Author: Sharron Burnett

If my father had lived he would be one hundred two today. It would not have been an unusual occurrence given that his father was one hundred eight years old when he died. Longevity seems to have been common in Daddy’s family. Sadly his life was cut short by a car accident that would mostly likely not resulted in his death in today’s world of automobile safety that includes seatbelts, air bags, and steering wheels designed to collapse in a collision. Anyone of those things would have saved my father from having his chest crushed thus stopping his heart at the age of thirty three. 

I loved my father but only knew him as a child. I have often wondered how our relationship would have evolved as I grew into an adult. I suspect that I would have continued to enjoy the love of music and books that he had already planted in me. I can imagine having interesting discussions with him and traveling to many places together. Still, I wonder how different things would be. 

There came a time when I was no longer able to recall how my father’s voice sounded. He died before we had a movie camera that recorded both movement and sound. He was a silent image to me even though I remembered his liveliness and his love of laughter. One of my aunts told me that if I ever wanted to hear his voice I need only listen to my youngest brother who also happens to be a physical clone of Daddy. I have take great comfort in knowing that and it is not surprising at all to me that my little brother is a great storyteller and comic just like our father. Genes will have their way in each of us. 

Two of my brother’s sons visibly resemble my father as well. In fact, not long ago, I looked across the room at one of my nephews and was startled for a moment because he looked so much like the man who would have been his grandfather. The other nephew shares the same kind of features and through him I have come to believe that I know how my father appeared as a child even though there are no photos of him before he was in junior high. 

One of my grandsons shares an uncanny resemblance to my father in both appearance and personality as well. He and I joke that we got my father’s hair which was already beginning to thin and recede at the age of thirty three. We’ve got his cheekbones as well. My grandson even attended Texas A&M University like my father and majored in Mechanical Engineering as well. It is uncanny how much alike they are.

I sometimes find myself imagining how much my daughters and grandchildren would have loved him. He was a sweet, thoughtful and entertaining person who loved to chat with boyhood friends as well as coworkers and neighbors. He seemed to attract people wherever he went because he was genuinely interested in them. He was a kind of Renaissance Man who was an artist, a poet, an architect, an engineer, a fisherman, a collector of books of every topic, an historian, a most interesting and loyal man.

My mother’s doctors told me that she would have probably been quirky rather than dangerously debilitated by her bipolar disorder had my father lived. The stresses of raising me and my brothers alone ultimately overcame her. My father had a way of helping her to feel safe even when her illness sometimes manifested in silly arguments that Daddy knew how to tamp down. She fell apart when he died and as a child I wondered if she would ever be the same. Somehow she pulled herself together, but the stress ultimately overtook her ability to cope without medical intervention. 

I know that it is silly to pine forever, so I learned how to move forward. I do not dwell on my father and the might have beens. I’ve had too much to do to loll in sorrow. I understand that it is unlikely that I would be the same person that I now am even with a few tiny changes in the direction of my life. If he had lived I would be a slightly different person. I would have gone to different schools and interacted with different people. Each tiny redirection would have impacted me, but my father’s early influence on me was already imprinted on my soul and had much to do with the choices I made and the joy that I found after he was gone. 

Each time September 2 rolls around I feel the need to honor Jack Little. He was a very good, loving, generous man who taught me so much more than he may have thought he had done. His influence loomed large on the person I ultimately became and I think of him and feel grateful to him in spite of the long absence that became the reality of my relationship with him. I know his faults but they were small in comparison with the talents and morality that he shared with the world during the brief time that he was alive. Perhaps it was his mother who best captured the essence of who he was when her eyes would fill with tears and she would proclaim to me, “Your Daddy was always a very good boy, a wonderful son and father.”

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” And he said, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” Genesis

The phrase, Am I my brother’s keeper, is part of a well known story in the biblical tradition of Christianity. Cain had just murdered his brother Abel when God confronted him. Cain’s flippant response was an attempt to shrug off responsibility for the welfare of his sibling. In doing so his attitude came to be equated with many of the most immoral human tendencies. He was not only a murderer but one who seemed to believe that he was entitled to independence from the problems of others. His was an “every man for himself” way of thinking that has continued in some circles throughout the long history of humankind. 

A question that we all face at one time or another is how much time and effort should we provide for the welfare of people beyond ourselves or our families? Why should we be concerned about whether or not people that we do not even know have the same sense of safety, security and freedom from want that we have? After all, nobody can be all things to all people, so why should we worry about individuals and groups that have nothing to do with us? Such are moral questions that have been the stuff of debates for centuries. 

Some insist that charity begins at home and that our real challenge should be pushing people to learn how to fend for themselves. While this might be a very noble way of thinking, it does not take into account the individual challenges that people may endure either for a lifetime or a moment. In every case we need to consider what has brought a person or an entire group to a tragic situation in which they struggle to pull themselves out of despair. 

