Sharron Burnett

Laughter: The Music of Angels

Published on November 2, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

3891748_f520 I like to watch the late news before going to bed each night. I mainly want to hear the weather forecast and know what has happened during the day while I was too busy to pay attention. Trying to fall asleep after hearing a depressing story is difficult. All too often my mind becomes fixated on a particular event that is covered in the thirty minute review of local and national happenings which is why I always follow up by watching The Tonight Show. Jimmy Fallon invariably makes me laugh. There is a contrived innocence in his brilliance that evokes a physical and emotional response in me that reveals itself in an audible chuckle and a release of all the stress that I have harbored in my soul during the day. For me laughter is indeed the very best medicine and I can’t imagine living in a world without it.

Luckily I’ve never been much of a clown fan because they are apparently on the outs these days. Red Skelton is the only comedian who ever made his rendition of a clown seem likable and the character he brought to life was so sensitive and humane that he was sad more often than not. There has always been something profoundly alarming about a court jester hiding behind a mask to ply his trade. Instead of being funny most clowns try a bit too hard and touch a part of our psyches where we’d rather not go. Clowns tend to annoy rather than amuse. They are akin to the kid in the class who believes that his antics are entertaining when they actually only demonstrate his emotional problems. We want to look away from clowns. There is something about them that is just not quite right.

A truly funny person, joke or situation tickles our funny bone and makes us smile. After watching or listening to a talented comedian we feel weightless, having lost some of the baggage that was bearing down on our souls. Society needs its jokesters. The best way to tackle our human problems is with a bit of mirth in our hearts. As Whoopi Goldberg mentioned to Jimmy Fallon last night there is more than enough anger in our world. We might all do with a bit more laughter. She understands that all work and no play makes us humans quite dull. With a slight change of expression and a twist of words she has a knack for transforming a normal situation into an hilarious romp. Put her with someone like Jimmy and the tears of joy flow along with the chortles.

One of the things that I love the most about my husband is that he is an aficionado of humor. He openly seeks and shares the funny aspects of life. Hardly a day goes by that the two of us don’t break out into uncontrollable giggles and guffaws. His analysis of the world is profoundly satirical. He gets the jokes of Pulp Fiction and roars with glee over the antics of Mel Brooks. Christmas wouldn’t be complete for him without once again watching the hapless adventures of the Griswold family in Christmas Vacation. He was a Monty Python fan from the get go. He and his father regularly trade jokes which he invariably passes on to me with glee. We have traveled through life in a mirthful state of mind and it has made all the difference in how we approach the problems that are part of the human experience.

We Americans tend to love politicians who have a twinkle in their eyes and a bit of mischief in their words. They are the ones who best understand that while our issues are serious we need to step back and have a bit of perspective. They demonstrate that we should be able to laugh not at those with whom we disagree but at ourselves. True humor isn’t ugly. It looks at our foibles and finds ways to poke at them a bit. It helps us understand rather than oppose each other. John Kennedy and Ronald Reagan were masterful at making us smile in spite of ourselves. We liked them because they were able to see joyfulness even as we were struggling. In many ways it seems that far too many of those who seek to lead us are all work and no play. These are serious times that require weighty discussions but we might all use a good laugh now and again. It would do our leaders well to understand that sometimes they just need to look honestly at the hilarity of a situation. It’s hard to keep calm and carry on if we are always morose.

I’m not particularly funny. I invariably forget the punchlines of jokes and my timing and delivery are way off. Somehow I didn’t inherit my father’s humor gene but my brother Pat did. He has been entertaining the family for decades and his knack for hilarity has fortunately been passed on to a few of our children and grandchildren insuring lots of fun for generations to come. Every family needs those fun siblings and relatives who lighten the mood of gatherings. The family that laughs together stays together.

