Blog – Page 105 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

When Two Beautiful Hearts Become One

Published on July 27, 2018July 16, 2018 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

37125721_10212650429280251_3292675091942342656_o They were a cute couple, high school sweethearts who fell in love. Paul was a football hero, an all state lineman who was a beast on the gridiron, but a teddy bear off the field. It is little wonder that he was attracted to Shirley who was a real beauty with a warm and inviting smile. They found each other when they were still young kids, but they both understood that somehow their relationship was meant to last for the duration, and so they married fifty years ago.

Our world is overrun with problems these days. Divorce is on the rise, almost commonplace. Families are often torn apart by differences, disloyalty, and neglect. All too often relationships fizzle out before they have even begun to take hold. Single parent families are on the rise. Young people are wary of making promises to one another. Not so with Paul and Shirley. They not only pledged to honor and cherish one another till death, but they made good on their oaths to one another as their lives unfolded in one decade after another.

I knew Paul from a time when he and I were a young children. I met Shirley in high school. I was in awe of both of them even back then because they each appeared to be so genuinely kind and humble. Shirley was a particularly sweet person who rarely thought of herself, but always did her best to make those around her feel welcome. She was the kind of person who went out of her way to notice the one individual who was feeling uncomfortable or ignored. With her ever present calmness and inviting smile she took the time to say a hello or just to inquire about how someone was doing. I loved and admired her so, thinking myself quite fortunate to know her.

Paul was so handsome and gifted in his athletic prowess. I on the other hand was so awkward that he scared me just a bit, but like Shirley he had a million dollar smile and a way of being so open and friendly that I somehow felt okay around him. His innate sweetness was both charming and refreshing, and when he and Shirley began dating I thought that they were indeed a most perfect couple that somehow the angels had put together.

High school graduation came and I lost track of many of my classmates, just as always seems to happen. I went my way and Shirley and Paul went theirs. It would be almost five decades before I saw them once again and I learned that they had enjoyed a beautiful life together. As always both of them spent more time listening to the tales of others than boasting about their own accomplishments. They were as sweet as they had ever been, and it did my heart good to know that with a few ups and downs, they had mostly enjoyed the years.

Shirley was even more beautiful than ever, and her iconic smile still radiated the same loveliness that lit up her eyes and revealed the inner beauty of her heart. Paul was like a rock, one of those incredibly kind men who is unafraid to show just how much he cares about people. Together they had created a loving family and worked to cement the relationship with each other that they had built so long ago.

Just about a year ago Shirley and Paul’s home flooded from the rains of Hurricane Harvey. Instead of complaining about the slowness of the recovery, the pain of losing so much, they instead smiled as they always seem to do, and worried about how everyone else was doing. In the midst of their own troubles they took the time to send me a lovely card expressing their hopes that my husband would fully recover from his stroke. I suppose that they never really knew just how much their thoughtfulness meant to me in that moment, but it was so typical of them to be selfless.

Anyone who has ever met Shirley and Paul Jauma knows just how much they love one another. Theirs is a union grounded in a deep faith that God is a partner in all that they do and endure. They have taken their vows to a spiritual level that is not often seen and have made good on the promises that they exchanged with each other on their wedding day. Their fifty years together have inspired the people who know them as evidenced in the many tributes that have come their way. We find ourselves feeling so happy for them, and fortunate to number them among the people that we have known.

Shirley and Paul are quiet people who laugh at any suggestions that they are somehow icons, but I know differently. They represent the best of humanity with traits that are all too infrequently seen. I suspect that if there were more people like them in the world, we would be a much happier lot. They have much to teach all of us about love and what it really means to honor and cherish another person for a lifetime.

I’m quite delighted for Shirley and Paul Jauma, and I pray that they will be blessed with many more years together. We all need to witness their model of a loving couple, and I thank them for sharing the goodness of their hearts.

Taking One For the Team

Published on July 26, 2018July 16, 2018 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

37176894_10160474349250431_736566670557970432_o It all began in 1979 when the University of Houston played Notre Dame in the Cotton Bowl in Dallas, Texas. It was an unusually cold day and Notre Dame’s quarterback, Joe Montana, had the flu. He was so sick that he didn’t even come back on the field for the beginning of the second half of the game. My Houston Cougars appeared to be in the driver’s seat for most of the game even though Notre Dame made progress in the second half. With only a few seconds left in a game that seemed to be leaning toward a UH win, Joe Montana came back onto the field after downing some chicken soup. With only two seconds on the clock he threw the winning touchdown pass snatching victory from my university.

