Author: Sharron Burnett

Being a parent is like riding the freakiest roller coaster ride ever invented. It is exhilarating and terrifying at one and the same time. It is perhaps the most complex of all human relationships. It is a test of wisdom and emotions. It is a role that those of us lucky enough to experience it treasure, but also prompts us to question ourselves. Long after we have launched our children into adulthood we continue to think of them in the middle of the night, hoping that they are warm and happy. Being a parent is a lifelong contract that does not end until the very last breath. 

There is something magical about the first moment of holding a newborn baby. Describing the joy and love of that moment is almost impossible. We remember how it felt decades later. I can still aware of the spiritual connection of my little girls snuggling on my chest, our breaths coming in unison as though we were forever tied together by an invisible bond. The nights of being awakened from my slumbers by their cries were exhausting, but also vividly etched into my most pleasant memories. I remember the closeness that we shared and my determination to be a good and loving mom. 

It was easiest when my daughters were little and totally dependent on me. I seemed to know exactly what to do back then, but as time passed my role became more and more complex. I had to learn when to hover over them and and when to back away. I am certain that I did not always make the best decisions, but I hope that my mistakes did not harm them too much. As a mother I did my best while often feeling anxious that it was not enough. I pray that my girls always realized that my actions, good or bad, were grounded in love. 

The relativity of motherhood is understood by anyone who has raised a child. It is a long and angst filled time while also being as short as a blink and the most joyful time of life. When my daughters reached their teen years they began to push me away, a natural part of development that has happened since the beginning of time. They tested their wings knowing that one day they would have to fly away. It was a sign that I had truly helped them to prepare for the next stage of their lives, but watching them become independent was sometimes terrifying as I imagined all of the negative “what ifs?” I had to concentrate on the positive possibilities even as I knew that the world is filled with pitfalls that they might encounter. 

I recently heard the mother of a teen lament that her days as a mother were drawing to a close. I assured her that there is no such thing as an endpoint to being a parent. We may be watching our grown “babies” from afar but those instincts that helped us to bring them that far are never gone. We stand off stage ready to help and guide them if the occasion comes again. We still lie awake at night hoping and praying that they are doing well. The dynamic of our role in their lives changes only to the extent that we allow them the freedom to fully become themselves. We respect them as adults but we never forget the bond that forever ties our hearts to them. 

My little girls became strong women who have raised their own children. They fully gave of their love and talents in their efforts to be exceptional mothers. Like all of us who have accepted that role they too wonder if they did as well as they had intended to do. They facilitate between the certainty that their devotion to the task of building resilience and goodness in their offspring was enough or too much or too little. It is the fate of all mothers to second guess themselves. it is only with time that each of us learns that every child becomes an adult through a thousands of encounters with many people and random situations. The foundation of character and confidence that mothers build for their offspring cannot insure that they will never be hurt or led astray by others. We can only hope that they will have the fortitude to rebound from the ugliness that they encounter while knowing that we are still ready to stand with them when they need us. 

I am far enough along the journey of being a parent to know that the roles are sometime reversed. My brothers and I cared for our mom when she grew sick and weary. My husband now patiently honors his aging father who sometimes behaves like a surly teenager because he is frightened of relinquishing his position of authority even as he realize that that he can no longer be the independent head of the family that he once was. The concept of a circle of life is real. We care for our babies and one day they care for us. 

We learn from our parents and choose what we think are their most important lessons. In turn we pass down our revised knowledge to our own children hoping that we have made the right choices. If we have managed to send a clear message of our love they will generally turn out to be functioning adults who continue the process. It is the most important job we may have do and the one that will bring us happiness and heartache all at once. Such is life. We do our best and hopefully enjoy the ride.  

