Author: Sharron Burnett

I suppose that it is quite normal for most of us to remember our childhoods as idyllic experiences. I’ve listened to stories from my grandfather whose boyhood took place under the loving care of his grandmother in a rural area of Virginia in the nineteenth century. He lived in a house without glass windows or centralized heat, but he only recalled the fun times that he had as a boy. The same is true of my ninety five year old father-in-law who grew up in a small mountainous town in Puerto Rico and spent his youth playing with his many cousins who lived near him.

In truth I often think of my own mid twentieth century childhood with great joy. I can envision the fun that I experienced as though it was only yesterday. While I might be inclined to believe that mine was indeed the best possible time for growing up that there ever was, evidence to the contrary is all around me. My own children rhapsodize about the wonder years of the nineteen seventies. My grandchildren relate wonderful stories of being a child at the turn of the twentieth century. Then there are the children who live in my neighborhood whom I watch with delight as they gather to play.

The greatest joy that I experience is the sound of children running and enjoying their games. I have a front row seat to hear their laughter and to see that the joys of growing up still resonate even as the world changes around us. They may be finding different ways to be young and joyful than my grandfather or I did, but the evidence is clear that they are living experiences that they too will one recollect with a sense that surely these must have been the very best of times. 

I hear a great deal of angst from older folks indicating their concern for today’s children. I suppose that it is normal to worry when we hear stories of youngsters welded to gaming machines all alone in darkened rooms. While such situations do exist, I find little evidence that they are the norm. Somehow children find each other regardless of the circumstances and then use their imaginations to create play from whatever they happen to find in their environments. It is as natural a part of growing up as learning to walk and talk. I have witnessed its loveliness over and over again. 

One of the reasons I love my neighborhood is that it is family affordable and friendly. I take great delight in being around the children who are growing up around me. I listen as they chatter in the mornings waiting to catch the school bus. I wait to hear their return to home in the afternoons. I watch their pairings and hear their boisterous commentaries on life. The sights and sounds of their play are as sweet as the ones that I once enjoyed with knees skinned from learning how to skate or ride a bicycle. 

On Christmas day the children still come outside to try out the gifts that Santa left for them. They greet each other with the same awe and wonder that me and my friends once experienced. Anyone who thinks that children today are somehow spoiled or too bored with life to just have some unplanned fun are not watching. They are as inventive and lively as ever. 

In every era there have been children who are withdrawn and those who are bullies. There have been natural born athletes and those who feel clumsy like I often did. Some are outgoing and charismatic while others prefer to quietly observe in the background. Our personalities and talents begin to form as we try different things as children. We develop likes and dislikes and hopefully get an idea of who we are and how we want to be. The journey can be wonderful but as with all things in life it may also be difficult or even enormously painful. Our playtime as children is a time when we learn skills that we rarely even notice. The fun of it all hides the importance of it. 

Of course some little ones find themselves in horrific situations but thankfully they are the outliers For most children the growing up times are as enchanting as ever. There will be alliances and even spats but in navigating such things they learn how to cooperate and compromise. We grow both physically and mentally and if we are lucky we make it through the awkward times mostly intact. The circle and cycle of life goes on and on just as it always has. 

I love when the days of fall bring cooler weather and the school year begins. The children are more likely to be outside again where I can share in their joy from my perch at the head of our street. I hope they see me as a kind old lady who would help them if they needed anything and not as some strange old person who might not possibly understand and appreciate them. I hope that they know how much joy they give me just by having fun. Through them I am young again when my whole life lay before me. I experience the wonder years one more time. 

On a very cold day I am reminded of my childhood when the weather here in Houston, Texas used to become more winter-like starting around the time of my birthday in mid November. I recall gifts of sweaters and woolen skirts that I would proudly and thankfully wear until the end of our frostier days around the middle of March. 

Back then I walked to school which was not much of a challenge on most days but often turned brutal during the winter months. I always appreciated my good fortune whenever my friend Judy and her mother would see me shivering as I fought the cold winds and stop to offer me a ride in the comfort of their warm car. I suspect that they never fully understood the depth of my gratitude for their gesture of kindness. 

