Author: Sharron Burnett

On Becoming a Warrior

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There was a time when I was a scared little rabbit. Most people who know me from my youth remember a quite and shy person. Those who have been acquainted with me in my adult years would be shocked to know that I was once afraid of my own shadow. I suppose that I was essentially forced to change my ways by circumstance.

I had always relied on my mother to fight battles for the family. She was daring, willingly to face down any challenge. She always told us not to be intimidated by anyone because people are just people. For whatever reason I still felt somehow less than and never wanted to actually confront any issues. I learned how to hide in the shadows and just be comfortable not rocking the boat.

My first foray into speaking up for what I believed came in Debate class. I found that if I  researched a topic I felt strong enough to voice persuasive arguments and to refute opposing ideas. It was as though I was able to create an alternative persona when I was engaged in formal debate just long enough to present my arguments. I discovered that I was actually fairly good at speaking up for myself.

My real transformation came when I was twenty years old and my mom experienced a psychotic break. It was a traumatic time for me and my brothers and at first I attempted to convince one of my aunts or uncles to take responsibility for getting care for her since my dad was dead. They each in turn insisted that they had no idea what to do and wished me luck as I navigated the world of mental health. I knew that if my mother was going to get well I would have to be the one to take charge. I understood that I was on my own.

The funny thing is that up until that moment I had never even driven on the freeways of Houston. Since she ended up being treated in a downtown hospital I had to also learn how to navigate the roads as quickly as I had to become her advocate. My days as a child ended forever in that moment,  which was good because I would face a number of daunting challenges while still in my early twenties. I would become tough and worldly wise, convinced that I was capable of handling most anything.

My mom’s mental illness was chronic so I became her lifelong caretaker. Before long I also had two children, one of whom developed hearing problems that required medical attention and my ability to find the proper doctors and therapies for her. On top of all of those things my husband contracted a rare fungal disease and spent three months in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy before I had even turned twenty five. Luckily by then I was a self assured outspoken woman who fully understood what my mother had always taught me, namely that working with other people was not as difficult as it had once seemed.

I suppose that those early adult years fashioned my courage in ways that lead me in the direction of being a champion for anyone with a need. At work I spoke up for my fellow teachers and fought for my students. It seemed that nobody frightened me even on occasions when they probably should have. I endured the wrath of one principal when I pointed out her abuse of the faculty. She threatened me and my career but I stood strong and in the end the school board learned of my complaints, investigated and asked her to resign.

Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself as being the person of my youth. I was definitely a late bloomer but when I began to flower forth I never looked back. I assumed an overdeveloped sense of purpose and no fear when it came to speaking up.

Ironically I am still a rather quiet and circumspect individual. I don’t like to draw much attention to myself but I will shout from the rooftops if someone is in trouble. Otherwise I lead a rather unremarkable life. I prefer my routines and the familiar hum of ordinary days. I try not to become obnoxious in my opinions because I’ve learned that nobody is likely to change just because I show them a different point of view. Still, I have been able to bring about positive change now again by respectfully suggesting alternative arguments just as I did when I was a debater.

I now possess a strength that allows me to feel good about myself. I learned from my mother’s example and refined my courage because of her illnesses. My tutelage was outstanding and provided me with the foundation I needed to battle challenges that might once have crushed me. Having an important cause had the power of turning me into a warrior. I’m strong and I like being that way.

Twenty Questions

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A young man recently asked me to answer a set of twenty questions regarding my life. They were quite thought provoking, but more importantly they forced me to contemplate the arc of my life and how I had been affected by both unplanned events and the choices that I made. All in all I realized as I honestly reflected on all that I have experienced that mine has been a good life. While I’ve endured some rough patches much as most people do, I was able to overcome them because of the lessons I learned from my parents and the support of extended family and friends. At the end of the day it’s not so much what things I have amassed that is important as the sense of well being that I have because of a feeling that I have generally done my best to live well.

So often my life took turns that I would not have chosen on my own but my mother had shown me how to take back the power by reacting hopefully to even the most devastating events. She used to tell me to watch and learn and I suppose that I became an expert at sitting back and quietly observing how the people around me dealt with the blows that were thrown at them. Over and over again I witnessed acts of courage and strength that both inspired me and made me an optimistic person. I learned that we don’t always get what we thought we wanted but often we find something even better than what we had dreamed.

I was at dinner with my grandson and his brilliant and beautiful girlfriend and we had the most remarkable conversation. We spoke of how much my grandson physically resembles my father whom he quite naturally called “Grandpa Jack.” He commented that somehow my dad’s legacy had quite clearly registered with him. He wanted to believe that he is carrying on the traditions of a man that neither he nor his mother had ever met. Amazingly he is so much like my father, his “Grandpa Jack,” that it is almost uncanny. I smiled at the thought of how proud my father would have been to hear our discussions of history, philosophy, and great ideas. It was just the sort of thing that he so enjoyed. Had he been present he would have been beaming with joy and yet he had left this earth when he was only thirty three. It is remarkable how much we carry the marks of our ancestors even when we never knew them.