I have a morning routine that rarely varies. I awake when I hear the children gathering on the corner to catch a bus for school. The sound of their chatting and laughing energizes me every single day. I tiptoe through the dark of the house to prepare my breakfast and then I play Wordle while sipping on my tea. Once I have successfully completed the word puzzle I visit Facebook to wish happiness for those who are celebrating a birthday and then I post my blog for the day. I surf through the posts on Facebook for a time to learn who is traveling, who is experiencing a life changing event, and who is struggling. Then I read articles from my favorite newspapers and magazines after catching up on the latest news. 

Of late I’ve heard a great deal about the astounding level of depression that seems to be affecting so many people, especially teens and young adults. Theories abound as to why there is almost an epidemic of sadness in a time when the world is reawakening from the challenges of the pandemic. Much of the focus centers on social media as a likely culprit and, while I think that the real answer is more complex, I can see how an the worlds of Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok and Twitter might magnify the problems of those facing difficult situations. 

All of the venues for sharing tend to paint of a picture of perfect lives. I know that I have been guilty of giving the impression that every aspect of my life is a celebration. I have an online reputation of traveling and being infinitely optimistic and cheerful. It is quite rare for me to reveal the moments when I am frustrated or angry or dealing with challenges so enormous that I just want to give up and have an extended cry. Like everyone else I put on my happy face even when it feels as though everyone but me is having a grand old time. It’s easy to understand how the seemingly perfect lives of everyone else might drive a young person into the false belief the he/she is alone in struggling to feel a sense of belonging in a normal world. 

All of those lovely images of edited lives must feel overwhelming to anyone who is lonely or dealing with situations that that are more likely to be hidden than announced to the world. For a young person only beginning to navigate the world of adults emotions are already exaggerated and sometimes out of control. Viewing the bigger than life happiness of others has to be a daunting challenge that amplifies the anxieties of the youngsters whose concealed lives are pushing them to a breaking point. It’s difficult for them not to compare their shortcomings with the picture perfect images that bombard them daily. 

I have known well adjusted adults who had to take a break from social media just to maintain their sanity during very difficult times. They bid their followers adieu until they are able to sort out their troubles without the distraction of judging and comparisons that social media sometimes engenders. They understand how to regain control of their emotions and that the distractions of social media sometimes make doing so more difficult. 

I’m not an advocate of ridding ourselves of social media altogether. I look forward to keeping in touch with friends and family through the various platforms. I use them to post my blogs. I garner information from them and even enjoy a debate or two over important issues. I’ve learned how to handle my online presence and how to read between the lines of the posts. I can feel the pulse of society and individuals by regularly reading what they have to say. Even their absence for a time suggests to me that they may be suffering in some way. I use the media to keep track of people and issues that are important to me. Nonetheless, even I have lost friendships that were important to me and somehow have not managed to mend the rifts that I never intended to create.

I think that as adults we would do well to talk with those on the journey to adulthood about both the joys and dangers of social media. The importance of fitting in with peers looms large during the teen years and the early twenties. Nobody likes to feel different, unsuccessful or unloved, and that is especially true of the awkward years before we gain our footing and confidence to be ourselves. The false impressions of perfection that are so prevalent on social media can make that transition more difficult than it needs to be. 

So many young people had their lives disrupted during the past three years. Some of them lost family members and friends to the Covid virus. Many were isolated during the times when they most needed to be around their peers. Routines were often shattered. Opportunities were missed. The normal development process was delayed. They watched the adults around them arguing and battling at a time when there should have been compassion and cooperation. Competing forces turned our heroes into villains. Much of society now rails against the teachers, doctors, nurses who worked so valiantly during one of the most difficult times. Adults can’t even agree on how to keep our young safe from mass shootings. Little wonder that many of them are confused and morose, feeling as though nobody really cares about them. 

Instead of focusing on silly issues of culture we should be exemplifying resiliency and compassion. Our young are watching and learning from us. We would do well to demonstrate how to get back on track with cooperation, integrity, and concern for those who do not have the means to recover alone. We humans are at our very best when we are helping the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. It’s difficult to be depressed when we are busy working for the good of all people, when our children see that we care about what they are thinking and how they feel. We owe it to them to rise to the challenges that face us rather than dividing into angry groups. Little wonder that our kids are quietly turning to social media for answers and examples that often fall short of showing them that happiness and success have nothing to do with money or trips or constant parties. It is found in our connections and our willingness to make sure that everyone is valued no matter how different they may be. We need to do these things now more than ever. 