We had been at a watch party with our friends, Linda and Bill, and to say that our disappointment hung heavily over the proceedings would be an understatement, but back then nobody really understood the pattern that would slowly but surely reveal itself. At least nobody looked to me as a jinx on that day, but time would tell a different tale.My family began to notice that anytime I watched any kind of sporting event my team would ultimately lose, often at the last minute on a fluke play. Mostly I wasn’t enough of a fan to create a noticeable pattern right away, but now and again the same kind of disappointment that occurred in the long ago Cotton Bowl game would rear it’s ugly head.

Then came the 1983 NCAA championship basketball game between the University of Houston and North Carolina Sate. The Houston Cougars were ranked number one in the country with players Clyde Drexler and Hakeem Olajuwon. I was in a class with Cylde and he and I were members of a group slated to give a presentation together. He missed our assigned date to play in the big game where he performed well, but NC State was determined and as the final seconds counted down the score was tied. Just before the buzzer, North Carolina took a risky shot and walked away with the victory. Oddly I rarely watched such games but because Clyde was a classmate of mine, I took an uncharacteristic interest. The game that everyone thought would be the Cougar’s proud moment was suddenly stolen from their grasp.

After that I felt as though I had some kind of bad juju, an aura of negativity that in some strange way affected any team for which I cheered. The bad results began to pile up in evidence that I was a jinx, a jonah, someone who needed to be barred from games. I can’t even begin to recount the number of times that things turned out badly anytime I was actively cheering for a team in a crucial contest. At first my friends and relatives scoffed at the very idea that I might have some crazy power to turn the tide in athletic contests, but more and more often the results of my interest in such events lead to the inescapable conclusion that I was somehow bad luck.

I know it sounds totally crazy, but even the most logical and rational people that I know now ask me to stay away from even thinking about critical sporting moments. I had to attempt to ignore the Houston Rocket’s basketball games when they twice won the National Championship. I felt it my duty to give Hakeem and Clyde a fighting chance, and it worked.

Whenever a big game is on the line I go shopping, take a walk, read a book, watch a rom-com, or go to sleep lest I send my favorite teams into a tail spinning loss. Just last year I had to completely ignore the Houston Astros in their run for the National Baseball Championship. I had been a faithful fan since way back in the nineteen sixties and could honestly say that I had never once been to a game where the team won. When they made a run for the gold in 2005, my entire family banned me from even listening to the games on the radio. Last year I made a point of pretending that they were not even in the running. Unfortunately I was so certain that they were going to take it all in spite of any bad karma that I brought them that I snuck several peeks of the October 31, game which sadly they lost. I completely ignored the winning game lest they go down in flames, and they finally locked up their world championship.

I often think that my life as a jinx is totally silly, and so I do experiments to prove that there is nothing to the theory that I bring some form of bad luck. With that in mind I decided to attend an Astros game when they were playing the last place Detroit Tigers. The Stros had beaten Detroit 9-1 only the day before and All Star pitcher Verlander was slated to be on the mound. I was certain that I would finally witness a victory and lay my negative reputation to rest. I settled in with a bag of peanuts and nothing but positive thoughts only to watch my team go down as the Tigers hit one homer after another.

My friend Linda was also at the game. She has been a devoted Astros fan for most of the season and she sent me a text noting that the guys were not playing like themselves at all. When I reminded her that I have never seen them win, she realized what was happening and jokingly suggested that maybe I didn’t need to attend or watch anymore games. Her quip was followed by others asking me to stay away.

Somehow it is my lot in life to be the local purveyor of bad luck for teams. I also have the reputation for bringing rain whenever I travel somewhere. Both ideas are based on the fact that for some reason these things actually happen over and over again. I understand the vagaries of probability quite well, and duly accept that the story of my association with sporting losses is little more than a coincidence. Of course I have nothing whatsoever to do with the crushing defeats that I seem to witness over and over again, but then again why should I take chances? If a team legitimately loses without me, I have a clear conscience, but why should I tempt fate? So I revel in the glory of wins after the fact. It feels just as good to celebrate after viewing the video of the replays as it would to be in the moment. It also saves me from guilt. Who knows, maybe I’m just a silly goose, but I’ll take one for the team just in case.

