Sharron Burnett

Let Squirrels Be Squirrels

Published on March 2, 2017February 27, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

I’ve been watching a couple of squirrels terrorize each other as well as the peaceful doves who usually congregate in my backyard. The rascally critters have broken my bird feeder and spread seeds all over the grass. When I commented to my husband that I was angry that they had taken over my usually scenic area, he noted that they were just being what they were born to be.

It’s interesting that we allow members of the animal kingdom to follow their instincts but we so often want to push humans into being someone or something that just doesn’t feel right for them. We have this idea that everyone should go to college but the fact is that there are many wonderful jobs that require some training but not a degree. Someone who is a master electrician or plumber can have a comfortable and enjoyable life but we tend to freak out if our kids suggest that this is something that they would like to do.

I will never forget a long conversation that I had with one my students whose goal in life was to be a welder. His uncle was training him even before he had completed eighth grade. He had no desire to prepare for college. He loved the work that he was already doing.

I’ve known other young people who knew how to build custom wood floors and lay tile like it was going to be featured in the Taj Mahal. They were skilled in carpentry and able to fix cars. They had little desire to major in history of psychology. They wanted to work at refineries or in oil fields. They dreamed of becoming ranchers or farmers. They understood that they would make enough money to live rather well and it irritated them that instead of helping them to learn a viable trade those of us in the education biz were constantly attempting to wedge them into a collegiate box.

The same is true when it comes to choosing majors. There are those who honestly believe that if we just make science, mathematics and engineering seem exciting enough that more and more students will study for jobs in those fields. The truth is that some people simply are not interested in any way whatsoever in pursuing such technical careers just as my brother, the rocket scientist, would have been appalled at the idea of studying literature or poetry. Instead of insisting that every single high school student be required to build a college bound resume maybe it’s time for us to be more realistic and actually take the time to find out where each individual’s interests and talents lie.

One of the best classes that I ever took was one that I initially dreaded. It was a futures course entitled “Careers.” It seemed to be a total waste of time but once I had completed all of its requirements I understood myself so much more. It was far easier to outline work goals and to have an idea of where I might go in life. It identified my altruistic nature and the fact that I needed to feel as though I was making a difference in people’s lives to be truly happy in a job. It noted my creative bent, my diplomatic skills and my need for human interactions. Suddenly I realized that education was the perfect avenue in which I might use my talents. Indeed I found great happiness in my work, if not a fortune in earnings, something that was never that important to me.

Perhaps the gravest mistake that we make with our young is in placing more importance on certain lines of work than others, giving the impression that some occupations are not particularly worthwhile. We groan if our children suggest that they want to be writers and often redirect their interests before they have even had the opportunity to test the waters. I was told over and over again in high school that my desire to be a journalist was a silly pipe dream, a waste of my valuable time. My mentors wanted me to be a doctor, an engineer or a certified public accountant, none of which sounded like something that I wanted to do day in and day out. The adults in my life felt that I had the intellect to enter a career that would bring wealth to me but I was of a different mind. In the end happiness is as important in deciding such things as monetary gain.

I suspect that the entire educational system would greatly improve if we were to spend more time listening to our students and attempting to help them to find out how to use their abilities and interests to build a career. We need to be honest with them in admitting that a college degree alone does not insure a productive and happy life. We need to provide them with more choices than just a STEM or Liberal Arts degree. We need to particularly work with students who may not have any idea of the many possibilities for satisfactory work.

I was one of those kids who was quite limited in my knowledge of the world. My isolated point of view had little idea of many careers that I might actually have enjoyed. It would have been wonderful to have more guidance from my teachers and counselors than how to fill out a college application. I got lucky when I took that Careers class in college and found my way on my own but not everyone is so fortunate. Far too many young people today graduate with enormous amounts of debt and no idea of how to transform the knowledge that they have gained into a real position that they will enjoy. Many times they fall into majors without much information as to how to use them in real world settings. There is a certain immorality in the ways that we so often mislead our students into believing that any kind of college degree will bring them the success that they seek. It’s time that we begin to rethink the way we help them so that they might find out what they were born to be.

Each of us have special aptitudes, talents and characteristics which if channeled properly lead to incredibly happy and secure lives. It should not be as difficult to find out what those things are as it presently is. We have the tools for unlocking the essence of each person. We need to use that information more effectively. If we can let squirrels be squirrels then we should be willing to celebrate the incredible variety that is who each of us might be.