Don’t get me wrong. I reveled in the colder months of the year. They were most assuredly my favorite times. I like the clothing associated with winter and the invigorating feel of the air. I always imagined that my DNA had been designed for living in the northern states but somehow my family had traveled south and so I was forced to simply enjoy the the three or four somewhat mild winter months when the heater roared inside our home and hot chocolate was the drink of the hour. 

There was one winter day when the skies grew dark and gloomy in anticipation of snow, a rarity in our region. I would have been quite excited by the prospect had I not caught a case of measles from someone that I had encountered. Back then there were no vaccines for the disease so I had to hope that mine would be an easy sickness rather than one that would cause major problems for me. 

Being a voracious reader I had learned of the possible side effects of measles and my mother contributed to my dread as well with her obvious concern for my well being. I was rarely sick in my childhood and I did not miss the anxiety on her face and in her words. She kept me isolated from my brothers who luckily did not become infected. I lay alone in a darkened room with the blinds shut tightly lest my sight be affected by the brightness of the sun. I suppose that my time in bed would have been boring had I not been so weak that I mostly slept in a kind of feverish daze. 

I would awaken to hear my mother and brothers talking in distant rooms but I had little desire to be with them. The illness was so debilitating that I remember worrying that I might die even though my mother reassured me that with rest and fluids the dangers would soon pass and I would never again have to worry about contracting the measles. 

When the cold days of my illness let to one of the few snowy days that have occurred in all of my years in Houston, Texas I was devastated. Not only was I unable to join my family and our neighbors in snowball fights and the building of snowmen but my mother cautioned me not to spend long stretches of time peering out the window. 

I listened to the joyful banter coming from outside with a sense of self pity that only grew as I heard my brothers breathlessly returning inside with laughter and comments about how glorious the frosty day had been. I suppose it was somewhat fortunate that my fever spiked sending me into a long nap from which I emerged only after it was dark and everyone had gone back inside. I thought that surely I was going to die as I awoke in my weakened condition and my mother came into my room to ply me with hot soup and glasses of water. 

The red rash that seemed almost like a scarlet vest on my chest seemed to taunt me as it reluctantly refused to heal and disappear. i wondered if this was how people died in the long ago and faded in and out of slumber as my body reacted to the headaches that kept me from becoming rambunctious even as my patience wore thin. 

I missed a week of school with the measles and when I returned i felt like an alien. I had so much work to complete in the short amount of time allotted for making it up. I also had to endure the reminder that I had missed all of the fun associated with the once in a blue moon snowy day that everyone else had so gleefully enjoyed. The teacher announced a special project in which we would each have to create a drawing of the winter wonderland that we had enjoyed accompanied by an essay describing what we did on that day. 

Not wanting to be morose I turned it into a creative writing assignment. I imagined what how my snowman might have looked if I had been able to create him and wrote a story worthy of a talented fiction writer. My work was wonderful and earned me an A+ but I wondered if the teacher would suddenly remember that I had been at home with a sickness and would then give me a failing grade for lying. To my amazement she never seemed to catch on to my charade. 

I’ve thought more and more of this time as the possibility of Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. becoming a kind of health czar for the nation looms closer and closer. I worry about his anti-scientific ideas particularly when it comes to vaccines. I can’t imagine leaving the fate of children to chance regarding the catching of measles like I had when I was young. I know from experience that it is not a disease to be taken lightly. As a mother I am grateful that my two daughters and all of my grandchildren will never have to worry about catching measles because they were vaccinated as children with no complications. I can’t imagine a world that loses herd immunity and puts little ones at risk of great harm once again. 

One might say that I became immune to measles the natural way and that it was only a minor inconvenience to be sick, but I know better. There have been only three occasions in my lifetime when I became so ill that I literally worried that I was not going to live through the ordeal. One was with a three months long bout with hepatitis that doctors thought might become chronic. Another came when I caught the flu on a trip to New York City later having fevers that raged higher than one hundred three degrees. The third illness was my encounter with measles at the age of nine. In many ways it was the worst of them all. 