Still Young and Beautiful

Published on July 25, 2018July 13, 2018 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

14711048_10209517113076623_2425488735163912169_o I’ve often been told that my blogs about people that I know are my best. In all honesty they are also the easiest to compose. The stories write themselves mostly because people are innately interesting, and the ones who have been part of my life are particularly so.

I grew up in a little neighborhood in southeast Houston. At the time it was almost on the far edge of the city, just barely outside the area that now encompasses Loop 610 which was not constructed until I was a teenager. The enclave was part of the post World War II boom and it centered around churches and schools and family life. In many ways it was a “Leave It To Beaver” kind of environment in which children were generally protected from the troubles of the adult world.

I attended a Catholic school because back then parents were told that it was their duty to provide a religious education for their children. The tuition was minimal, so it wasn’t a particular sacrifice for my parents to pay the monthly fees, particularly when my engineer father was still alive. After his death it became a hardship for my mother, but the nuns who taught at my school hired her to work for them and announced that free tuition was one of the perks of employment. Thus my brothers and I spent our earliest years in classrooms together with other Catholic children.

In the fifties and sixties in seems as though adults didn’t change their addresses nearly as much as they now do. Once we moved into our home on Belmark Street we essentially had the same neighbors until we ourselves became adults and struck out on our own. The same was true at school. With only a few exceptions we grew up with the same set of kids and got to know them quite well. Their parents were friends with ours, so it was as though we all belonged to a huge extended family.

Many of us went on to attend Mt. Carmel High School after the eighth grade. I received a scholarship which made it possible to continue my education in familiar surroundings with friends I had known from the time I was six years old. Sadly there were those who opted for the local public high school which had one of the best reputations in town. I missed them terribly when they were gone, but I made knew acquaintances with kids who came from a variety of Catholic schools in the southeast and east Houston areas.

As is true with most high school students I foolishly believed that the people that I met during my four years would all be lifelong friends. I did not realize that graduation was a turning point at which time we went forth in far too many directions to remain as devoted to one another as we had once been. Over time I slowly lost track of all but a handful of the people that I had known and loved, often wondering where the others were and how they were doing, but too busy to take the time to track them down.

Decades passed and suddenly there was this thing called social media that allowed us to communicate with friends and family without leaving our homes. Little by little I found long gone but never forgotten friends and began to vicariously follow the routines of their lives. Through the extraordinary efforts of individuals like my friend Carol more and more of my former classmates were found and just seeing that they were still alive and well cheered my heart.

It’s difficult to adequately describe what we shared in those long ago years when the foundations of our academic and spiritual educations were being built on very solid ground. Our differences came in the years that followed, but in many ways they were only superficial. What bound us together was a long history of learning the importance of the one commandment that truly matters which is “Love thy neighbor.”

I am neither a republican nor a democrat. Instead I am fiercely independent, but many of my school chums are die hards in their political persuasions. My own philosophies often confound them and they have even been known to chastise me for what they believe to be unwise thinking. This sometimes angers people that I have met later in life, but it only makes me smile. What I know is that even in our differences there is a commonality of truly caring about our world and each other that was imbued in our very natures long ago. We were not so propagandized that we became nonthinking clones, but rather we were taught to consider many points of view before choosing our own. The one constant, however, was the knowledge that God is our protector and that we in turn must be protectors of His people.

From what I can tell we’ve done a grand job each in his or her own way. We run the gamut from Paul who is as progressive as anyone might become to Ted who is a staunch defender of conservative ideas. What guides us is memory of those long ago school days when we learned and played and laughed together. Somehow those times glued us together even as we went out on our own to discover more of the world. We now come together with little thought of our differences because what we share is far stronger.

I feel blessed to have the opportunity of getting to know my old friends once again. There was a time when such reunions would have been unlikely. Now I have the privilege of sharing the ups and downs of their lives. I see the smiling faces of their children and grandchildren. I commiserate with them in times of stress, health problems or deaths. I celebrate their birthdays and marvel at images of their vacations. Mostly though I remember them when they were young and beautiful and full of boundless hopes and dreams. I see that like me they have survived the roller coaster ride and are doing their best to be the kind of people that the adults who guided us hoped we would be.

I am so proud of my classmates, my friends. They have worked hard to be good people, and all of them are. I hope they know how much I admire them, and how happy it makes me to know them. My heart fills with joy whenever I think back to our school days. I laugh at the stories that I recall and wonder if they realize how much they have meant to me.