The Strangers

Published on March 1, 2017February 27, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

lrg1624 When my mother was still living in her own home I picked her up every Friday afternoon and the two of us enjoyed a night on the town. Mama’s idea of a really good time was to go out to eat, more often than not at Cracker Barrel, and then do a bit of shopping. If she had not had an opportunity to purchase groceries during the week we would find ourselves at one of the food emporiums but if her pantry was fully stocked she would inavariably request that we go Almeda Mall, a place that she enjoyed because it was near her home and she knew the layout of every store like the back of her hand.

My mother never met a stranger so whenever we entered one of the shops there would be a host of people who came over to talk with her or call her by name as they waved a hello. It seems that she had even formed friendships with some of the frequent customers. I always had to laugh, under my breath of course, at the little old men with whom she coyly flirted. She justified her behavior by noting that it made them feel good to have the attentions of a woman if only for a fleeting moment. She so enjoyed making people happy.

There was one lady in particular with whom Mama always spoke. She was a small shy little creature who wore a worn felt hat and a moth eaten coat regardless of what time of year it was. She sat quietly in the food court wringing her hands and bearing a worried look on her face. She sometimes seemed unaware of her surroundings until my mother acknowledged her and then she would quietly engage in a brief conversation. Mama invariably purchased an ice cream or a cookie for the tiny lady and sat listening to her rambling with intense interest. I sometimes suspected that my mom had chosen to come to the mall just so she might have an encounter with her strange friend.

I learned that the woman was in her early nineties. She lived with her son who dropped her off each morning when he went to work and picked her up in the evening on his way back home. He was afraid to leave her at the house all alone but did not have enough income to pay for nursing care for her. He felt that she would at least be around people who might help her if she were at a public place and so he left her under the care of strangers each day with only enough funds to purchase lunch. She had become a kind of mascot to the regulars who worked and shopped there.

Almeda Mall was only a shell of what it had once been and it rarely attracted large crowds during the week. Many of the employees had worked in their respective jobs for years and were familiar with much of the clientele who were mainly from nearby neighborhoods. My mother explained that people knew of the lady’s situation and instead of reporting her and her son to the police they chose to silently look after her. Mama marveled at the kindnesses that she had seen being exhibited by those who understood the woman’s fate. She was the recipient of tiny gifts of food, drink and little trinkets throughout the day. Mostly the people who worked in and frequented the mall made sure that she was comfortable and safe as she sat alone for hours from Monday through Friday.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the highly irregular situation. It was apparent to me that the sweet woman was not quite herself. She often appeared to be confused and even a bit frightened until a curtain was raised in her mind and she managed to recognize something about my mother that told her that it was safe to talk with her. Even my mom worried that someone might eventually take advantage of the circumstances and somehow harm her strange acquaintance. I simply went along with the charade given that at least for the moment there appeared to be no harm in allowing the lady to enjoy her freedom. I understood the high cost of home care and even greater expense of a senior living facility and marveled a bit that someone had concocted such an outrageous way of dealing with an elder family member. It seemed both neglectful and ingenious at one and the same time.

Eventually we no longer saw Mama’s “friend” when we visited the mall. My mother inquired about her and learned that she had finally become too ill to make the daily trip anymore. Her son had gone from store to store thanking employees who had been kind to her and told them that he had found some people from a church who had agreed to look after his mom at home at least until she became strong enough to continue her outings again.

She never returned and it worried and saddened my mother. I, on the other hand, was actually relieved because I had wondered how the practice could possibly have been continued without something terrible eventually happening to the old soul. Mama, however, saw it differently. She believed that as long as the lady had been able to dress herself in her hat and coat and have a place to go each day she had a reason for living, something to look forward to. Mama felt that being a shut in would surely lead to her demise.

As one grows older and less able to live independently it falls on loved ones to take responsibility for care and safety. It can be a daunting process, especially if there are no funds for securing the help of professionals. The once sharp minds of the elderly often slip into interludes of confusion and childlike thinking. They are less capable of being left alone than a young school age child. Those who assume the role of caretakers find themselves trapped in a twenty four seven all consuming duty. Even placing seniors in retirement homes does not provide the assurances that everything will be smooth sailing. It requires regular vigilance lest the beloved family member be neglected or abused. There are scores of families struggling to deal with loved ones whose minds and bodies have left them in a terrifying holding pattern that saps the finances and the energies of everyone involved. It is a reality being played out in communities across America that few acknowledge or discuss.

There was a time when extended families lived together on farms. The older members lived out their days under the watchful eyes of dozens of relatives. Someone was always available to see to the person’s needs. In our modern world it is virtually impossible to replicate the old ways and modern medical practices have made it far more likely that people will live longer than ever before. We now have seventy year old children struggling to care for their ninety year old parents with little or no help. It’s up to us to volunteer our efforts whenever and wherever we can.