Comedy has been part and parcel of history. I can almost imagine a group of our ancestors sitting beside a fire eons ago quipping about their day, finding the humor in their labors. I have read that many of the Holocaust survivors still managed to laugh even surrounded by horror. Soldiers ease the tension of their dangerous jobs by telling jokes. One of my uncles was part of a M.A.S.H. unit in the Korean War and he assures us that there were many Hawkeyes in the ranks keeping everyone sane with their antics. The average teachers’ lounge ripples with laughter at lunchtime. As humans we may endure tragedy but we always seem to have to balance it with comedy. Wearing a hair shirt and flogging ourselves twenty four seven rarely brings out the best in our personalities.

Babies spontaneously giggle with delight at the sight of a loved one. Children laugh continuously as they play. It is in our natures to balance our work with fun. Whoopi Goldberg is correct in her diagnosis of what we need, less bickering and much more chuckling. We would all do well to find and cultivate our national sense of humor. We work hard to strengthen our minds and to make our bodies healthy and strong. We too often neglect to cultivate the laughter that lies inside our souls. We need to enjoy it and release it for all the world to hear. It is the music of angels, the voice of happiness. Here’s hoping that each of us finds moments to chuckle a bit everyday.

Truth Is Stranger Than Ficton

Published on November 1, 2016October 31, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

authors I’ve often thought of writing a novel. I have a number of ideas but honestly make believe is not as crazy as real life. Sometimes you just can’t make up stuff that is as good as reality. I’m a big fan of House of Cards but often it feels as though the writers have jumped the shark. I mean, really, the plot seems a bit far fetched but then so does our present political scene. Nobody would believe the story that is unfolding if I were to write a fictional story about it and yet it is the truth.

Imagine my creating a character who never held political office, had been married multiple times and was known as an audacious blowhard. Would anyone truly consider such a person as a potential candidate for President of the United States? What if I further demonstrated his lack of manners by writing a scenario in which he boasted of his predatory sexual conquests? Who in their right mind would be able to accept my premise that he had a rabid following of supporters?

Even more unlikely is the idea that his opponent would be a rather uncharismatic older woman who has a reputation for sometimes bending the truth and a problem with keeping matters of national security safe. Nonetheless like her buffoonish counterpart she has a loyal following who refuses to see her flaws.

Add to the mix accusations of sexual assault by the fledgling politician and a probe by the FBI into the dealings of the more established candidate and you have a freaky story that seems impossible to accept. I would be a fool to even consider writing such a plot. I suspect that I would be laughed out of the ranks of serious authors unless I somehow managed to sell it as humorous satire, which makes the reality of our present election so strange.

I keep thinking that I will wake up one morning only to find that everything has been only a very bad dream. Out of the millions of people who might have thrown their hats into the ring, how is it possible that we are faced with such a dilemma? Has being president become such an onerous job that only a few souls have the courage to even try? After all we tend to try to destroy the reputations of anyone who even considers the possibility of running. Think of the horrid accusations that have been hurled at George W. Bush and Barack Obama. Recall the terrible things said about Mitt Romney and John McCain. Who would want to even put the members of their family through such a wringer? Those ultimately willing to endure the verbal beatings are far stronger than I would ever be.

I’ve often joked that I would make a great President of the United States. Still, I think of the many ways that my sterling character might be defamed. Someone would surely find the photo of me sitting in the big middle of a gathering of the Students for a Democratic Society back when I was a freshman in college. That group went on to have a rather unhealthy reputation. I’m certain that there would be those who would suggest that I am a Communist or rabble rouser at heart.

Then there is the matter of mental illness. Both my mother and my grandmother suffered from mental breakdowns. Would my quirkiness suddenly become a sure sign of my own disorder? There would certainly be whispers that I am unfit to hold such a demanding office even though I have never personally shown any signs of having the same genetic predisposition to nervous diseases as my ancestors.

I have surely made someone angry along the way. That person will suddenly appear with a story of my anger or unfairness or other such complaint. What kind of dirt would anxious reporters find on me or members of my family? Would that quarter that I stole when I was seven become a national scandal? How would I be able to explain that I returned it four fold and confessed to my sin at least seven times?

