Category: Aging

These Are The Good Old Days

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

il_340x270-1167766621_5l2mBack 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.

Generations

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

leadership-generationsWe have a tendency to name and classify entire generations of people. I’m not sure whether this trend was started by social scientists or journalists but at least during the twentieth century and beyond we have created artificial designations meant to describe the general characteristics of groups of people born within certain eras. Thus we have the men and women born and raised during the twenties and thirties who became “the greatest generation” due mostly to the contributions that they made during World War II. Then came my group, often known as the baby boomers, because “the greatest generation” lacked effective birth control methods and had one child after another, creating one of the largest increases in population in the history of the world. Of course modern medicine allowed more of us to stay healthy after we were born as well so we have tended to hang around longer than our ancestors. We boomers have gotten a bad rap for most of our lives. We annoyed our parents with our rebellious spirits and our own children who became Generation X often struggle to understand what makes us tick. Currently we are in the age of the millennials who are vastly different from any group that has come before them. They are idealistic even beyond the dreams of those of us who once ran with the hippies and anti-war crowd.

Of course anyone with an ounce of common sense understands that it is all but impossible to paint an entire generation with a broad stroke and be entirely accurate. Each of us is a product of our genetics, our home environment and the happenings of the wider world. Had there been no World War II “the greatest generation” might never have earned that designation. They were hard working men and women for sure and mostly had good hearts and pure intentions but they were often unconcerned with injustices that did not directly affect them. They tended to go about the business of daily living without much notice of problems with race or poverty. It was the role of their children to challenge their thinking and ask them to consider questions of fairness, race and feminism. Their rowdy kids demanded that they begin to question the status quo.

To be fair my parents’ generation somehow raised me and my contemporaries to be openly critical and defiant. We didn’t just suddenly hatch out of an egg with our revolutionary ideas. Our elders had insisted that we be educated far better than they had been. We were exposed to ideas that demanded creative thinking and it was our parents who encouraged us to take full advantage of the knowledge that we acquired. The result was that we were a bold generation that drew upon the theories of intellectuals and realized that we had voices that deserved to be heard. In some cases our youthful enthusiasm was chaotic but on the whole it began to change the world in ways that were sometimes frightening and confusing to many of the old guard who saw our impertinence as a slap in the face.

Still we did not march in unison as a group. Some among us maintained a more conservative approach to life just as some of our parents were even more liberal than we were. While changes were affected there were still tendencies to pick and choose past traditions that needed to be cherished. Each of us was a bit different while we clung to our individual identities.

I never liked the label of Generation X that was attributed to our children. It seemed so nondescript, as though this group had little to distinguish them other than the dates within which they were born. They enjoyed fairly peaceful childhoods filled with the creation of one innovation after another that we now take for granted. There was a kind of happiness and rainbows feeling during their era. They did not worry about the possibility of being sent to a war. The world appeared to be calm but that was little more than an illusion. Already there were stirrings in the Middle East that would come to haunt all of us. The economy had a tendency to slide up and down at inopportune times that sometimes left them without work. They were a bright and well educated generation, more progressive even than the boomers. They attended church less frequently and had fairly liberal ideas about sexuality and the role of women. Their children became known as the millennials.

Most millennials have little understanding of the impact of events in the twentieth century other than what they have learned in history books. The grainy black and white photos of mid-century America seem ancient and quaint to them. They can’t quite fathom what it was like to watch the civil rights movement unfold or participate in the Cold War with Russia. They have lived with a twenty four hour news cycle that brings stories of war and terrorism into their living rooms on a continual basis. They are one of the best educated groups in history but often have difficulty finding jobs. Unlike the boomers who were usually out on their own by the time they were twenty one years old, the millennials often stay within the family unit well past the middle of their twenties, sometimes out of necessity because they have been unable to secure work. They are less likely to marry at a young age if at all. They earnestly crusade for justice and equality, often spending time working in non-profits for free before launching careers. Many of them are more dedicated to the pursuit of science than religion. They often view the world from a very different vantage point than their grandparents and great grandparents whom they see as being out of touch with the realities of the new age.

