Category: Blog

How Much Is Enough?

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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As children we all heard the story of the fisherman who caught a magic flounder. The desperate fish worrying that he might become dinner, offered to give his captor anything that he wanted in return for being thrown back into the sea. The man agreed to the bargain and insisted that he only wanted a nice house for his wife to replace the hovel in which they lived. Of course human nature being what it is, the man thought about what he might have had and kept going back to catch the poor fish again and again. He time he asked for ever more riches and power until the sea creature had enough and put the fisherman right back in the hovel that had once been his home.

History and literature is replete with stories of people who were dissatisfied with their lots in life. Icarus wanted to fly toward the sun. Benedict Arnold desired more prestige and betrayed his comrades thinking that he might get the respect and honors were lacking. The accounts go on and on and on in every era, every region of the world. We humans sometimes have insatiable appetites.

So many stories in the news remind me of individuals who want ever more and eventually go too far, destroying themselves in the process. Bill Cosby was rich, famous and beloved. He had a devoted wife and honors beyond most of our imaginations. Still, it was seemingly not enough for him. He had to also have the adoration of women and when they did not give it willingly he stole it from them with drugs. For a time he got by with behaviors so unlike the man that we all believed that he was, but as with the story of the fisherman he did not know when to stop. His thirst for power and gratification was ever boundless and in the end it became his undoing. Now he is a convicted felon who may end up spending the remainder of his life in prison. He will have many years to consider what drove him to risk all that he had for fleeting pleasures.

It makes me unbearably sad to think doubt the downfall of a man who had once been so admired that he was lovingly known as “America’s Dad.” I doubt that I missed a single episode of his television program. He was a pioneer who showed us how much alike we actually are. To think that his wholesomeness was only an act is heartbreaking, and I feel great sadness in knowing what has become of him. He was an icon who has been brought down to a point that is difficult to observe.

I find myself asking again and again why it is that people risk all that they have when what they possess is well more than sufficient. It is as though millions of dollars are not enough. They must become billionaires. A wealthy tycoon doesn’t just want to enjoy the bounty, but needs to achieve more and more power regardless of the price needed to do so. Our natures too often push us to always be reaching for the next big thing.

Ours is the wealthiest nation on earth. The majority of our citizens live in ways that many people of the world can’t even imagine. We get a nice little house somewhere and within no time we want a bigger and more expensive one. We constantly trade in our cars not because they have become unreliable, but because we have tired of them and desire a bit more flash. Our wants are rarely based solely on need, but instead on our insistence on having ever better things.

When I was growing up after my father died we rarely purchased anything that was not absolutely essential. My brothers and I each had a couple of cardboard boxes that we retrieved from the grocery store in which we stored all of our toys. We usually had two pairs of shoes, one for school and one for church. Our clothing consisted of five changes of clothing for everyday wear and two or three very nice items to wear on special occasions. We each could have packed all of our personal belongings in a single suitcase, but for the fact that we did not each own baggage. Our cars lasted for ten years and our furniture even longer. We had one television, one phone and one bathroom that we shared. My mother did not purchase an air conditioner for the house until I was in college even though the temperatures in the summer often reached the one hundred degree mark. Amazingly it never occurred to us to think that we were somehow deprived. We were filled with the riches of satisfaction and often expressed our thanks for having a warm meal every day and a comfortable bed at night. In truth we were not at all exceptional. Most of our friends lived exactly the same way and none of us felt compelled to complain. The simplicity of our lives was in fact liberating because we were not consumed with a need to be ever worried about gaining more and more. We learned how to really enjoy what we had.

I have to admit that I am bitten by the achievements bug from time to time. The green eyed monster overtakes me once in a while. My human tendencies to compare myself cause me to worry and become a bit greedy. I have to consciously remind myself of just how good my life actually is. I find ways to pull back from thinking that destroys my sense of satisfaction. I do what I can to count the wondrous blessings that I have rather than noting what I don’t yet have.

There is certainly nothing wrong with working hard and acquiring nice things, but when the quest for money and power consumes us we almost always wind up like the fisherman. Our wings melt in the heat of the sun. We lose friends and maybe even family.

I recently had a short conversation with a woman whom I had never before met. She confided to me that both her mother and her grandmother had been all about career, prestige and earning power. They had in many ways ignored and neglected her. She was instead handed over to nannies and other adults while her own family members raced for success. Hers was a lonely life until she eventually fell in love and married a man from a large and loving family. Her mother-in-law embraced her and showed her how to have fun doing very simple things. Mostly it was knowing that someone truly cared about her that changed her life from dreary to incredible. She felt as though she had found the secret to life, and it had nothing to do with any of the accoutrements that we often associate with greatness. Instead it was all about enjoying what we have. Maybe that is the real key to knowing when we have enough.