We might see a homeless person and instantly make a judgement about why he is there. Some of our guesses might actually be true. He may be a drug addict or an alcoholic. He may be suffering from mental illness. He may be all of those things and much more. What we do not know is how the person became this way. The stories of people who live on the streets are incredibly complex and viewing them stereotypically will not solve the homeless problem nor will simply arresting them. It would be far better to feed them, clothe them, provide them with a safe place to stay, treat their medical needs and attempt to determine what has brought them to this state. 

The same can be said of immigrants who come to live among us. Do we not see them as people equal to us? Do we focus only on the fact that they came here without the proper papers? Do we deny them any kind of assistance and insist that they leave even if that means locking them up in prisons? Does being our brother’s keeper mean that we should first treat them with the dignity that each person deserves? Perhaps if we saw them as equal to ourselves we might view their situations with kinder eyes. We would begin to understand their desperation. It is a fact that few people would pick up and leave their homeland to travel to a place where they are all too often unwanted unless they felt that there was no other alternative. This has been the reasoning migrations of individuals and groups throughout history.

There are not doubt lazy people, criminals, individuals who seem unwilling to even try to fend for themselves or to do the right things. Sadly they have been among us for all time and knowing what to do with them can be a very tricky decision. Sometimes for our safety we have to incarcerate them, but once we have locked them up we don’t have to be cruel. We all know of people who did horrific things who eventually found peace in admitting their wrongs. There are good souls who work inside prisons doing the work of loving even the worst sinners. They bring hope and compassion to people who do not seem to deserve it and in the process they literally change lives. 

We play a balancing game in life. We have limited resources, limited time. Each of us can only do so much to be our brother’s keepers. We cannot allow someone who does foul things or someone unwilling to change to deplete our resources and our energy but we might certainly do better in our willingness to share our bounty and goodwill with those whose situations are brutal through no fault of their own. In such instances we have a moral obligation to do whatever we can to help even if that means voting for leaders who are compassionate rather than those who are stingy and cruel. 

There are so many voices crying out for our help right now. It seems incredibly wrong that we are allowing food to rot in warehouses, creating a force of masked thugs to grab people for little or no reason other than suspicion of being illegal. How can we sit by and watch a genocide unfolding in real time in places like Gaza? Why are we so reluctant to make healthcare available to everyone when ours is the wealthiest nation in the world? What good is a guilded White House or an unnecessary ballroom or a fancy plane? Our president should be a man of the people and for the people, not a power hungry individual who does not seem to understand his duty to be the keeper of even the souls who did not vote for him.

There are presently many efforts to make our nation a Christian nation which actually fly in the face of our concept of freedom of religion. They also call into question our willingness to be our brothers’ keepers as instructed in the Bible. We might start with examples of the true tenets of Christianity rather than forcing everyone to accept the ideals. If we want citizens to adopt a moral way of living we would do well to demonstrate our willingness to be compassionate with everyone. Jesus made it very clear that we are to love one another as we love ourselves. We need to work toward becoming that way. Our nation will rise by lifting others.

I have never taken anything for granted. I found out when I was just a child how life can change in a heartbeat. It never occurred to eight year old me that my entire lifestyle would change when my father died. I only now realize how sad and confused I was for many years after he was gone. I lost my confidence and melted into the woodwork only to cover by excelling in my studies and trying to be kind to others. I certainly understood how precious each and every person is after he died but I have so many unvoiced things that I would have said to him if I had known he was going away for all time.

I was surprised again when my mother began to show symptoms of her bipolar disorder. It was perhaps even more frightening than losing my father because she had been a steadying force for our little family. I had no idea how to be an adult but had to learn while on the fly. I made so many mistakes which is why I tend to be quite patient with anyone who may appear to be making a mess of things in their lives. I know first hand how easy it is to pile up some really bad choices. The most wonderful aspect of being human though is that we have the power to correct ourselves and make the kind of changes that we need. It is always a good time to get started in evolving into the person we wish to be.

My life has been like those of anyone who has been visited with unexpected joys and surprising tragedies. Each time something seemingly terrible happens to me or to someone that I love, I have had to find the courage to adjust the lenses through which I viewed the world. I can’t say that it felt like a blessing when I was in the middle of such a situation but it was always an awakening, a moment of moral growth. 

I suppose that my empathy and compassion is the product of both the good and the bad experiences I have had. Nonetheless I wish that people would experience as few tragedies as possible. While horrific moments can be great mechanisms for positive change they also wound the soul in devastating ways. If learning can be done without hurt that is the best of all worlds. 

So here I am in the late years of my life and I can say without hesitation that the perfect times have outweighed the times or horror. What I cannot predict is when or if I will have to endure more suffering. I can make plans but I think of them as being tentative. Life all too often has a way of laughing at the calendars that we make for ourselves. 