The truth is that we tend to progress and change with each new generation mostly in concert with events and inventions that define how we see the world. Our perceptions are determined by the totality of our experiences. We show general characteristics based on the things that we endure as a society and our individuality comes from the less public aspects of our personal relationships. Truth be told it is our very humanity that affects our worldview. Television and social media have the power to impact numbers of us in ways that were unimaginable before the dawn of the twentieth century but we still react to more regional influences as well. Someone born in the nineteen forties in rural Texas will be different from someone who lived in a large eastern city at the same time. It is the amalgam of all that we see and hear and do that ultimately defines each of us, not a particular label. It is the nature of mankind to slowly evolve but often that process is an erratic curve rather than a smooth line.

Perhaps it would be best if we were to engage in conversations between the generations. Our table needs to be round and inclusive and open to a place for everyone. We need to eschew labels and stereotypes and learn to honor and respect the power of the journeys that each of us have taken. We are who we are not so much because we were born in a certain time frame but because we have lived. It is impossible to move from one day to the next over a lifetime without growing and changing in some way. Whether we accept it or not age and group memberships matter less than our common desire to improve our society with each passing generation. Our hope is to leave the world a bit better than it was when we first entered it. That is a worthy goal and one which we all can support.

Memories of Another Time

Published on by Sharron Burnett2 Comments

cristoreyhoustonI return to the neighborhood where I grew up at least once a week to tutor high school students in math. The area has changed more than a bit since I once walked the short blocks from my home to the high school that I attended. I suspect that only a few if any of the people who once lived there are still around. It was a working middle class suburb back in the day with a mix of blue collar types and professionals. The entire subdivision centered on the Catholic Church and school that most of us attended. There were other denominations and public institutions as well but Mt. Carmel was the main attraction. Everybody knew everybody and the community spirit was probably the best aspect of living there. It’s not an exaggeration to boast that it was heaven on earth for kids.

Our parents were quite active in providing us with a faith filled life, a great education and lots of after school activities. There was always something wonderful happening and the whole neighborhood felt like a combination of “Leave It To Beaver” land and an episode of “The Wonder Years.” My mother was quite wise to find us a home there after my father died. Our little place provided us with a sense of stability as we were growing up as well as hours of fun.

Of course things never seem to stay the same. Once I was grown and gone the whole area began to change as the old timers moved to newer homes in newer parts of town or to land they had purchased for retirement. It was just never quite the same. The new folks who moved in stayed mostly to themselves and my mother lost her sense of security. Her home was burglarized so many times that on the last break-in the thieves left without taking anything. We joked that we were surprised that they didn’t feel sorry for her and leave something behind. All of her valuables were long gone. Because she was alone and no longer had old friends on whom to depend nearby she became more and more frightened. Each time that she came home to discover an invasion of her property she was less and less willing to stay in the place where we had all shared so many memories. She decided to sell.

It was truly a shame because she had managed to pay for the house in full. She enjoyed having the extra income to make repairs and purchase a luxury now and again.  Because the area had generally deteriorated, at least on our street, she was unable to get a good price for the place. Essentially she had to start all over again making payments on a home that was little better but at least felt more safe. It stretched her already small income to the breaking point but she was always optimistic, believing that the good Lord would work things out, and somehow He always did.

I don’t think that Mama ever went back to see how our old homestead was doing which was actually for the best. The people who bought it did little to keep it in good condition. By the time that I finally drove by a few years back it was a sad broken down property. The roof was sagging and it looked as though it hadn’t been painted since the last time that Mama and me and my brothers had put a fresh coat on it. Mama had always taken pride in having a nice garden and had planted trees, bushes and flowers over the years. Literally all of that was gone. There wasn’t even much grass growing in the yard. It was stark and ugly in the saddest imaginable way. It literally hurt to see it like that. I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or just to cry.

I haven’t dared to go back again. I really don’t even like to think about how battered and neglected the house looks. I drive to my tutoring sessions from a direction that doesn’t take me near the old place. That way I keep only the positive memories of my youth that were so delightful. I picture our home at its best when it represented love and safety.

