonetheless need the dress soon. The two of us found a very nice outfit and I took it home feeling as puzzled as the clerk must have been. A day or so later we got a phone call announcing that Uncle Jack was in critical condition. A few days later he died. I suppose that in some ways his spirit and mine were intertwined. My mother felt that I had just been very observant and had somehow seen that he was not as well as we all thought he had been. Whatever it was I knew that he had taught me so much about being helpful and happy.

Aside from the deaths of the two great men who had made such an enormous impact on my life I would have to admit that the rest of those eighties were a long wonderful celebration of good times for our family. My brothers were doing well in their careers and with their wives and children and life was less rocky and challenging than it had been in the past. I suppose that almost everything associated with that time still makes me smile. Even with the silly clothes and hardos it was a welcome break from troubles that allowed us all to grow in the confidence that we were all headed along the right pathway of life.