I know that my father was enjoying a new job at the age of thirty three. He and my mother were about to purchase a new home on Bluebonnet St. They were planning a picnic with the family and getting ready to celebrate their eleventh anniversary and my mother’s thirtieth birthday. My father had already purchased gifts for that occasion and had sent a card announcing his love on the very day that he died. He had no idea that he would end up dead in a ditch nor did my mother ever dream that she would suddenly be faced with raising three small children alone.

We have to be ready for whatever challenges come our way. The surprises may be something mostly disappointing like having a trip to Scotland cancelled or it may be life changing. If we have the good fortune to see another sunrise we may one day actually get to the places for which we once had reservations that did not work out. We mostly hope that we and the our loved ones will stay health and not die, but we never know when the unthinkable will happen.

At my age I don’t even know who among my school friends may suddenly die. I’ve already had that happen twice this summer. Their passing was shocking and felt like a gut punch. This kind of unexpected revelation is so final that is the hardest pill of all to swallow.

I have a calendar filled with appointments and plans but it’s also important to know how to live in the moment. It’s not just a hippy idea to understand the importance of living for today. If we don’t make the best of every opportunity to shower the people around us with the love that we have for them, we may find ourselves grieving for our losses even more. 

I treasure the card and the gifts that my father had already set aside for my mother. His note to her very clearly expressed how important she was to him and how much he dearly loved her. Imagine how much worse things might have been if that card and those gifts had not already been set in motion. My father in his last moments taught me to never let a day go by without voicing the good feelings that I have for the people that I love. I know how much my mother clung to that realization after he was gone. 

Make plans for big things but also find time in each day to do those little things that you never seem to get around to accomplishing. Life will have fewer regrets if you get the cookie, buy the flowers, make that call, write that card, send that text. Someone needs to know that you are thinking of them. Do it before they are gone.

I am large. I contain multitudes” —Walt Whitman in Song of Myself

Who are we? How do our encounters with others affect us? What thoughts are stored inside our brains? How do our intersections with the world around us affect the way that we live?

Such are spiritual questions with which each of us grapple. We all want to be the best versions of ourselves, persons who bring meaning and joy to whatever we may be doing. Walt Whitman suggests that as we navigate through our lives we become microcosmic versions of each of the people who impressed us along the way. Every encounter whether large are small has the power to change us, to create our full personalities and our beliefs. 

The movie The Life of Chuck, inspired by a story written by Stephen King, is a thought provoking metaphor for living a good life in spite of any tragedies that one my endure. It is a fairytale of a man named Chuck who found ways to enjoy the people and the small moments of his life with a gusto that made the ordinary extraordinary. 

The Life of Chuck is a film that we need right now when the emphasis on toughness and independence seems so cold and indifferent. Chuck is a person who gives of himself in both small and large ways. He finds joy not just in himself but in the special people that he sees as he walks through life. He lives as though there is no tomorrow making it important to reach out to those around him today. 

I read about the movie when I was surfing through the Internet on a hot day when I was feeling a bit lethargic and bored, not just in the moment, but in the grand scheme of things. I found my self worrying incessantly about the problems of the world even as I knew that there was so little that I might accomplish to change the course of history. I was feeling the march of time in the aging of my bones and joints. I wondered what joys and trials lay ahead for me. Somehow I felt a need to flee from all responsibility and so I was suddenly and randomly reading about a movie that seemed to be changing people’s lives. 

The personal reviews of The Life of Chuck were stunning. Those who had viewed it spoke of leaving the theater with a new outlook on life. Some felt the need to return days later to watch the story unfold again so that they might have a clearer understanding of what they had seen. There were folks who wanted to discuss their feelings that seemed to have been captured in the rendering of this story. I sensed that there was more to this tale than just a cute flick about a man named Chuck.

I was unable to find the movie in theaters but saw that it was available to purchase or rent on Amazon Prime. I decided to schedule it for a date night with my husband. It was an ironic choice given that he was nearing the end of his radiation treatments on the evening that I planned for us to watch the movie together. We had popcorn and movie candy to enjoy as we watched in our upstairs hideaway. I wanted it to be an experience and in that regard it did not fail. Somehow even the timing of our introduction to Chuck felt cosmic and appropriate to our own situations. 

I am not one for spoilers with any movie so I intend to be careful in describing this one so that each person may see it from their own perspective. As my dear friend and incredible educator, Dickie Written, would say to his students it is the epitome of a story outlining “the human experience.” I can promise you that you will not leave the movie without a reaction of some kind and hopefully it will be as positive as it was for me. You will love all of the characters and most especially seeing Mark Hamill as Chuck’s grandfather. You will laugh and cry and most of all you will think. 