Now there are vaccines for the most terrible viruses and illnesses that I have experienced and it makes me happy to know this. I pray that we do not undo the progress against disease that we have made. A world with herd immunity is a much better place to be than one in which we take our chances with dangerous diseases. I much prefer having a scientist or doctor in charge of deciding how we will proceed.

He arrived at the gathering bent over, walking slowly forward with a cane. We had not seen him for some time but we knew that he had been battling cancer. His family had been worried that he would not make it past a few months, but here it was over a year later and he was still smiling and moving in spite of whatever had so deformed his once tall and strong physique. It was painful to see him so deformed but he seemed not to be perturbed at all. 

We had always enjoyed his banter at parties and special occasions. He is a brilliant man with a life story that is filled with adventures. He travelled the world to get to the United States and become a citizen. Then he continued moving from place to place with his work and his studies. He earned a PhD and became renowned as a engineer. Talking with him has always been like tuning in to an educational podcast. He is at once a most interesting soul and a philosophical guru. It was good to know that somehow he had overcome the cancer that had seemed so dire.

He told us that there had been a tumor lodged so deeply on his spine that the doctors had to remove some of the muscles in his back to remove it. Thus he was unable to stand upright as he walked. Instead his upper body form a kind of right angled hinge with his legs. He might have simply adjusted to life in a wheelchair. It would have been so much easier to navigate that way but he is a determined man who patiently does whatever is necessary to move forward, to achieve goals that would be daunting for most of us. Best of all, he is a happy man who finds joy even when fate seems to turn against him. 

We were amazed at how positive he is about his fate. He feels grateful to still be alive even in such an altered state. He speaks matter of factly about his year long battle with illness and pain. Now he says that his body and mind have adjusted to his new reality and it is good. He is happy and appreciative of the efforts of his doctors and the members of his family who stood by him and nursed him during the most difficult times. The joy that he quite obviously feels radiates when he speaks so matter of factly about his disorder which he views as a time of miracles. He almost acts as though he became a better man during his illness and appreciates the experience with all of his heart. 

Somehow just being with this man and witnessing his positivity fills my own heart with joy. There is so much negativity floating around in the atmosphere these days. People complain about so many things, many of which are nothing more than petty annoyances. I am guilty of such myself. We get so busy finding fault with minor setbacks that we forget to focus on what has gone right in our individual worlds. This man has chosen a different path in which he finds the good in even his terrible and frightening experience. He revels in still being alive after fighting for over a year to regain his health. He celebrates the dedication and determination of his doctors who went extra miles to save him from certain death. He boasts about his family and the people who patiently nursed him in the darkest of times. He is a model of how to live a meaningful and appreciative life. 

There are of course individuals in every corner of the world struggling with war, disease, addictions, death. This man understands that he is among the lucky ones as compared with people who are starving for nourishment or kindness. He sees life through the eyes of gratitude. He does not resent his fate nor does he complain about the changes in his life. Instead he thinks of others who are not as fortunate and contemplates how he might help them even in his own wounded condition. 

This man reminds me to first and always be grateful for what I have. There are wondrous miracles big and small in each of our lives that we may not even notice if we become complacent and emotionally blind. We may indeed have aches and pains and challenges but we also have people around us caring for our souls and our bodily needs. We might not fulfill every wish or dream we have composed in our minds but what we do have is most likely more than enough to feel comfortable. In our quest for more and better we too often lose sight of those who are starving for sustenance or security. We forget the importance of being compassionate and sharing with those who were not born into a world as wonderful as our own. He on the otherhand takes nothing for granted. Others are always on his mind and Thanksgiving is every single day for him even though just walking across a room is an enormous chore. 

I have been inspired by him to be a better person. He may not realize it but he is a gift to all who are lucky enough to know him.

When a disaster takes place anywhere on earth we often focus on what went wrong and who to blame. All too often we do not focus on the outpouring of goodness that almost always manifests itself in thousands of acts of kindness. While terrible events may demonstrate areas where we need to improve they also show us that when things become unbearably difficult there will always be good hearted individuals who respond with sacrifice and compassion. 