There would no doubt be infractions that I don’t even remember. Such is the way of modern day campaigns. I doubt that I would last more than a month without withdrawing my name from the contest. I enjoy my privacy far too much. I really don’t want to become an international pin cushion in the blood sport of politics.

I suppose that there has always been a bit of nastiness associated with holding the highest office in the land. Mrs. Lincoln was all but driven insane by a press that never liked her. They had no pity when she lost her children and witnessed the murder of her husband. The public was happy enough to rid themselves of her when she quietly went away to live out her remaining days in poverty and sadness. We have a very bad habit of being rather cruel to those who live or want to live in the White House.

I don’t know where all of this drama will ultimately lead. I suppose we will have a few answers in about a week but I fear that the story will drag on for years regardless of the outcome. I don’t know about everyone else but I am a bit tired of the anger. I much prefer fairytale endings but doubt that we will see one of those for some time. I’d like to think that as people we might choose to be a bit nicer when it comes to our political thinking but that doesn’t make for much of an exciting story and right now everyone who writes is hoping for the big surprise. This election certainly doesn’t disappoint anyone who revels in irony and uncertainty. I truly wonder where it will all lead. At this point nothing seems to be out of the question. My usual ability to predict the way that people will react is out of whack. I’m just as confused as anyone. God help us!

The BEST

Published on October 31, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

14882234_10210584184061922_2863139660667446312_o The excitement was building to a fever pitch. The fans wore their school colors and yelled in unison with the cheerleaders. The bands beat out a foot stomping tempo that seemed to mirror the tension in the final moments of the competition. Surprisingly this was not an athletic contest but a meeting of junior engineers and software designers demonstrating their skills in building robots. Their machines had three minutes to perform their tasks and the stakes were high. The winners would advance to the state meet in December. All eyes were on the young men and women and their remarkable creations that had come to life to mimic human abilities.

The BEST robotics competition of San Antonio took place this past weekend with forty high schools and middle schools representing nearby cities and towns, some as far away as Laredo. The journey to the contest had begun many weeks ago when the students and their adult mentors received the details regarding the tasks which their robots must perform. With a minimum of materials the students went to work obtaining sponsors, building their machines, naming their companies, marketing their work, creating technical journals, designing team shirts, coding the software that would bring their robots to life, simplifying processes, creating displays and bonding in a spirit of team unity.

They burned the midnight oil and worked through weekends executing each of the phases of construction. Every member of the teams played an integral part in the many aspects of the project. Their robots would have to be as capable as farming machinery. They would pick corn, corral pigs, operate valves, harvest tomatoes and lettuce. For each task that they succeeded in performing points would accrue. It may have sounded easy on paper but in reality it took hours of trial and error, all of which had to be faithfully recorded in a scientific notebook filled with research, diagrams and technical explanations. In addition team members were responsible for being able to discuss every aspect of the work in interviews with the judges.

There was no consideration of age in the judging. The middle and high school students were alike in the expectations that they had to meet. It was David and Goliath as public, private and magnet high schools along with a few middle schools vied to be named the best of BEST, an organization dedicated to boosting engineering, science and technology. Each team had eight rounds in which to demonstrate their excellence in designing a robot capable of preforming each of the movements.

Early on one of the schools stood head and shoulders above the rest. The United Engineering and Technology Magnet High School from Laredo had a machine that was a thing of beauty. It maneuvered with ease and the points quickly mounted making the team virtually unstoppable. It was quite a story given that the students hail from a city beset with problems and most of them are economically disadvantaged minorities. All day long their outstanding abilities demonstrated the power of providing young people with opportunities to move beyond the limitations of poverty. Their design was brilliant and they had developed strategies for building points that had not occurred to any other team. In addition, they had brought a huge contingent of students, parents and teachers who cheered them with pride. Nobody was surprised when they took home multiple trophies and scholarships including the top prize of the day. They literally modeled the methods and spirit of winners who are bound to become tomorrow’s leaders.