Kindness Hope and Love

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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The little priest walked slowly down the aisle of the church pushing his walker. He appeared to be so frail and yet there he was saying the prayers of the Sunday mass. When it came time for the homily I wasn’t expecting much. I supposed that he was long past his prime, a minister put out to pasture so to speak. It was wrong of me to judge, but he walked like Carol Burnett did whenever she was imitating really old people in one of her hilariously funny skits. I listened politely as he began to preach, and by the end I was in tears.

He told us that he was going to paint a beautiful picture with his words. He began by explaining how he had come to our town. An old friend had invited him to retire in the warmth of the south. The two thought that it would be wonderful idea for everyone, and besides they would have so much time to be reunited, telling their old stories and having a few laughs. He had decided to be adventurous even though the only thing that he knew about Texas was the stuff of legends and folklore. He really didn’t have any idea what to expect when he arrived in August, but his buddy had assured him that he would love every minute of his stay.

By the end of that month the rains began to fall from the effects of hurricane Harvey, a new experience for him for certain. The heavens opened up and refused to stop for days and days. By the time the sun finally came out more than fifty one inches of rain had fallen on the area. He had watched the rescues and the heartbreaking stories in horror, but then he realized that something utterly stunning was happening. He saw the love, hope and kindness of humanity unfolding in front of the eyes of the world.

Over thirty percent of the homes located near the church where he was staying had flooded. The parishioners swung into action turning the halls and the classrooms into a haven for those who had lost everything. They brought food, water, blankets, clothes, money, anything that the victims might need. They worked tirelessly day after day as the lines of people seeking help wrapped around the property. It was in that moment that he saw the utter beauty of humankind being revealed so magnificently. He realized that this was exactly the way God wanted his followers to be. It was as though all the best qualities of the human race were present for him and the world to observe It was a lesson in how we all should behave, not just in an hour of need, but for all of our days. He knew that he had come to a place that he would call home.

He told us to close our eyes and imagine the goodness, feel the hope, and luxuriate in the love. He reminded us that it is all around us, and that it is God’s way of assuring us that we are never alone. There will always be someone who will take our hands and guide us to a place of safety. We need only look around and we too will see the lovely image that we as people have painted.

I suppose that it is sometimes difficult to noticed just how wonderful humans really are when our media focuses so much on the horrors of our society. We have entertainers saying very ugly things about people in the name of humor. Our leaders have jumped the shark with their obnoxiousness. We see violence seemingly in every corner of the world. People shoot the bird and scream in anger at the smallest provocations. We align ourselves with groups and political ideologies. We argue and stuff our ears with our fingers lest we hear something that differs from our own points of view. We seem unwilling to compromise or get along, and so when a terrible disaster or tragedy occurs we are somewhat shocked to see kind hearts and heroes emerge. In reality the people who rise to the occasion have been around us all along. We were just so busy believing the naysayers that we failed to notice that most of us are truly and exceptionally good.

The priest said that God was smiling as He saw His ultimate creations demonstrate the kind of behavior that He had hoped for them. It filled Him with parental pride to watch his children performing acts of generosity without any consideration other than doing the right thing. Humans had made something horrible become beautiful and everyone took note. The priest got phone calls from all over the world from individuals that he had known. They were checking on his welfare, but also expressing their astonishment at the scenes of courage and warmth that they had witnessed. It had changed their perspective and reminded them of what makes humans truly exceptional. They too wanted to help, and so they did, just as thousands of others whose hearts had been touched.

I still think of those four days of inundation. I remember the fear that I felt as I saw the images of people being carried from their homes in boats. I believed that our city would never be able to recover from the devastation, but I had underestimated the spirit of humans. I had bought into the negativity that is swirling around us in abundance. I had been so very wrong.

We struggle and waver and even have moments of hopelessness, but the reality of who we are is so much better than the doomsday predictions. Our innate goodness rises up again and again to repair the wounds of our fellow beings. We get up after we have been knocked to the ground and check to see if anyone else needs our assistance. Life is far more wonderful than we may have thought it was, and people in all of their variety are ultimately the sparks that light the fires of optimism and love.

The good father painted a beautiful picture indeed. It is an image that I will cary in my heart to bring to mind when times get tough. It is a canvas painted with the colors of  kindness, hope and love.