I have seen the truth of this over and over again in both small and large ways. In the flood prone part off the United States where I live storms all too often come along to disrupt the lives of the people who live here. Some rank as once in a lifetime epics that garner national attention like hurricane Harvey of 2017 that left most of the city of Houston and surrounding areas under water. Five days of relentless rain overwhelmed the systems designed to direct runoff to the sea. The destruction was biblical but so was the reaction of the citizenry and groups that came to help from all over the nation.

I will never forget the images of ordinary people manning their boats to carry citizens from flooded homes to safety. Later when the rain subsided and folks returned to their waterlogged houses an army of volunteers offered their services to clean the muck, take down the walls, and carry out ruined possessions. Good hearted souls travelled to the worst affected areas bringing water, food, dry clothing and goodwill. In the midst of so much sorrow and loss hope sprang from the realization that nobody was going to be left alone to shoulder the horror of what had happened. 

I remember thinking that perhaps our city of Houston was doomed. I expected people to flee to safer locales, for businesses to fail, for hopefulness to wane. To my surprise and delight that did not happen. People rebuilt their lives and slowly moved forward even as they sometimes felt anxious whenever it rained. Houston really did remain strong just as New York City did after the terrorist attack of 9/11 and New Orleans did after Katrina. 

Of course there were long discussions of what had gone wrong and how things might have been better handled. The city of Houston consulted with experts to determine what kind of changes might lessen the harm in the event of future disasters. There was some finger pointing and lamenting and lots of redesigning of drainage systems. All in all some lessons were learned as others were ignored which seems to be the way of humans. We tend to only incrementally learn from our mistakes but rarely ignore them altogether. 

The fires in Los Angeles have brought out both the good and the bad of people. Some focus only on blame while others put their boots on the ground to help fight the fires or care for the citizens who have been so horrifically displaced. While there will come a time for considering what went wrong and even for determining who or what may have been to blame for now our only concern should be to demonstrate our love and concern for the victims of this horrific situation. Whether they are rich or poor in this moment they are all people who are suffering and who will be anxious for months and years to come. Their sense of security has been dashed and reduced to rubble. It is up to all of us to help however we might be able to do. 

I am no longer physically able to appear in person to minister to the people of Los Angeles but I have the ability to help just a bit by contributing to organizations that will bring food, shelter and aid to the displaced citizens who are no doubt wondering where next to go. This is the time to demonstrate who we are as Americans and to be grateful for the people from Mexico and Canada and Africa who have so quickly responded to the calls for help. Now is the time to use our words to encourage the people of California, not to scold them. We must share in the plenty of the United States just as we always do, not threaten to withhold our help because we do not approve of the way the people there vote. This might even be an opportunity for the billionaires who gave so generously to Donald Trump to contribute millions of dollars to the cause of rebuilding the lives of the Angelenos.

Of late we Americans have been flooded with propaganda meant to induce us to turn on one another, judge one another, force one another to believe and act in a certain way. This is antithetical to the very ideas of our Declaration of Independence and to our Constitution which over time was crafted and recrafted to include all of the people in our incredibly diverse nation. We are not one race, one religion, one political philosophy. There is room for all of us and in truth that is the way it should always be. No one group should dominate and punish the other, but lately that seems to be a trend that is going as far as to suggest that the good people of Los Angeles and their leaders are somehow not worthy of our compassion in their time of dire need. This, of course, is absurd and we must make it clear to the men and women that we have elected to serve us, not themselves. We must make it clearly known that we will stand for nothing less than helping Los Angeles in every positive way possible. 

I live my life in awe and appreciation of everyone, even those whose ideas are contrary to mine. I only balk when they have the audacity to force their beliefs on me and others who do not agree. This is a time to demonstrate the ideals of the Untied States of America and not its flaws. This is a time to unite with the people of Los Angeles without attempts to degrade them as a condition. All of us must be willing to help. 

I suppose it would be easier if I were just to get over the fires in Los Angeles. After all, but for the grace of God I am not there, or so some say. I might even tell myself that there is really noting I can do about it so why should I be so obsessed with the disaster. Some might even say, “It is what it is” and urge me not to become so twisted with horror and grief because of what I see happening. In spite of the usual platitudes about being stoic in the face of destruction and sorrow I cannot think of much else than what has happened to the people who live there. I somehow feel the pain that must be haunting their days just as they are haunting my dreams. 