Our elderly were once hard working people. They need and deserve loving attention in their final years. We need to make it a priority to devise ways of making their days more meaningful so that nobody has to sit in a mall waiting for the kindness of strangers. It’s time that we create programs that will be open to everyone regardless of income and that we all consider finding ways of volunteering to help. Someone in a little hat and coat is just waiting for us to come to the rescue.

Searching for Love and Truth

Published on February 28, 2017February 26, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

normamccorvey6 The world is filled with interesting stories, some more than others. So it is with Norma McCorvey, AKA Jane Roe. Norma grew up in the same era in which I lived. In fact she was very close in age to me. She was born in Louisiana to parents who seemed ill prepared to raise children. Her father was an abusive alcoholic and her parents’ union ended in divorce not long after Norma was born. Some women have a very unfortunate habit of falling in love with bad boys and so it was with Norma’s mom who forged a second relationship with a man who sexually abused Norma on a regular basis. By the time that Norma had reached her adolescence she was continually at odds with the law and ended up in juvenile detention centers and foster homes. Hers had been a confusing childhood without guidance, loving protection or opportunities. Little wonder that she was married and pregnant by the time that she was only sixteen.

Norma, like her mother before her, made many bad choices and was left by her husband to raise the child on her own. Realizing that she did not have any of the resources needed to care for herself much less a youngster, Norma gave the little girl to her mom. After that her life became a continuing series of unfortunate events. She became pregnant again and decided to give the little one up for adoption. She repeated her mom’s mistakes, seeming to be unlucky in love and life in general. When she became pregnant a third time she wanted to have an abortion but it was still illegal to do so in the state of Texas where she resided. A couple of lawyers who were looking for a test case to challenge the law took Norma under their wings and fought all the way to the Supreme Court for her rights and those of others to abort fetuses that were unwanted, claiming that particularly because Norma had been raped she should not have to have the baby.

The court case took well over three years to complete so Norma was forced to bear the little girl that she carried all the way to birth. She gave that child up for adoption just as she had with the earlier baby but ultimately won her case in the famous Roe vs. Wade decision that forever changed the way many women would view unwanted pregnancies. Norma never again became pregnant nor did she ever require or receive an abortion but she nonetheless became a celebrity in the pro choice ranks and even worked for many years in an abortion clinic. She seemed to find finally find her footing when she settled down with another woman in Dallas continuing to fight for women’s rights on a regular basis.

Along the way Norma met members of a Dallas pro-life group. They discussed with her their own beliefs that a fetus is a human being with its own rights as a person. Initially she scoffed at their arguments and in the feisty way that was her trademark made fun of their religious thinking. Somehow in an unlikely alliance they began to respect one another and Norma was taken by the way in which her opponents seemed to love her in spite of their differing opinions. Nobody had ever treated her with so much respect. She began to listen to what they had to say and to consider the possibility that perhaps their thoughts were valid.

She found herself feeling bothered by what she saw happening in the abortion clinic where she worked. Finally she renounced her pro choice position claiming that she had been used by the two lawyers who represented her in the landmark case. She even insisted that she had lied about being raped in order to make her situation appear to be more worthy of sympathy. She was baptized and in a stunning reversal became a spokesperson for the pro-life movement. Eventually she even left her long term partner and became a Catholic.

Norma was living in Katy, Texas not far from where I live when she died a couple of weeks ago. She never again saw the two children that she had given up for adoption but she is said to have thought about them often. The daughter that her mother had raised was by her side as she breathed her final breaths.

I was particularly taken by the sadness of Norma’s life. I encountered so many young girls like her when I was a teacher, sad souls who were forced into adult roles long before they were ready because their parents were unable or unwilling to care properly for them. I have taught twelve year olds who were raped by family members and became pregnant. They were angry, confused and fearful over what had happened to them. Their children became more like younger brothers or sisters than someone for whose life they were responsible. They were totally unprepared for the difficulties that lay ahead of them.

I have seen the loving results of children who have been saved from such situations through the process of adoption. When paired with genuinely caring adults they generally thrive and lead incredibly wonderful lives. There is something quite special about the realization that they have been chosen that helps them to grow to be strong and confident. I’d like to think that Norma’s adopted children found happy homes and that they were able to break the cycle of poverty and abuse that had been the definition of Norma’s lifestyle.