We Can Do Better

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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The truth is that there is a price for everything and that is no more apparent than in education. Few parents are able to afford the cost of private schools for their children, so the vast majority of our youngsters attend public schools. The bulk of educational expense lies in teacher salaries and benefits. Budgets are tight because the only flow of income to pay for all of the people and things needed to run a great academic program is found in taxes and a bit of federal money and grants. Parents sometimes chip in with fundraisers for a few extras. On the whole educational funding is a balancing act wrought with so many difficulties. Teachers want and deserve a fair wage commensurate with their education, knowledge, skills and experience. Schools need a certain level of educational resources all of which require additional money. At the same time citizens are only willing to accept so many taxes before they rebel even if it means cutting back on school funding. The tug and the pull is never ending, and a source of great concern both for educators and parents.

One has to be somewhat altruistic to accept teaching as a vocation. It requires not just an initial degree, but continual certifications and retraining, aspects of the job that are necessary and almost always paid for by the teachers themselves rather than the schools. Few classrooms are stocked with all of the materials necessary to keep students learning on the cutting edge, and so almost every teacher that I have ever known spends vast amounts of his/her own money to supplement what is provided. Teachers work longer hours and more days than most people realize, and often do so with little fanfare. It’s a difficult job, and I have witnessed former engineers, accountants and sales people run from its challenges after thinking that changing to a career in education would be a lark.

We see teachers across the country walking out of their classrooms to draw attention to the problems that exist. They are enduring the brunt of insults to insure that the future of public education is assured, because it is certainly true that if the conditions get bad enough the entire system will begin to fail just as it is already doing in certain corners. If we are to provide the best for all of our children, then we must get serious about the kinds of changes that we need. It’s a new world with a new way of doing things and a box of chalk and an eraser won’t cut it anymore. Nor will a salary that borders on insult be sufficient to attract the kind of teachers that our children need and deserve.

In the Houston area and other parts of Texas there are schools where the students are consistently failing. Instead of getting to the heart of the problems inside their walls the suggestions run from shutting them down to turning them over the charter programs. Perhaps thinking out of the box is the way to go, but it will take innovation, dedication from gifted educators, support from parents, time, patience and money. There are many success stories on the educational horizon, but they arose from a willingness to invest heavily in the lives of underserved populations. Drawing upon research and lessons learned there are no doubt answers to the problems, but it will require honesty and a willingness to address the staff, the facilities, the procedures, the role of parents and the students from the ground up. It may even require creating schools within schools whereby the buildings house smaller groups of youngsters who never fall through the cracks because they become part of an educational family. It may also mean providing financial and educational incentives to teachers so that the best of them will be willing to work with the most challenging populations.

It’s fairly well understood that the problems that plague failing schools are complex and include the reality that some children come from environments in which there is little understanding of the value of education. When parents become an integral part of the process the changes are almost magical. The heart of the KIPP Charter Schools lies in the commitment of parents, teachers and students to a daily routine of rigor with a goal of getting to and through college. There are more than just teachers driving the program, including counselors who follow the progress or lack of it from pre-school all the way through earning a college degree. The mantra “Once a KIPPster always a KIPPster.” is very real and every person who works in one of the schools takes the challenge to heart. The schools are kept purposely small so that everyone knows everybody. It is a true team and family atmosphere. The organization also provides opportunities for advancement paid for by the system. The best of the best have the opportunity of being awarded thousands of additional dollars in the form of stipends for excellence. At five year intervals teachers are honored with travel vouchers as well. These may appear to be small things but they drive the enthusiasm and dedication that teachers must have to make it for the long haul.

It’s time that we rethink how we treat our teachers and our students. We need to begin to redesign the way we do things and that doesn’t mean forcing the experience to revolve around standardized testing. It has nothing to do with dismantling the pension programs or simply purchasing a few computers. It will take a willingness to set things aright with funding, hard work and support from all of us, not just those who have children. Our future demands that we do a better job.

Staying Cool

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I was never one of the cool kids in high school. I was a bit too serious for the really fun crowd, but people liked me and I liked them. It was not until I hit my mid twenties that I achieved a semblance of swag. By then I was way more confident and willing to let myself relax enough to enjoy life and all of the wondrous things it had to offer. When I became a teacher I did my best to be one of the cool teachers insofar as teaching mathematics allowed me to do. I learned that the secret to being with it in education involved a mix of subject knowledge along with a great deal of understanding of my students and their particular needs. Over the years my contact with young people kept me abreast of new trends and I was able to pass as someone who was more cool than not, even though I slowly began to see signs that I was losing my hipness when my children began moving toward middle age. Not only did they make fun of my quirky ways and mom jeans, but my teenage grandchildren were beginning to poke fun at them. I got the message that my time of being cool had somehow passed without my realizing it.