The stunning victory of the event came in the form of a group of students from Smithson Valley Middle School who resembled children beside the other competitors. They had taken their work quite seriously, learning the computer language needed to program their robot only a few weeks ago. They had met after school and on weekends with their teacher and a number of parents who guided them but essentially left them on their own to either succeed or fail. They were an earnest lot who somehow didn’t seem to understand that they were not supposed to be in the same ranks with the more experienced high school students. Somehow they closed the gap and managed to be the second place team which allows them to move to the state meet along with five other high school groups. The key to their stunning win lay in their scientific research and the professional journal that three of the young women created to chronicle the journey that the team had made from the first day when they began to learn how to create a machine that would ultimately come to life. They also had achieved a commanding lead during the interviews intended to determine how much they really understood about the processes that they had used. It became fully apparent in those meetings that these were young students who had done all of the thinking and the work on their own.

I love that there are events in which young people are just as excited about academic pursuits as sports. We don’t often give enough credit to those who quietly invent the thoughts, processes, and materials that make our world better. We hold pep rallies for our heroes of the gridiron but often ignore the students who pioneer new ways of thinking in medicine, chemistry, physics. We forget to salute the extraordinary writers, actors, dancers and artists. It is not often that we encourage the historian or the child with a penchant for politics. We should be enthusiastically honoring each of the talents that we humans possess, not just the ones that have been the traditional focus of glory. Ours would be a wonderful world indeed if we were to eliminate derogatory terms like nerds, jocks, geeks, dumb blondes and such. Showcasing each student’s skills is a step in the right direction and hosting an event like the BEST robotics competition gets us just a bit closer to the perfection that we hope we may one day achieve. It is in these kinds of practical applications of knowledge that the most powerful learning takes place. We would do well to include more capstone projects and real life adventures in our curriculum. Our youngsters will no doubt surprise us when we do.

The Horror

Published on October 28, 2016October 27, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

When I was kid Halloween was a rather simple event. I’d put a witch hat on my head or cut some holes in an old white sheet and masquerade as a ghost. My costumes were made from the cloth of my imagination and whatever I had on hand. My mother would save a brown paper bag from her grocery shopping that I used to hold the goodies that I collected from my neighbors. If I was feeling especially inspired I’d take the time to draw some jack-o-lanterns on it with my box of crayons. Mostly though I’d just grab a sack and head out to trick-or-treat with my friends. It was all so uncomplicated and innocent back then. We trusted everyone and were usually right in our belief that we would be safe. There were a few urban tales that warned us of razor blades and needles inserted into apples so I always threw such offerings into the trash but mostly there was little mischief other than our childish attempts to scare each other with ghost stories and such.

When my daughters were young the whole Halloween tradition became a bit more elaborate. I had to purchase costumes for them rather than using what we had around the house. Most of the time they chose the one size fits all flimsy outfits that came in a box along with a big plastic mask that engulfed their tiny faces. The costumes fit like sacks and were usually torn to shreds by the end of the evening because they were made from a substance that resembled paper. The masks were so hot that they usually ended up in the trick-or-treat bags that were a bit fancier than the grocery sacks of my youth. Fear of real horrors became all too real when the “Candyman” from Deer Park, Texas poisoned his son with a pixie stick one Halloween. After that many parents abandoned the old time honored ritual of gathering goodies from house to house. Churches, schools and neighbors began to hold Halloween parties instead. There were some years when hardly any kids came to my house.

Today Halloween is bigger than ever. In some ways it has become as important in the holiday annals as Christmas and Thanksgiving. Entire sections of stores are devoted to displays of decorations, costumes and an array of treats. The children who come to my door wear outfits worthy of a high budget movie. They are decked out in full makeup with wigs and intricately detailed clothing. They bear baskets and sturdy plastic containers rather than the paper bags of old. Sometimes they carry flashlights to help them navigate in the dark. The homes that they visit are decorated with lights, pumpkins, spiderwebs and inflated monsters. Eerie sounds echo across neighborhoods transforming them into spectacular and frightening happenings. The children come by the droves along with their parents who more often than not are also dressed in ornate designs.