The question of abortion is a complex one that will not soon go away. There is much disagreement about when an unborn child becomes a person. We are inching further and further into the developmental cycle of the fetus in determining where the line is drawn in determining what state defines viability. There are now places where abortion is permitted all the way up to twenty four weeks. Many consider it a form of birth control and each year millions of women end their pregnancies not because they have been raped or have health issues but because they do not want to have a child.

On the other side of the argument are those who believe that conception is the defining moment of personhood and that abortion is murder of a human being. They find the practice to be barbaric and morally wrong and fight continuously to outlaw the abortion once and for all. Many consider such individuals to be little more than religious zealots but they see themselves as soldiers in a battle against an evil that must be stopped.

Ironically Norma McCorvey was the face of both sides during her lifetime. She believed that she had seen the light in her later years when she became a pro-life advocate. She felt that she had been used and abused for most of her life and that it was within a community of faith-filled individuals that she finally found the love and respect for which she had been searching since she was a child. She died convinced that her part in Roe vs. Wade was flawed and terribly wrong.

It appears that Norma somehow found a modicum of peace and even built a loving relationship with the one daughter with whom she still had contact. She found friendships that she enjoyed and her life became bearable. I would like to think that she is now enjoying the peace that had been so elusive for her for so much of her existence. Hers was a search for love and truth that is now at an end. May she forever rest in peace and may those of us still here find the answers to the questions that she posed and the strength and wisdom to work for what is right just as Norma tried to do.

A Good Ole Gal

Published on February 27, 2017February 26, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

buffalobayousunrise Houston is a good ole gal with a heart of gold. She’s a hard worker who doesn’t mind getting dirt under her nails but she also has an inventive mind. She’s had some crazy ideas that actually worked, like building a channel from the Gulf of Mexico to her landlocked home creating one of the busiest ports in the world. She got it in her head to establish a university that would rival Harvard, a medical center that would attract the best doctors in the country and a space center that would explore the universe. Her ideas came to fruition even as her critics laughed at her. She is fearless, unafraid to risk everything. She is exciting.

Houston is a chameleon. Sometimes she appears to be very plain, maybe even a bit homely, but then she flashes her brilliant eyes and suddenly becomes quite beautiful. Perhaps it is her undaunted spirit that makes her so attractive or maybe it is her generosity. She provides opportunity and security to anyone willing to work with her. She offers a shoulder to lean on when times get tough. She will be there to help after storms devastate or tragedy steals joy. She is ever faithful, always willing to lend a hand. She welcomes strangers and provides succor to her ever growing family.

She angers us with her unpredictable moods. It’s difficult to know what to expect from her from one day to the next. She may cry enough tears to fill our streets and our homes and then respond with a smile of brilliant blue skies and sunshine. She wears her lovely bayous like silky ribbons in her hair and then strangles us with their fury. She bears down on us with her fiery heat and just when we think that she is unbearable she brings us a day so lovely that we fall in love with her all over again.

Houston has many faces. She is a wealthy patrician with deep roots in her aristocratic heritage and a newcomer with dark eyes and brown cheeks filled with hope and optimism. She loves the rodeo and the opera, a honky tonk bar and a symphony hall. She likes ballgames and art museums, fast food and fine dining. She’s quite accommodating which is perhaps her most enticing quality. She wants to please and works hard at making everyone happy. She is the quintessential hostess.

Houston is always so busy, sometimes to her own detriment. She invites everyone to her party but doesn’t plan for all of the traffic and commotion. She seems unaware of how aggravating her haphazard tendencies can be. We wonder how someone so bright can also be so clueless. She is wild and unfettered, tendencies that we both enjoy and loathe. She is a whirlwind, a tornado, a contradiction.

Houston is a conundrum to those who do not really know her. They can’t imagine what her appeal might be. She seems simple and unattractive to the unschooled. She is a mystery that confounds reason. Her detractors wonder why any of us give our hearts to her. She seems so unworthy of our affection and yet we feel an unflinching loyalty to her. We love her even though we are sometimes hard pressed to explain why. Our feelings for her are among the grandest mysteries of life.

We sometimes consider leaving Houston and her irritating ways. We may even temporarily act on our emotions and take a break from her, seeking another to satisfy our needs. Somehow we find ourselves thinking of her in our absence. We actually miss her with all of her quirks and idiosyncrasies. We recall her openness and uncomplicated ways. We remember all of the culinary feasts that she provided us. We call to mind how unselfish she generally was to us. She was there when we needed her most with offers of education, work, and solace. We enjoyed her welcoming nature and her willingness to accept us just the way we were. She never put on airs nor did she expect us to do so. She worked her way into our very souls and no matter how far away we have travelled we find ourselves wanting to see her again, to be with her. She has a power over us that we somehow can’t escape and so we return, lingering near her and feeling the calm that being with her seems to revive in our souls.