As we all enter our seventies we can no longer claim to be young, but from my vantage point I see that we are all still quite beautiful and young at heart.

The Real Education

Published on July 24, 2018July 12, 2018 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I enjoy nothing more than visiting with my former students. Like a mama bear I want to know that they are doing well. Whether by way of Facebook or through lunch or dinner dates I keep up with many of the young men and women who were once students in my classroom, and I always walk away feeling quite proud of them.

Sometimes they are apologetic that they are not working in their field of study. I can tell that they worry that I will think less of them. What they don’t realize is that I understand all too well the serpentine routes that life and careers often take. I know how difficult it may be to find that sweet spot that makes waking up each morning something to enjoy rather than dread. In my own case it took until I was in my thirties before I was certain that I had indeed chosen the right kind of work. Even then it took a few more years for me to develop confidence in my abilities.

In college I changed my major so many times that I ended up with over one hundred sixty hours of course work. For the longest time nothing seemed to fit, and even when I neared my graduation date I was being lured by professors who thought I might be a good candidate for the creative writing major at my school or even for a degree in art, both tempting ideas. I finally had to tell myself that enough was enough and I launched a career in elementary education that actually never really gelled. My first position was in the intermediate grades teaching mathematics. I became sought after for my minor rather than my major and my one foray into the lower grades demonstrated that I was meant to be a teacher of older students. By the end of my career I was teaching high school freshmen and sophomores and loving every single minute of the day. Eventually I mentored teachers and found my real niche.

My husband was a sociology major who went into banking. His best friend, also a sociology major, went into sales. One of my brothers was a marketing major who became a firefighter. In fact, the vast majority of the people that I have known ended up doing things that might never have occurred to them had not some grand opportunity presented itself. For most of us the world of work takes many different twists and turns.

These days it’s more difficult than ever for college graduates to find jobs that ideally match their interests and coursework. It used to be that a liberal arts major was a great way of entering a wide variety of careers. Now such a degree is far less valuable and sometimes even those who earn honors in college find themselves working in jobs that they might have landed right out of high school. The days in which diplomas from universities were a sure thing are long gone, and it is quite distressing to young graduates. All too often they find themselves having to be incredibly creative and flexible in finding jobs unless they have extremely high grades and particular skills.

We hear a great deal about careers in the STEM fields but the reality is that the technology and engineering majors provide the best prospects for jobs while the science and mathematics positions often require more advanced degrees or special training. Many who earn diplomas in these very difficult fields find themselves falling back on careers in teaching which are sometimes not particularly satisfactory to them. because of this there are a few too many educators who are simply marking time until a better offer comes along and then they are quickly out the door.

I always recommend that young men and women be open to careers that push them a bit out of the boxes that they have created for themselves. I also want them to understand that in today’s world they will most likely find themselves continually seeking new educational opportunities. Things are changing so quickly that they will never be able to simply be content with what they learned in a distant past. They will be trained and retrained again and again. Much as with limits in Calculus they will slowly approach closer and closer approximations of what they really want to do but may never actually finish the learning process.

I have a student that I thought might one day become president. Four years at a school in Washington D.C. taught him that politics is a cut throat business in which he has no desire to engage. He is now coding software. Another student with a business major worked for a time in corporate America and actually did quite well, but he now uses his acumen in his own thriving furniture building business. A student with an accounting major is managing several companies for an entrepreneur. An architecture student is building and renovating houses. A psychology major is successful in real estate. In other words, so many of my students have learned that their degrees have taught them how to think and to quickly learn knew skills and ideas which they are parlaying into interesting professions that they never considered entering but they truly enjoy.

I would tell any young person to think of college as a stepping stone. The degrees that they have earned demonstrate that they are able to learn a variety of information and that they have a willingness to work hard, forego instant gratification, and complete projects in a timely manner. Those are invaluable abilities that will serve them well regardless of the kind of work that they ultimately do. Those who will be successful are the men and women who show up ready to work day in and day out. They learn something new wherever they go and use that information to continuously improve themselves. They are ready to take risks and give it their all. Getting the degree was just the training. The real education comes on the job.