This weekend there will no doubt be Halloween parties all across America and most of them will be for adults. I’m not quite sure when grownups laid claim to celebrations that had once been only for children but it is now big business. Perhaps our world has become so uncertain and complex that we enjoy playing make believe if only for a brief time. We dress up and poke fun at our society. We laugh and feel the freedom that we once knew as children. Halloween provides us with an opportunity to display our creativity and an excuse to just be silly like we were in the times before we had to deal with so many responsibilities and so much stress. With the craziness of the election season I suspect that this will be an especially “bigly” year for Halloween. There are so many people and ideas that we might poke a bit with our satire.

This year there are new wrinkles in the festivities. Some people worry that their costume choices might offend. We are told that we should be careful not to appropriate a culture that is not ours. I suspect that being a hobo like I once was might be considered a slam toward those who are poor. I’ve read that some colleges are advising students to avoid wearing sombreros or demonstrating a lack of empathy in choosing what they will wear. It is a new complication that is sure to create some storms of controversy and raise questions before the weekend is over.

It used to be that those who attended Catholic school had a singular advantage associated with Halloween because the following day was All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation that was traditionally a holiday in the parochial schools. Now the students simply go to Mass in the morning and carry on as usual for the remainder of the school day. There is no more holiday in honor of the beloved saints. Traditions are changing all the way around.

I still prefer the simpler ways of approaching Halloween. I have put a jack-o-lantern on my front porch and even have a few lights along the sidewalk but that is as far as I plan to go. I’ll stock up on chocolate bars and other sweet treats and spend a few hours enjoying the children who come to my door. Other than that Halloween will come and go much as it has for most of my life. It is a fun but minor celebration in my annual routines. I sometimes wear a special t-shirt with glittery pumpkins that I purchased at Walmart for five dollars one year just to get into the spirit of things and I almost always find a horror movie to watch, but mostly Halloween is a sign that my truly favorite time of year is near.

I suspect that for most of us nothing is going to be as scary as the coming election. We are all holding our breaths in anticipation of what is coming next. It’s probably good that there is a way to ease our tensions just a bit whether we join friends in ridiculous outfits, gather with laughing children or just shut ourselves away to escape into a world of zombies or haunted houses. Sometimes we’ve just got to get away and Halloween is the perfect vehicle to distract us from the terrors of reality. Here’s hoping that your own way of enjoying the day is “huge,’

Transformation

Published on October 27, 2016October 25, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

transformations Ellen was an exotic beauty with black hair and deep dark brown eyes that seemed to be flirtatious and mischievous even when she was engaged in a mundane conversation. In her younger days she boasted a perfect hour glass figure but even as she aged and carried extra weight she was still utterly attractive. Her mind was keen and few were ever able to outsmart her. When she smiled she warmed an entire room. People quite naturally loved her. She didn’t have to expend extra energy to entice them but she always did. She was known for her generous spirit and empathy, always the first not just to notice pain and suffering but to respond with kindness. She was a sprite, a free spirit undefined by societal norms. Her confidence was such that she would have treated a famous dignitary exactly the same way that she did a homeless soul. She was one of a kind, a rare individual so blessed with beauty and brains and a bold outlook on life that she stood out even in a crowded room.

Ellen was my mother and she was larger than life in every imaginable way. She was the rock on which the foundation of our family was built, particularly after our father died when she was only thirty years old and we were small children. The trauma of our daddy’s death marked the first time that I saw her flounder. It was frightening for me to watch her grief explode so publicly. For a time she appeared to be a stranger with a faraway look in her eyes. She was not present for anyone. We might have burned down the house and she would barely have noticed. A slow transformation was beginning inside her mind that would alter her. It was not of her own making. It was not who she really was. It was the product of a mental illness that would from time to time overtake her in ways that seemed to destroy her very essence.