When I was growing up I had friends whose households were bustling with extended family. It was not unusual at all to see a grandmother or grandfather living with children and grandchildren. I’m not certain that all was well with the situation, but for the most part everyone appeared to be getting along. From what I observed there was a kind of happiness in those homes that made me want to be there. 

My own maternal grandmother never lived alone. She had two sons who were unmarried and remained in her house with her. One died rather young but the other watched over Grandma until the day she died. At the end of her life the family placed a hospital bed in the living room and took turns caring for her. They created an intricate calendar that detailed who and when would be in charge. With a family effort nobody was overwhelmed with that task of making Grandma comfortable in her final days. 

After his wife died my paternal grandfather rented a room from a young widow who needed extra income. The two of them were eventually joined by another woman, making it kind of “Three’s Company” situation”. They lived quite happily together and the women often mentioned that my grandfather had become like a father to them. Because his health was rather remarkable well past his one hundredth birthday he did not require any special assistance until a few months before his death at the age of one hundred eight. Nonetheless, his extraordinarily long life had left him penniless by that time so my brothers and I, along with a cousin, had to pay for his funeral and burial. 

We are living longer these days and with that great gift comes the possibility of needing structured care as our bodies and minds become weak. Somehow here in the United States we have not done our best to prepare for such eventualities. Often the end of life is difficult not just for the person who is fading away but for the family members as well. The physical, emotional and financial cost of end of life care can be devastating because we have few areas of support for our older citizens. As more and more of our population ages we are facing a crisis that is rarely discussed. 

My brothers and I took turns watching over our mother in our homes. She was an exceedingly undemanding and flexible person. It almost felt as though she was not even in the house. She spent much of her time reading her Bible or listening to Astros baseball games on the radio. She enjoyed talking on the phone with her sisters every morning and tuning in to her favorite daytime shows in the afternoon. She took a nap each day and retired for bed early in the evening. Her death from lung cancer came far more quickly that we were prepared to accept. It was an easy honor to be able to care for her in the last years of her life. Between the three of us, nobody ever felt burdened by our responsibilities to her. 

Things become far more difficult when aging children are still caring for exceptionally old parents while the cost of providing care in nursing homes or memory care facilities is exploding. The price tag can easily reach six thousand dollars a month or more and few elderly persons have enough retirement income to pay for such bills. Many are forced to sell homes and belongings and literally spend themselves down into poverty to care for a parent or spouse who requires longterm care. An otherwise healthy senior with dementia can drain family finances for years, leaving survivors wondering where the funds will come from if and when they need them. 

The fact is that eldercare is in a state of crisis in the United States and few wish to speak of it or attempt to do anything about it. Ironically the hardest hit group is in the middle class. The wealthy can afford concierge prices. The poor get coverage from Medicare and Medicaid. Those in the middle have to use savings, continue working well past retirement age, sell off possessions or be the caretakers themselves. It is a frightening situation that is only going to grow worse with time as aging Baby Boomers threaten to overwhelm the already limited options for care in our nation.

Horror stories about the lack of help for our most vulnerable seniors are already becoming more and more common as hardworking families are watching their assets draining away in a system that seems to have ignored the looming dangers. The time is rapidly approaching when we as a country of caring people will need to consider helping the elderly and their families to navigate the most difficult final months and years of life without asking them to plunder a lifetime of hard work. It is in the best interest of all of us to have a national plan that insures that nobody has to live in a locked basement because the money for his/her dementia care simply is not there. 