First Women

Published on July 23, 2018July 11, 2018 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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My mom was a very confidant woman who did her best to boost my own sense of self esteem. Sadly it took many years for me to overcome the shyness and self doubts that I carried in my heart. I eventually reached a level of comfort in just being myself, but it was not without a great deal of effort and study of human nature. I can now honestly say that I truly believe one of my mother’s favorite mantras which was that even the most outstanding people among us are in the end just as human as we are. Once I fully understood and believed that concept I was a different person, ready to think not so much about the impressions that I was making, but more about how the individuals around me were feeling. It became my goal to focus on helping others to find their inner spirit, and doing so has made all the difference in how I greet life and its challenges.

I was reminded of just how alike we all are in our need for acceptance and love as I read a book called First Women: The Grace and Power of America’s Modern First Ladies by Kate Anderson Brower. One of my cousin’s had inadvertently left the volume at my home after one of her visits. Since she would not be returning for some time she suggested that I keep it and enjoy reading it if I felt so inclined. For some time I was too busy to pay it much mind, but it kept taunting me as it lay unopened on by bedside table. Recently I decided to give it a try and I have found it to be quite delightful.

The author begins with First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy and ends with Michelle Obama. The chapters discuss what it is like to be a political wife, the sisterhood of this uncommon sorority, the courage that is often demanded of these women, the trials of motherhood while in the political eye, the roles of being wives and supporting actors to powerful men, the bad blood that sometimes spills over from one first lady to another and the general duties required of these women. It is an informative text that provides a rare portrait of each woman and the ways in which they approached a job that some of them never even wanted to have.

I found myself feeling very close to some of these women, and identifying with the joys and heartaches that come from their roles. I was surprised by stories of misunderstandings between them as well as unlikely alliances that evolved over time. Of course developed favorites, some of whom surprised me just a bit. Most of all I learned how truly human each woman was and in some cases still is.

Jackie Kennedy was perhaps the most tragic figure among all of the women. She was truly in love with her husband and she overcame her almost paralyzing shyness to help him in his quest. She totally believed in him and his ability to change the world for the better, but she was not naive about his many dalliances. Nonetheless she forgave him again and again, and upon his assassination she was utterly crushed. She was a beautiful and delicate woman who somehow mustered unbelievable courage when she most needed it, and was admired by all of the first ladies who followed her.

After reading about each of the women I had my favorites. Among them were Ladybird Johnson, Betty Ford, Laura Bush and Michelle Obama. Interestingly Ladybird and Betty became great friends as have Laura and Michelle. All four were bright and gracious women who demonstrated courage under fire during their time in the White House with a dash of kindness. These four seemed to understand better than others just how important it is to be honest, but also to be helpful and kind. The portrait that the author draws of them makes me think that I would truly enjoy a conversation over lunch with any of them.

Pat Nixon was another sad figure. Her life was punctuated with one challenge after another, and during her time in Washington D.C. she was terribly misunderstood. She had a strength that few of us ever noticed. She wanted to be loved by the American people, but that kind of feeling was never really accorded to her. Instead she quietly endured opinions that were often unfounded.

There were little tidbits of information included in the book that were new to me. I had not realized that the Carters did not care for the Clintons and in particular they were unwilling to support Hillary in her bid for higher office. In fact the bad feelings between to two families still run rather deep. The Carters were dedicated to making a better world for the common people and felt that the Clintons were simply in pursuit of power.

Nancy Reagan was so utterly devoted to Ronnie that it seems as though she never really became close to any of the other ladies. Everything in her world was about her man and her protectiveness for him was all consuming. She put up a wall that none of the other ladies in the sisterhood were ever able to breach.

Barbara Bush was one of a kind, a woman who more often than not spoke her no nonsense piece of mind without filters. Everyone liked her and she was perhaps the most popular first lady with the permanent White House staff. Still, she often felt hurt by the kind of political barbs that are so often hurled at the president and his family. On many occasions she asserted that her husband George was a saint, and she despised personal attack on him or members of her family.

What I learned from the book is that being First Lady is a much more difficult job that we might imagine. Every single thing that the spouse of the president says or does is being constantly judged. There is very little privacy or freedom, and yet each woman ultimately fought for her husband to find the respect and love of the people. These women gave up much of their own identifies in a supporting role that few of us would ever wish to endure. Most of all, they were as human as any of us might be in the circumstances and truly worthy of admiration.

First Women is a good, easy and interesting read, a page turner that helps us realize the sacrifices that these our first ladies make in the belief that their spouses are the individuals needed to make our country a fair and just place to be. It’s a great book to carry on a summer journey, to the beach, or just to peruse on a hot humid day.