Don’t hesitate to find a way to watch The Life of Chuck. Then come back and tell me what you think. I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than having much of the world discussing what it means to be large and contain multitudes. We are indeed the cumulation of all that we have seen and heard. There are people, places and events who live inside us forever. When we know this, sharing and compassion become so much easier.

No Day Shall Erase You From the Memory of Time — Virgil

In the 9/11 Museum there is a wall created with hundreds of watercolor drawings attempting to depict the color of the sky on that fateful morning. As I stared at the work of art on my visit there I found myself vividly remembering how lovely that September day was, not just in New York City, but in Houston, Texas as well. I was getting ready to a attend a monthly meeting at the administration headquarters for HISD. There I would meet with educators from all across the city to discuss ways to enhance the many magnet school programs that allowed students to choose schools offering specialties designed for their interests. 

I was the coordinator for the magnet program for math and science at Revere Middle School and I was looking forward to mingling with some of the finest educators in the city. Since my drive would take me to a bustling part of Houston I was happy that the weather was so serene, a truly beautiful September day. I readied myself with eagerness to get on the road and avoid as much of the ever present traffic as possible. As I put the finishing touches on my makeup and hair I watched Good Morning America at the very moment when the first plane hit one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Like everyone my first instinct was to think that somehow a pilot had strayed from the proper course. I wondered if he had perhaps had a heart attack or if something had distracted him. My brain was not ready to accept what had actually happened. 

With only a bit of anxiety I had to leave for my appointment. As I drove I tuned in to one of the local radio stations where the talk was now buzzing with theories about what might have happened. Then came the shocking second plane plowing into the other tower. That’s when my chest tightened and my imagination went crazy. I was so shocked that I called my husband to find out if this had really happened. When he verified the incident I did not know what to think or what to do. Somehow I ended up in the parking lot of the building where the meeting was supposed to take place realizing that I had gone blank and driven for many miles without actually seeing the road in front of me. 

I hurried inside the building to see my fellow educators sitting silently watching a television tuned to one of the local stations. The mood was somber and it felt as though nobody was moving or even breathing. I wordlessly moved toward an available seat only to get settled as one of the towers began to collapse before my eyes. A few people screamed. Some began to cry. It was a nightmare scenario that is burned forever into my memory. Little did we realize that within minutes the other tower would also collapse and a kind of hysteria would overtake the room.

Everything changed in the United States on that day. While we began with a state of national unity the reality of what had happened left fissures in our society. Some wanted justice while others demanded vengeance. We spoke of staying strong and not allowing the terrorists to damage our democracy but bit by bit over the ensuing years we began to quibble with each other. Years of war made us weary and sometimes even angry with each other. We retreated into bubbles that made us feel safe. We created a kind of tribal behavior in which we competed with one another in defining who we were as Americans and what we needed to do to keep our nation from imploding under the grief and fear that was so palatable after that tragedy. Somehow without meaning to do so we gave the terrorists what they had hoped to achieve. We stopped working together and attempting to hear and respect differing points of view. Now we find ourselves under the thumb of a leader who used the divisions to rally votes for a worldview that seems unwilling to accept alternative ideas for repairing the damage done to our nation.

Today the area that was once the scene of death and destruction is serene and beautiful. There is a memorial dedicated to all the souls who lost their lives on that horrible day. There is a new tower that rises in the sky announcing that we were not undone by the violence. There is both remembrance and resurrection on top of the ashes. It is a moving place, a spiritual place, a place of reverence and hope. Sadly we have not worked as hard to repair the cracks and despair that exist between us. We choose sides, going even far enough to destroy long time friendships with our disagreements. We classify each other according to our individual beliefs with an unwillingness to live together in peace and harmony. The ruination of the glory that was once our American dream has become a kind of nightmare where the rule seems to be to concur with the man in charge or face the consequences. Innocent people are being rounded up and sent away. We seem unable to work together for a common good rather than a single point of view. 

Perhaps the healing will not come until we are all able to see and agree that the damage to our relationships with one another are as terrible as the loss of those two towers and the people inside them on that day. We have yet to walk away from that tragedy with the right message, the right resolve. No day should erase those people from our memory but honoring them would require us to rebuild our relationship under the leadership of an individual who understands how important it is to walk out of our bubbles and embrace each other with unconditional love regardless of how different we may be. 

I know that this sounds impossible, far too much of a dream, but if we are to overcome the pain and hurt inflicted on our entire nation on that horrific day we must find the determination and the resolve to resurrect the love and respect that we should have for each other. Our nation was never meant to be selfish and stubborn. We were world leaders in embracing the tired and lost and giving them hope. Perhaps that is the job on which we must embark. It’s an ideal set forth time and again in our nation’s history. It’s a place where I long to return.