My mother and father both taught me to appreciate the happiness that comes from learning, exploring, challenging the mind. From a very young age they exposed me to music, literature, visual arts, mathematics, science. It seemed natural to me to spend hours poring over a book. All I ever needed as a child was my bicycle and a library card to find a state of nirvana. I never really noticed that our family was struggling to make ends meet because I was so busy exploring the world around me. My mother taught my brothers and I that there was always a way to survive if we used our wits and were willing to work hard. We watched her earn a college degree when she was in her forties. To say that she inspired us was an understatement.

I had once thought of being a doctor. I slowly realized that I wanted that career more for the income and prestige it would bring me than for the sense of purpose it would provide. Slowly but surely I found myself returning to the idea of being a teacher, something that many people counseled me against doing. They reminded me that I was capable of doing great things and they somehow believed that teaching was not worthy of my intellect. In my heart I knew that they were wrong. I found great personal satisfaction in working with young children and attempting to instill in them the values and love of learning that my father had shown me. Once I became a teacher I was satisfied that I had found meaning in life. Only once did I consider trying something different and luckily a professor convinced me that leaving education would tear my very soul apart.

With the twenty questions I had to speak of my childhood friendships which were rather remarkable in that I am still great friends with individuals with whom I went to elementary school. I can meet with neighborhood playmates and talk for hours as though we still live just down the street from one another. I have high school friends who constantly remind me of my good fortune. They were the foundation upon which I built my adult life. They never really knew how much they meant to me when times became tough for my mother and brothers and me. I have met people along the way at church, work and in my neighborhood who have sustained me and made me realize the importance and goodness of friendships.

Answering those twenty questions reminded me of the blessings that have helped me through the difficult times that each of us invariably face. Those inquiries showed me that I did indeed learn from the example of my parents, my extended family and my friends. Those probes into my past not only will help a young man to complete a project for one of his classes but they also helped me to reflect on the wondrous ways in which both accident and effort define who I am. I’m happy to pronounce that I feel quite good about how things turned out, something that might have been different were it not for a host of individuals who walked with me along the way. 

We’ll See

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My grandfather was a natural born storyteller. He had a tendency, however, to repeat the same tales again and again which didn’t actually bother us at all. He had a way of recounting the narratives that was fascinating. We each had our favorites from his repertory. I was spellbound by his account of helping his grandmother to amputate the crushed leg of a miner. I tried to imagine a world in which a twelve year old would have to do such a thing before the dawn of the twentieth century in an area so isolated that people had to take care of themselves for lack of a nearby doctor.

Grandpa also spoke of a time when he was a bit older during which his father and stepmother contracted smallpox. He became their caretaker and endured a forced quarantine that involved having an armed guard walk the perimeter of the property to ensure that nobody other than a doctor went in or came out of the house. My grandfather was a virtual prisoner while his folks struggled for their very lives. He says he never really thought about his own safety until the ordeal was finally over. In the meantime he was certain that his father was going to die. In fact he noted that it almost appeared as though his dad’s nose was going to fall from his face because he was so ravaged with the puss filled sores.

Grandpa’s two charges eventually beat the disease and the people of the town marveled that he never came down with the illness given how contagious it was. They began to treat him with a new regard as though he were some sort of super human. They hired him to travel around the county shooting stray dogs that they believed might be responsible for carrying the disease. While my grandfather was a bit squeamish about taking the lives of innocent critters he could not be certain that they were guilt free with regard to being carriers of smallpox and so he went on the hunt and put a bit of change in his pockets to boot.

Grandpa was as surprised as his neighbors that he never caught smallpox from his parents but he explained away the mystery by noting that he had always been rather immune to sickness. I suppose that his theory was somewhat proven by the fact that he lived to be one hundred eight years old and rarely even had a cold.

After he was gone I first heard about the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic that killed millions of people worldwide. I would have liked to ask him how he did during that viral outbreak. I’ve often wondered if he managed to escape illness even in the dire circumstances of that epidemic.

While I’d like to believe that I might have inherited some magic gene from him that will protect me from major contagions, experience has taught me that I generally fall to whatever illness is on the prowl. I had the mumps before I even started first grade and the chickenpox overtook me shortly after that. I caught the measles in the winter of 1958 when I was in the fourth grade and I do believe that I may have been the sickest of my lifetime then. I’d later develop a case of hepatitis that stuck with me for over three months. I literally worried that I had a chronic type because my body refused to shake the illness. Back in about 2009, I caught the swine flu which ended up being a real humdinger. My temperature lingered in the 103 degree range for several days and I felt a bit delirious at times. Still I have always managed to fight off diseases with no lasting effects. Maybe I’m not so much like my grandfather as like his father who appeared to reach the brink of death with smallpox but came miraculously back to life to live many more years.