Other nations have managed to prepare for end of life care for citizens. It’s seems only fitting that we do the same for our seniors here in the United States. Meeting the needs of even a vibrant and seemingly healthy person in the later years can be more difficult than imagined. The clock is ticking we can beat it if we begin to discuss this issue now and do something constructive to face it. 

If I had to name the one thing that I like most about my neighborhood it would be seeing the children who live near me playing outside. Unless it is raining or during the school day my cul de sac is filled with the vibrant sounds of laughter and pure joy. It never ceases to delight me when I see the youngsters riding their bikes or running with unadulterated glee. They are a creative crew that invents all sorts of games. Sometimes I can even hear the stories and jokes that they tell each other. They create a joyful sound that keeps a big grin on my face. 

As a teacher I value the significance of formal education, but I also know how important unplanned free time is for children. Those are the moments when they are the most inventive. When left to their own resources young people find fascinating ways of working together to have fun. It’s essential that adults step aside now and then to allow their young ones the glorious opportunity of being creative.

My own youth was filled with nonstop activity after school and during the summer. Very little that I did was orchestrated by the adults in my world. Mine was a glorious kid fest in which we we created a world that would have been the envy of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. As with my present neighborhood there was a moveable feast of activity that might involve teams of kids or one on one interactions. Shoes were optional and most chose to bare their feet unless it was very cold.

We liked games that we played on the front lawns or in the street. They were often rough and tumble and quite competitive. Somehow nobody thought to make different rules for girls and boys. Everyone was equal on the neighborhood playing field and had to toughen up or lose. By some miracle their were few injuries associated with our antics. Only once did an accident turn serious. That was the time when my brother encountered a large shard of broken class as he raced across the high grass in one of our contests. The hidden weapon sliced through a tendon on his foot and he went down like a hero, barely whimpering in spite of the pain. A quick trip to our family doctor’s office mended his wound and made him a bit of a legend of bravery on our block. 

We did outrageous things on our bicycles. Almost everyone knew how to peddle quickly and then let go of the handle bars. Some of us perfected the art of standing on the seat while the bike propelled forward. We had scabs on our knees to prove our valor and the efforts that we had made to be warriors of the road. Some of us used our roller-skates in Olympic fashion as well, learning how to move in a backward motion and jumping over homemade ramps.

We built forts and planned shows. We had our own hand printed and illustrated neighborhood newspaper. We wrote songs and created outrageous stories that were so well crafted that we almost believed their fiction. We did woodturning with a magnifying glass and looked at water from the street on someone’s Christmas gift microscope. 

The girls sometimes took a break from the antics to play with our dolls. We crafted furniture from shoe boxes and milk cartons that we painted or covered with scraps of cloth. We named our tiny images of humans and created biographies for them. Our imaginations soared as we spoke of the future of our Barbies and baby dolls. They would move to New York City to find exciting jobs or travel to California to live along the coast. They would be writers, performers, lawyers, or adventurers. 

Now and again I managed to convince some of the kids on my block to play school with me. I had a cardboard box filled with paper and pencils and little books that I had written. I would teach a concept and then give my students work to complete. At the end of the session I gave each one a grade on my handmade report cards. I was always generous in my praise so that they would want to return for more at a later date.

The best of the times were spent exploring the woods near the bayou that meandered through our neighborhood. There we would encounter children from other streets. We enjoyed being together in our little haven that seemed to be far away from the structured world of adults. Inside that tangle of trees and underbrush we might encounter snakes or squirrels and lots of crawly creatures. We learned the importance of proper shoes and clothing on our make believe safaris. We learned early on not to taunt the creatures or bear the consequences of doing so. We whispered stories of the girl bitten by a rabid squirrel or the boy who invoked the wrath of a snake. 

We kids created our own world just as the children in my present neighborhood seem to do. Everyone was equal and respected. If there were differences between us we did not seem to notice them. We were wild and tame all at once, free ranging children learning about the world around us on our own. We gleaned as much from each other as we did in the formal arena of school. We enjoyed the freedom of our youth to the max and it was glorious. Play is a necessary part of growing up. We mastered that aspect of life quite well and the children in my neighborhood appear to be well on their way to earning their own degrees in the art and science of play as well.