On sunny days when the temperature isn’t too hot there is a certain kind of breeze in the neighborhood that gives me a strong sense of deja vu. I can close my eyes and listen to the planes flying overhead as they approach nearby Hobby Airport and feel transported back to a time when the subdivision and the school were among the best in town. The sounds of the birds are just like they were when I was a kid and I can almost hear all of the old neighbors laughing and living inside their homes at a time when people still left their windows open and their doors unlocked. For a moment I find myself believing that they are all still there and that I might go see them after finishing my tutoring, but then something always stirs me back to reality and I remember.

The school where I was once a student has a new name now. It used to be Mt. Carmel but the Carmelites and the School Sisters of Notre Dame left and over time there wasn’t enough interest or financial help to keep things afloat. The school began to operate in the red without enough students or help from the diocese and finally was forced to close its doors. It was threatened with destruction until the Jesuits purchased the property and renovated the inside, creating a whole new high school called Cristo Rey. They brought in wealthy individuals willing to help support the education of students who might not otherwise have the privilege of an exceptional private school education. I now tutor some of those same kids and I have to admit that I am quite impressed with how well the hard working teachers and administrators have revitalized things for them.

It sometimes feels quite strange to be back in my old school fifty years after graduating. I tell my tutees about my own adventures there and they stare back at me as though I have two heads. I suspect that it is difficult for them to imagine an old lady like me as a young person with all of the same hopes and dreams that they have. I somehow feel that I am supposed to be there helping them. I have a deep connection and respect for the history of all of the wonderful things that happened inside those walls over the years. So many lives have changed for the better in the classrooms and the laboratories. I feel the spirit of all of us who launched our own lives there with the knowledge and confidence that we developed under the guidance of teachers and parents who truly cared about us.

As I walk through the hallways toward the library where I once devoured the words from books that opened whole new worlds to me I see the newest students experiencing the same emotions of joy and fear and discovery that were once mine. I know that we are somehow brethren. Some things like the freedom and wisdom and growth that come with knowledge never change. Whether they realize it or not those young men and women are part of the same long red thread of learning that wove through my mind so many years ago. We are bound together and no matter how different the world may become that red brick edifice will always represent the everlasting power and beauty of education.

Learning To Be A Woman

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Valentine's Day In ChinaAround this time each year I think about my mother-in-law Mary who would have been ninety years old on her February birthday. She has been gone for thirteen years now and it seems as though I miss her a bit more with each passing year. She was a very wise and intellectual woman, a feminist before anyone had even coined that term. She was, however, not exactly like many of those who march today. She was someone who believed that the true definition of a liberated woman was someone able and willing to do and believe whatever she wished. She never restricted her possibilities with narrow platforms of acceptable philosophies. She was a trailblazer in her own right but she felt just as strongly that every other woman should have the right to live without judgement according to her own desires.

Mary attended Rice University when it was still known as Rice Institute. There weren’t many young ladies there at the time and some of the professors were hell bent on discouraging those who dared to invade the ranks of the male dominated student body. Ironically it was a woman who gave her the most grief, believing that the women in her mathematics class had little or no right to be there. Mary didn’t hold it against the university. In fact she was always quite proud of studying there and was an ardent alumna for all of her life. She enjoyed taking continuing education classes there and loved to exuberantly share stories with me about the things that she had learned. The two of us huddled together on so many memorable Sunday afternoons. She would prepare a pot of tea in the manner that she had learned from her English mother and we would sit at her mahogany dining table while she regaled me for hours with fascinating facts and bits of information.

She especially enjoyed courses on history and politics. Her knowledge was years ahead of everyone that I knew. She predicted events long before they happened based her studies. She kept me informed so that I was always able to vote rationally rather than just with my heart. I so looked forward to those Sunday afternoons when she demonstrated her encyclopedic grasp of the world.I would love more than anything to hear her views on today’s political scene. I have little doubt that she would study each situation with an eye to discerning the truth. She would excitedly tell me the history and the psychology of how we have arrived at the present impasse and such dramatic divisions. In fact she hinted at the possibility of such things almost twenty years ago.

I always thought that she would have been a remarkable teacher but she chose a career in business instead. She had been inspired by her mother who successfully managed an electric company in an era when most women had little idea of how to do such things. Eventually Mary kept did the accounting for a variety of companies and even a wealthy church with a very complex set of books. She was as meticulous and interested in her work with numbers as she was in learning about the ebb and flow of history.