My doctors tell me over and over again that I am a strong and healthy woman. They sometimes can’t believe how well I am doing given my age. I’ve got some brittle bones, an esophagus that likes to narrow, some arthritic knees, and a bit of elevated cholesterol but otherwise my heart is fabulous and I show signs of being someone who may live long enough to tell my own stories of life in the “old” days.

I have to admit to being concerned about the coronavirus. I’m attempting to prepare for a worst case scenario while also remaining optimistic that the worldwide medical community will somehow manage to keep its spread in check. I worry a bit about the fact that it appears to have the worst effect on older individuals which would include large numbers of my family and circle of friends. I also somewhat selfishly would hate to think that it might somehow interfere with my planned summer trip to Scotland. More importantly though is the pain and disruption that it might potentially inflict on so many people in the world. I really don’t want anything like the 1918 pandemic to ever happen again. I’ve read enough about it to understand how terrifying it must have been.

I take small comfort in my grandfather’s story of survival in a time when there were few alternatives to simply suffering through the impact of disease. Somehow we humans made it then and I have little doubt that we will do so again. In the meantime I’m setting aside lots of soap and disinfectants and prepping for whatever may come. Hopefully it will just be a normal summer with a trip to Scotland and Olympics in July. We’ll see.

Any Questions?

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My favorite students were always the ones who asked questions. They were unafraid to seek answers for whatever concerns were on their minds. I always cringed whenever I heard a colleague shutting down a youngster by brusquely indicating irritation with inquiries that they thought were “stupid.” I don’t believe that there is ever a question from a child or an adult for that matter that is unworthy of some kind of response. I truly believe that the innate curiosity that prompts inquiries from little ones is the very foundation upon which we humans learn. Somewhere along the developmental path so many lose their willingness to seek answers to the issues that trouble their minds.

The great discoveries and philosophies of the world began with questions. Our wonder drives our inventiveness. We are creative beings who see our environments through a lens of inquisitiveness. We are not merely satisfied to accept our environment as it is. We want to know why it is. We are not only capable of thinking, but also of thinking about how we think. We have a need to understand that is guided by the questions that surface in our minds.

I enjoy a lively discussion in which each person’s ideas are respected and given a platform. I like to hear how other people think about societal issues. It matters little to me whether or not I agree with them. I am simply fascinated by the different paths that individuals follow. At the same time I am always disturbed by efforts to silence those with whom we disagree. We lose something when we only associate ourselves with like minded individuals. Our need to delve deeper into inquires evaporates when we only hear what we already believe. It may feel good to have our philosophies reinforced but it does nothing to expand our minds, to learn something that we never before knew. Being around conflicting opinions forces us to critically parse the information that we are hearing, an exercise that we seem to do so little of these days.

I think that perhaps the most important question that we may ask ourselves is why we are so often afraid of questions. We hide from them in the guise of being irritated but what I believe is really happening is that we feel challenged in a way that moves us out of our comfort zone and into the realm of unknowns that shake the very foundations of what we believe. It can be a terrifying but also exhilarating moment to suddenly wonder if perhaps there is indeed a new way of looking at the world.

In the long ago when my husband was a graduate student at the University of Houston he received invitations from a professor who hosted intellectual soirees at his home. It was a gathering of academics who spent the evening sitting in a circle discussing the great theories and inquires of the world. The professor would jump start the proceedings with a question of his own that was not meant to elicit a specific response but rather a multitude of possible responses. I generally sat and just listened to the remarkable variety of thinking that ensued. I felt that my own view of life expanded just from hearing so many novel ideas, some of which challenged the very foundations of what I had always believed. I found both the complementary and conflicting philosophies to be liberating as they created more and more questions in my mind.

I worry that today’s society has set boundaries for independent thinking that are as rigid as those teachers that I have witnessed ridiculing students for asking questions that appear to be without merit. There is a stifling of free thought that will in turn limit the depth of learning that every society needs to thrive. It has to be okay to think in unique ways without fearing retaliation. Our schools must be forums in which everyone is willing to suspend preconceived notions for the sake of finding new possibilities. Debate needs to be reinstated to its former glory as a way of seeking truth through logic and a willingness to consider many sides of an argument. We should all be insisting that we hear all voices, not just those that already concur with what we believe. Without truly open discourse we stagnate as individuals and as a society.