There was a time when it was quite easy to move back and forth across the border between Mexico and the United States. North Americans and citizens of Central and South America traveled freely from one place to the other. Workers made daily treks to jobs in one country and went home at night in their homes in another country. Many from south of the border with Mexico and the United States sometimes did seasonal work for months at a time throughout different parts of the U.S. When the tasks were finished they returned to their families. Nobody needed a passport or special papers to do such things. The countries lived in a kind of harmonious agreement of mutual support until the nineteen seventies when concern about the flow of drugs resulted in the near closing of the border. In each successive decade the problem of illegal immigration has only grown, leading some who have studied the issue to wonder if tougher policies about travel back and forth was the wrong approach compared to that of the past. 

In the ensuing decades the problems with immigration have continued to grow with few attempts to refine immigration policies and most emphasis being placed on policing the border and apprehending those who cross illegally. Since the tragedy of 9/11, 2001, there has been a growing fear of who might be finding their way into the United States illegally. With economic and political downturns in many of the countries to the south, the flow of people seeking refuge has become steady. Families are literally risking their lives to escape the horrors and privations in their homelands. The old relaxed back and forth from one country to another seems like a fairytale compared to the militarized feel of today’s border crossings. 

Who are these souls willing to risk everything to get to the United States? What are they thinking when they subject themselves and their children to such a distressful journey? Why would anyone want to endure the privations that lay ahead for them? The truth of their stories may lie in the trend of reverse migration that is a huge factor in keeping the number of illegal immigrants living in the United States virtually steady over the last twenty years. 

Many young couples escaped from their home countries and found their way into the United States without legal status decades ago. They managed to find work, live frugally and begin families. Their children were born in the United States and were therefore legal citizens of the country. Those kids went to school, learned English, graduated from high school and often went to college. They are now adults with good jobs and the ability to vote in elections. They are model citizens who only know the United States as home. Stories of the old country are simply memories from their parents who often still long to see the towns that they knew as children and the parents that that they have not seen for decades. 

With their children legally settled into the United States the now middle aged couples are often ready to return to the lands of their own youth. They want to spend time with their parents before those loved ones die. With funds that they have saved from years of hard work they are often purchasing one way tickets home, happy in the knowledge that their children who are citizens of the United States will be able to freely visit them in the future. It is a trend about which we rarely hear, one that says a great deal about the sacrifices that they have made for the sake of their children. 

I have sat with students over the years who described the heart rending situations of their families. These students ultimately went on to carve out places in the middle class here in the United States, but there is a part of their family history that is incomplete. As adults they began to fully understand the fears that their parents have endured on their behalf. They feel a deep and unrelenting sadness for their parents who have silently grieved over the loss of identity for years.

We have a terrible tendency to view people that we do not know only as members of a group. Their faces blend together into a stereotype that we have imagined for them. We hear of someone being illegal and make automatic assumptions about that person when the truth of his/her life may be far more complex. We would do well to hear their stories and really know them. Then we might learn to admire them rather than revile them. We might better understand the power of love that has guided them. Seeing them as individuals rather than as members of a group that frightens and reviles us may change our thinking about how to approach the tangled knot of immigration with loving concern for everyone involved. 

Humans have traveled across the earth since the beginning of time. It’s difficult to say who was in some locale first. Our present day borders are the result of politics and wars over thousands of years. We have different languages and cultures and histories, but in the end our hearts beat in the same way and our blood flows through the same kind of veins. All of us want a home where we feel safe and loved. Perhaps if we begin to approach immigration with such thoughts in mind we may find a more humane way to determine who we will welcome as neighbors rather than focusing on those that we want to turn away. We need to start with kindness and only bring out our big sticks when the individual cases warrant it. It’s time that we first attempt to learn who these souls really are.