Houston is a good ole gal, the salt of the earth, the joy of our lives. We love her and always will.

These Are The Good Old Days

Published on February 24, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

il_340x270-1167766621_5l2m Back in the nineteen seventies my mother and one of my brothers took a Sunday afternoon ride to Galveston Island which was about fifty miles away from where I lived. I was recovering from hepatitis and it was meant to be a relaxing excursion. My mama always believed that the ocean air was good for whatever ailments one had. Going down to the sea was one of her most frequent destinations.

We rode along the seawall built by heroic Galveston residents who refused to be chased away by the 1900 storm that killed more than 2000 people in one dark night. It was a lovely early spring day and it felt wonderful to escape from the confinement that I had endured for many weeks. My mother always knew exactly how to nurse me back to health.

Mama wasn’t much for driving on freeways so we took an old highway back home that was less traveled at the time. Along the way her car broke down, a not so uncommon occurrence for her because she tended to keep her autos until the wheels fell off. There was no sign of life anywhere near where we were and of course there were no cell phones back then. We had to rely on our own ingenuity to find a way out of our dilemma.

For quite some time we pushed the car hoping that either it would spontaneously come back to life or that we might encounter a phone booth or service station where we might find help. I soon grew quite weary. I had been instructed by my doctor not to over exert myself and the effort of moving a heavy object down an asphalt runway soon sapped what little energy I had. We decided to simply get the car out of the road and walk until we found signs of life.

It felt as though we had to travel several miles before we finally found a place of business where we were able to call my husband who rescued us quickly after that. He drove us back to Mama’s car and noticed that she had run out of gasoline which he remedied as well. The incident became one of those laughable family moments and a memory of life in times past.

I can’t help but think of how much easier it would have been for us to find the assistance that we needed if only there had been cell phones back then. It is highly likely that at least two of us would have been able to take care of the problem with a few keystrokes. The modern world with its many inventions has made our lives so much easier than it has ever been.

I often see photos of what it was like when I was young on Facebook. My friends sometimes reminisce about the good old days. We even had a politician who won the presidency with the promise to make America great again. The problem that I find with such nostalgia is that going backwards in time is not generally something that we should want to do. I like the progress that we have made and I see little point in turning back the clock. Instead I try to enjoy the days that I have right now.

My grandfather was born in 1878 and did not die until the nineteen eighties. He often laughed when people asked him to tell about the good old days. “These are the good old days,” he would always insist. He easily recalled the hardships of living without refrigeration or electricity. He remembered the first time that he saw a town lit up with lights and the sense of wonder that overcame him. He read the headlines cheering the first flight of an airplane and watched with elation as a human walked on the moon. He remembered how his grandmother treated illnesses with herbs and what it was like watching people die of terrible infectious diseases that were eventually eradicated by modern medicine. The level of comfort that he experienced in his later life had been unimaginable when he was a child and he appreciated all of the advancements that had made the world a better place to be.

I hark back to the nineteen fifties and sixties, a time of great scientific exploration that changed the way we live and work at rocket speed. I am able to tell horror stories about attempting to type a long research paper without mistakes on an old typewriter with keys that would stick and smear ink on my fine white paper. My efforts were always so homely because I had to cover my errors with blobs of liquid paper that dotted my manuscripts like droplets of snow. If I had to have multiple copies that meant using carbon paper that left purple stains on my fingers and anything else that it touched. Creating documents was a time consuming and onerous task for me that thankfully is a thing of the past.

Like my grandfather I might list hundreds of examples regarding the difficulties that existed simply because the solutions to the various problems had not yet been invented. Any of us who did research of during the nineteen sixties shudder at the thought of spending hours combing through a card catalog in a library only to find that the very book that we needed had already been checked out by someone on a similar mission. Almost everything was in hard copy form back then. Sometimes documents were photographed and stored on little reels that had to be read using a machine that invariably broke in the middle of the process.

If I were to begin to list all of the changes that have occurred in my own lifetime it would require pages and pages. Man’s ingenuity has indeed been an engine that has driven progress inevitably forward and there is little reason for us to wish to turn back the clock which, by the way, we don’t have to wind anymore like we did in the past. The history of mankind is one of advancement with a few hiccups along the way but inevitably we seem to find better and better ways of enjoying life. I suspect that my very wise grandfather had it right all along when he would insist that these are the good old days.