The great moments of history have been guided by a kind of enlightenment, imperfect for certain but nonetheless willing to look at our human existence in unique ways. Where would we be without the methods of Socrates, the groundbreaking inquisitiveness of Leonardo da Vinci, the observant genius of Shakespeare, the brilliance of Descartes, the revolutionary ideas of Locke? The greatest minds ask questions seeking not only the given but also the unknown. Truth is found not by drowning the voices of those with whom we disagree but by quieting our own long enough to see that tiny grain of truth hidden in the bombast. Inquiry is not just about questions but also about a willingness to honestly hear the answers being offered.

I suppose that for me the most important question of all is, “How can we humans best develop our willingness to learn through honest and open inquiry that proceeds with a willingness to hear all voices before drawing conclusions?” This should be the most natural way to learn but at least for now we seem to have chosen to dialogue only with those who agree with us and feign indignation when we encounter those who don’t. I doubt we will see much progress until we change our ways.

Finding Joy In the Mundane

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mundaneI suppose that we’ve all experienced that age old fantasy of just chucking it all one day and driving away into idealized oblivion. It’s a ridiculous dream of being totally free from any kind of responsibility, living as though there is no tomorrow. We sometimes experience a feeling of what such a lifestyle might be like when we go on a vacation trip and don’t have to cook a meal, make a bed, do laundry, report to work. We fantasize what a forever vacation might be like until we return home to bills that must be paid, appointments that must be met, work that must be done. We understand all too well that everyone has to grow up, leave Disneyland, and get back to work even as we plan the next getaway.

What if by some Twilight Zone miracle we really did find a way to rid ourselves of all those hated chores associated with daily routine and survival? What would we still agree to do every single day and what would we gladly jettison from our to do lists? Would we soon find ourselves miserable from boredom like Rod Serling characters who always seemed to belatedly realize that reality is generally better than imagined utopias?

There are things that I do with great regularity some of which I thoroughly enjoy and some which I loathe but do anyway. I mean who in their right mind likes folding and putting away clothes that have been cleaned by the lovely machines invented to lighten our loads? I have to remind myself that it wasn’t that long ago when my ancestors had few changes of clothing and cleaning the ones that they did own was a tedious job. If I tell myself that the basket of items fresh and warm from the dryer are actually representative of my good fortune, the irksome task of storing them neatly away becomes more palatable.

I don’t much care for doing dishes either, but I can count on one hand the number of times that I have gone to bed with dirty plates and pots and pans sitting in the sink. I’m obsessive about the idea of walking into a sparklingly clean kitchen when I arise each morning. I’m a bit of a grouch until I drink my morning tea and enjoy a spot of food so the thought of facing a mess before I’m even fully awake is unbearable to me. I will work until my kitchen is back in place even at the end of a big Christmas day celebration in spite of my profound dread of the project.

I know that exercising is good for me and I always feel invigorated after a good session of activity but I find the whole process to be utterly boring. I really do wish that there were some magic pill that I might take to replicate my efforts. I’ve tried teasing my mind into believing that it’s a relaxing time for reading or listening to music while I move and lift and bear weight but I’ve never been able to actually get enthusiastic about the process and I must admit to being guilty of using rather lame excuses to skip my very necessary self care whenever possible. 

Modern life is rather easy for most people in developed countries these days as compared to the past. We have machines that get us rather quickly from one place to another. We are able to listen to music anytime that we wish or communicate with people from afar. We accomplish our dreaded tasks with implements that our ancestors would have viewed as miraculous. Even ordinary folk live in better conditions than kings and queens of old and yet we  are prone to complain about the quality of our lives. I suppose that our human natures are easily dissatisfied and so like the fisherman and his wife we want to capture the magic fish that will make all of our dreams come true without any of the hard work. Like them I suspect that having the world on a silver platter is never quite as satisfying as accomplishing something through our own hard work.

I may dread getting sweaty from a brisk workout but I always feel quite good about myself when I’m done. I may hate pushing my brain beyond it’s parameters to learn something new but I swell with pride once I have mastered a difficult concept. We were made to push ourselves, to work hard, to have a purpose for rising from our beds each morning. Running away from our troubles or our routines is never the way to find nirvana. Even Wendy and her brothers realized that they had to return home to take up the tasks of becoming adults. Escape is a fantasy that brings happiness only for a limited time. Sooner or later we have to return to reality and it’s worth the effort to find ways to pleasantly accept the things that we know we must do.

I find myself being thankful all day long that I have the health to keep my home, my mind and my body in working order. Instead of feeling grumpy about my duties I think of how wonderful it is that I have incredible tools for accomplishing each task. With a little change of attitude I realize that I don’t need or want to run away from the things that I must do. I know that I am one very lucky person to live in a glorious place during an incredible time. The joy that I desire is actually found in doing all of those mundane routines that I have the ability to perform. I smile each time I think about how lucky I am.