I wonder if my thoughts are related to childhood memories of long ago when I lived in North Hollywood with my family while my father looked for a job. It was the spring of 1957 and we rented a stucco house that might have been used for a movie set the twenties or thirties. It was perched atop what seemed like a hill to me and I found it to be quite enchanting. 

On the day that we moved into the home we are advised on what to do in the event of an earthquake. My horror over the thought of such a thing only intensified when the movie San Francisco ran on television that every night. As I watched the buildings crumbling and catching on fire I secretly wondered if we were going to be safe living in a place built on top of a fault. 

I went to a school that was even higher up the hill on which we lived. The bus drove past gorgeous homes that I felt sure had to be the residences of famous folk. I liked sitting by the window and imagining what life was like in the place that was still so foreign to me. I wanted to be back in Texas but I witnessed how much my father wanted to build a new life in California. He was eager to become part of the era of growth and opportunity that seemed to be bustling all around. He loved the beauty of the city of Los Angeles and the closeness of the Pacific Ocean. 

Unfortunately for him there was no work to be found so we shortly thereafter said goodbye to California and to relatives that I had never before met and would not ever see again. We headed back to Texas where Daddy did find a job. Only weeks after our return he died in a car accident on his way back from Galveston. Somehow it has always seemed fitting that he was able to see the Gulf of Mexico one last time before he left this earth because he was deeply in love with the sea. 

It would be many years before I returned to Los Angeles, once to visit a friend who had moved to the area and later with two grandchildren who had selected the city for a vacation. By the time of my last journey there I was noting that the natural surroundings looked like kindling and I was far less concerned about an earthquake than the possibility of a fire. In fact, I was so anxious that I confided to my husband that if a fire broke out on or near our campsite we would agree to flee in our truck and leave our trailer behind. 

Fortunately we were safe from fire but images of the dry land remained in my thoughts. Not long after there was indeed a fire near the place where we had camped, assuring me that my cautiousness had not been unwarranted. 

Not even in my wildest worries did I ever imagine the scenario that has let created a hellscape in Los Angeles and surrounding areas. A grandchild had outlined such a scenario in her concerns about climate change but when she insisted that we were already too late to stop the horrors to come I thought that her forecasts were erring on the side of hysteria. 

For the past several years I have watched as proof of the damage we have done to our beautiful earth has mounted. I’ve witnessed days of relentlessly heavy rain where I live turning my city of Houston into a water world of destruction. I’ve watched the fires in Maui with horror. More recently I have been stunned by the unbelievable impact of hurricane Helene. Each time I have circled back to the arguments from my granddaughter that we have to do something now or regret the price we must pay later. 

I have a daughter who lives in the hill country of Texas. She thought she had found her forever home but of late she wonders if she needs to leave. There has been little rain for many years. The water wells near hear neighborhood are going dry. She sometimes imagines a fire starting somewhere that will wipe out the serenity of the area that she so treasures. She has spoken of finding a more climate friendly place to be. 

My granddaughter is still focused on climate change. She will soon be embarking on earning a graduate degree in the study of climate change and what we humans must do if we are to survive the coming difficulties. None of this will help the people in North Carolina or Los Angeles who have already lost their homes and their sense of security but perhaps she will be able to help to outline a newer way of living that she believes must ultimately be embraced by all of us lest we continue to destroy our planet with abandon. 

I woke up this morning with an anxiety attack. I dreamed of a scene in a Christmas movie that I watch each year, The Holiday. Jack Black is talking to Kate Winslet whose character is from England. She has swapped houses with a screen writer from Los Angeles. She finds herself in a beautiful home in the hills on an evening when the winds are heavy. Jack Black tells her that they are experiencing the Santa Ana winds and when those winds come there is no telling what will happen. Sadly now we know what can happen when those winds unite with land as dry as kindling because there has been no rain. Now we have a tragedy that will become as infamous as the destruction of Pompeii. Hopefully we will learn to change our ways. The alternative cannot even be imagined by the most gifted writer of tales.