Ironically her very best friend Rosemary shared the same February birthday. Rosemary might have seemed more traditional than Mary at first glance but she also had an incredible story. She grew up in Chicago, the daughter of a plumber. She studied to be a nurse and joined the military where she met her husband, an Army cardiologist. The two of them settled down in Houston where he became one of the most renowned doctors in the world and she raised five independent minded and high achieving daughters. She encouraged her girls to dream big and all of them did, becoming superstars in their respective fields. Rosemary herself is an accomplished world traveler literally able to converse with kings and potentates as easily as she does with me. Rosemary is still spreading joy and uplifting all of us who know her, but she is much older now and somewhat frail. Still her inner spirit continues to radiate her positivity lighting up any room where she is found.

When Mary and Rosemary were together they were like an inspirational power couple. I so wanted to be just like them, women of the highest distinction who were unafraid of anyone or any situation. I liked nothing better than sitting quietly and observing them in the mode of watching and learning that my mother had always urged me to do. 

As I prepare myself a cup of hot tea each afternoon I invariably think back to those lovely times when I shared a cup with those two. They were the best of times. I can almost hear Mary providing her well researched opinions on all of the topics that dominate the news today. She would have been well prepared to state a definitive point of view about each. She often mentioned that her secret goal in life had been to move to Washington D.C. to be a translator and a diplomat. She would have been gloriously wonderful in that regard but I am selfishly happy that she changed her mind and stayed here in Texas where I was able to make her a central figure in my life.

Mary was what some refer to as a pistol in a very complimentary way, a twin of women like Ann Richards. I don’t think she was afraid of anyone in her entire life. She had a way of raising her eyebrow when she was displeased that would have stopped the devil himself. She brooked no hysteria nor senseless chatter. She went straight to the point like a championship debater and had a persuasive manner that was difficult to ignore. I like to believe that I developed much of my gumption under her tutelage.

Mary and Rosemary were two larger than life women when ladies were not yet acknowledged so much for their intellect as for their beauty. They successfully challenged the status quo without being overbearing or insensitive. They expressed themselves as independent thinkers and individuals without feeling a need to demean the men that they knew or women who chose other paths. They respected and loved  people with such passion that their feelings were invariably felt and returned with immense gratitude.

February is a time when we think of love and remember great leaders in history. It is also fitting that it is the month when I always fondly recall the two women who have had such a profound impact on the person that I am today. From them I have learned how to think for myself, ferret out the truth, make wise decisions and most of all cherish the vast diversity of ideas, religions and cultures in our world. They showed me how to live life by saying to all, “I see you. I hear you. You matter.” That is what makes a mighty woman.

  

We Are Better Than We Have Been

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

220px-old_north_church_boston_1882I really really don’t want to write about politics. I would much prefer composing lyrical blogs that describe the beautiful beaches that I saw on my most recent camping trip. I enjoy extolling the virtues of my grandchildren and former students. I am essentially a happy and positive person who prefers to concentrate on uplifting topics that leave my readers feeling good about life. I believe that political discussions are mostly fruitless, only meaningful to those who share the same beliefs. Attempting to persuade someone to change course in basic philosophy is akin to turning a cruise ship around in a pond. It is very unlikely to be successful and may even cause more harm than good. So why, you may ask, do I keep coming back to the topic of our current president and his travails? I suppose that it is because I have been concerned about his fitness for the office from the first moment that he entered the political scene and I find that every time I grow silent and complacent he does something outrageous.

I am one who is always more than willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I am a true believer in the power of redemption. While I have harbored the gravest of fears about the reality of a President Trump I have argued in his favor, suggesting that we need to wait to see how things work out before jumping to premature conclusions. I had hoped that his bravado and bullish behavior would mellow into a more presidential stature. The gravity of the office has generally brought a modicum of humility to most who have held it. Seemingly this is not to be so with President Trump who continues to operate with a brashness that taints the dignity of the executive. He continues to be so full of himself that he is unwilling to accept even provable facts, instead insisting with a straight face that the most ridiculous statements are true. God forbid that he might actually be wrong. That is something that he refuses to accept. His temperament is that of the class bully, both annoying and frightening given the tremendous power that is in his hands.