At first we barely noticed what was happening. Somehow she willed herself to return to her normal state. She had important work to do. She was now the mother and the father in our family. She had to provide and nurture. She could ill afford to drown in her tears or spend much time in a sorrowful state. She donned a mask that announced to the world that she was back, her old self ready to tackle any challenges that came her way. For a time she did a remarkable job of convincing all of us that her heart was a bit dented but not badly damaged. Still there were signs of her slow deterioration that we did not see. We hardly noticed how easily her feelings were often hurt, something that had not been part of her personality in the past. She appeared to get sick more often, sometimes staying in bed for days. We would see signs that she had been crying but then she would smile to reassure us and we forgot to consider that she might still be in pain. She shouldered so much hurt and responsibility without ever speaking of it. Perhaps we all expected perfection when we should have known that she was only human.

Ellen attempted to be all things in all situations but the stress ate away at her. She was teaching school, attending college, paying bills, keeping the home in order, caring for her aging mother, and always being a kind of super mom. After ten years of courageous effort her facade cracked wide open and the bipolar disorder that had been smoldering inside her brain became full blown. Her transformation into the world of mental illness was complete and it was as frightening as anything she or we had ever experienced.

She closed the windows and the blinds and turned off the air conditioner even though it was the hottest part of the summer. She took to her bed and openly cried almost continuously. She whispered her fears which were paranoid to the extreme. She believed that our family was under attack from a nameless group bound to the idea of ruining us. She was certain that we would be put away into some jail without a trial. She worried that all of the food in her home had been poisoned. Her eyes were dull and darted around the room in fear. Her hands shook continuously and her breathing was labored. She would not eat and could not sleep. She was certain that she was going to die or that she may have already done so. Her dark and tiny world was filled with enemies and intrigue. She trusted no one. She was paralyzed in a state of panic from which she saw no escape. She had been transformed into a stranger who did not resemble my mother in any way.

I underwent my own transformation in that time. I had to vanquish my youth and accept responsibility for my mother and my younger brothers. I could no longer afford to be shy and backward. I had to quickly learn how to assert myself. I became a voice for our family. I assumed the mantle that had been thrust upon me. It felt uncomfortable and I disliked having to take control of the situation. It meant that I had to make difficult and sometimes unpopular decisions. I had no idea back then that this would become part of my destiny or that my mother would suffer from her disease for the rest of her life. Her illness would become the backdrop for our family for the next forty four years. It never went away and it was painful to watch.

There were moments when my charismatic mother reemerged in all of her glory and magnificence. Those were the best of times but they never lasted for long. Again and again the fearful broken woman would replace her and my brothers and I would battle to save her mind. We settled into a routine of vigilance that mostly worked but each time that we believed the impossible, namely that she was cured, we would be proven wrong. We learned that her illness was chronic and that it could be controlled but only so much. Medications would work for a time and then their effectiveness would lessen or they would produce serious side effects that precluded their use.

She gained weight from the chemicals coursing through her body. She felt fuzzy. It was not a state that she enjoyed. She would rebel from time to time, hiding her medications under sofas and beds, pretending to swallow them when they were tucked under her tongue. She argued that she did not need the treatments that we forced on her. Our relationship was often tense and confusing. She was supposed to be the beloved matriarch but she often felt like the child. None of us liked the situation but we understood what the consequences of ignoring our duties to her would be. We had seen what happened whenever we became complacent.

Somehow the transformation of my mother and our family had its positive effects as well. We became closer than we might have been. We celebrated and appreciated her moments of good health with more gusto than we might otherwise have done. We worked together and learned what is most important in life. We never took each other for granted. The curse of mental illness that had descended on our world turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It made us all better individuals. We learned to value people and to understand them. We became more observant and noticed when those around us were suffering. All in all we were much nicer than we had been before.

Mental illness stalks its victims with a vengeance but we learned that it need not win. Our mother’s life was more painful that it should have been but she managed to accomplish great things in spite of the disorder that lurked inside her brain. It slowed her down but it did not cripple her. It reshaped our family but not always in bad ways. Our transformation made us strong and resilient.

Ellen died at the age of eighty four. On her final days there was no sign of her mental illness. She was once again restored to the perfection of spirit that had so defined her. In her final transformation she was ready to meet God and reunite with our father. The circle was complete for her and for us.