The way that he treats people who disagree with him should have been grounds for ignoring him as a feasible candidate but somehow his narcissistic behavior was interpreted as the sign of a strong leader by enough people to propel him into office. For well over a year now I have misread the mood of the nation, believing that his malicious and immature personality would defeat him. Now his is the face of our country and quite frankly that frightens me more than I care to admit. Still I have reiterated again and again the advice that we remain calm. When I cautioned against freaking out too quickly I did not honestly believe that within a single week he would so blithely sign one executive order after another with little or no thought as to the consequences of his actions. I had also thought that there would be voices from his own Republican party who would speak out when he went too far and somehow there has been mostly silence with the exception of a few brave souls like John McCain and Linsey Graham who will probably be voted out of office for being bright beacons in a dark and tempestuous sea.

Here is what I see as the most basic problem with almost every solution that President Trump is proposing, they are all too simplistic. For example, aside from becoming a terrible eyesore on the land, a wall between the United States and Mexico will do little or nothing to address our immigration issues. There are hundreds of miles where it will be literally impossible to build any kind of structure due to the terrain and the fact that the border is determined by a river for a considerable length. People who are desperate enough will find ways to either climb over the walls or dig under them. A physical barrier does not address the reasons that people leave their native countries. It only makes their journeys a bit more difficult. The other aspect of his so called brilliant idea is to deport those who are here illegally. Again the impracticality of that idea is all too obvious, not to mention the inhumanity of tearing families apart. There are better ways but for some reason we have not yet had the stomach to tackle the hard work involved in creating a more reasonable and lasting solution. That will take compromise and for now we seem more inclined to squabble than to find common ground. I will be the first to admit that both of our political parties are quite guilty of this.

Our educational system is not without its problems but thinking that just giving every student a voucher to use in any school of choice is as ridiculous as the idea of a wall. Few private schools cost less than eight to ten thousand dollars per year and the vouchers won’t even come close to providing that kind of money. Besides most of exclusive schools have tough entrance exams that exclude even those with the income to pay. In addition there are only so many spots in the most desirable public schools and those will go quickly, especially if preference is given to those who live and pay taxes in the area. Ultimately the students who have had to attend the worst performing schools will end up right back in the same desolate places and the system that we have built will be in a shambles without ever addressing the real problems. The quick fix isn’t going to work.

Admittedly the Affordable Care Act is far from perfect. There is fairly good proof that it is about to collapse under its own weight. That being said, it provided a much needed safety net to people who in an earlier time might have been bankrupted by a serious illness. To think that it is possible to repeal the law without giving any real thought to what will replace it verges on immorality. Doing that will create chaos in the care of all of us as insurance companies, doctors and hospitals struggle to make sense of what will come next. There will be far too many people hurt unless a carefully thought out plan considers those with preexisting conditions and those who are unable to afford typical health insurance policies. So far we do not have any reassuring examples of President Trump thinking before acting as is all too apparent in the way that he handled the issue of immigration and travel of people from dangerous parts of the world this past weekend. Additionally there is far too much fear and anger impeding any form of progress.

I have grown weary of politicians who march to the drumbeat of a so called base rather than to the voices of all of the people. I am going to scream if I hear one more soundbite from either side and that goes for the voters as well. The rancor that exists is appalling. Instead I want to see individuals who think for themselves and consider each issue based on its merits and flaws rather than on what they think they are supposed to say and do. I am seriously afraid that if we continue with the same old rhetoric and platitudes that we are in for a world of hurt. One of my cousins is becoming increasingly convinced that our day of reckoning as a nation is drawing near and that it will only be when we have endured great pain and tragedy that we will finally come to our senses and begin to work together again as a nation. I truly hope that she is wrong but for some time now I have been thinking exactly the same thing.

I am in my sunset years. At the age of sixty eight I know that my time will be limited. At this point in my life I am more concerned about the future of my children and grandchildren and former students than for myself. This is why I keep writing because if I am able to convince even one more person of the value of working toward a common good then my efforts will not have been in vain. I am but a tiny voice that will not be heard in the halls of power unless it is joined by others who share my concerns. Together we may be able to sound the same bell of freedom that rang in the old North Church on that night when our ancestors made a strike against the tyranny of a king who had gone mad with his own power. We are better than we have been for a while now. This I truly believe. That is why I write.