We are warned not to go gently into the good night, and J. Alfred Prufrock reminds us of hour hair thinning hair and waning relevance. Even though the calendar tells me that I am no longer a spring chicken, something in my soul feels so very young, When I gaze into the mirror I often have a double take because I just don’t know who the person staring back at me might be. The wrinkles and gray hairs surely must belong to someone else. I wonder when my knees began to ache and why I can’t work all day in my yard like I used to do. I try to remember exactly when it was that I was no longer able to escape the pains that rack body when I over exert myself. My brain has yet to accept my reality, and it is only when some stranger politely treats me as though I am old and frail that I realize that the outside world doesn’t see me the way I see myself. This truth is compounded whenever I discern that my teenage granddaughter is a bit embarrassed when I get really silly, something that used to amuse her but now causes her to turn red in the face. It is as though the world is asking me to act my age, and I am not yet willing to comply.

There seems to be a period of time during which society expects us to begin the process of accepting that we are no longer the rockstars that we once were. We are expected to slowly and gracefully transition into the life of a senior citizen, understanding that it is anathema to dress or speak or act as though we have not aged. We have a role to play, and we must do so willingly. It is only after we have proven that we know how to be members of the elderly population that we have permission to be as daring as we were in our youth. People in their nineties are thought to be adorable if they revert into a kind of second childhood. We love Betty White because she has taken the cute and quirky factor of being old to a level of high coolness, but she is only afforded respect because she paid her dues along the way and admits proudly to her age. She doesn’t try to hide the years. She rejoices in them.

I’m admittedly still raging against the idea that my youthfulness is done. My brain is thankfully still working quite well aside from the moments when I forget what I was about to do or say. I can outwork people half my age, and I know as much about current music as anyone. Still I find myself feeling less and less in the mainstream and more and more of an antique. I have seven decades of memories which seem fresh and new until I find old photographs of myself that look like something from a museum of history. Even worse is seeing my contemporaries with graying and thinning hair wearing the same kind of comfort shoes that I need to keep from hurting myself.

Don’t get me wrong. I totally enjoy having grandchildren and being retired. I feel for the younger folk who have to go to work each day while I am as free as a bird to do whatever I wish. There are so many perks that go with being my age and I am enjoying every single one of them to the max. I just have to keep reminding myself that to every time there is a season, and mine is far different than it once was. Being cool at my age means handing over the baton to the younger generation and encouraging them to be their best selves. It is a process of enjoying every moment and loving all of the lines and scars that are the trophies of having really lived. Being hip is understanding that the good old days are still coming and while looking backward may be fun, progress is even better. I know that I will never again look like I did when I was twenty five, but I can be happy that I’m alive and active and able to still give of myself to the people around me. That in itself is very cool.

The coolest person that I have ever known was my Grandfather William. He lived to be one hundred eight years old and never once complained that the world was not as great as it used to be. He was excited about each and every sign of change, and celebrated the good that it brought to humanity. He knew when it was time to quit driving his car for safety sake. He adjusted to the challenges that came his way. He always seemed to know and appreciate how popular culture was benefiting us, and he thought that young people were brighter and more wonderful than ever. He understood that being cool meant being optimistic and resilient and that everything old becomes new again. I guess that given his example I realize that while I may not be trending like Beyonce, I’ve still managed to stay cool. Maybe I’m not getting old. Maybe I’m getting better.

Tasteless Bread

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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“Radio and television speech becomes standardized, perhaps better English than we have ever used. Just as our bread, mixed and baked, packaged and sold without benefit of accident of human frailty, is uniformly good and uniformly tasteless, so will our speech become one speech.” 

― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

Back when I was in college I took a linguistics class that was fascinating. One of the requirements was to write a paper and I decided to do some undergraduate research. I recorded the voices of several women who had all grown up in Houston, Texas. They varied in age from the late sixties to early teens. I had them all read the same passage and then answer some questions about it so that their more natural way of speaking would become apparent. I then created a questionnaire whose purpose was to find out if the listeners detected any kind of regional dialect in the speakers. I played the recordings without comment and then had the respondents complete their answers to the questions.

The results were much as I had expected them to be, but fascinating nonetheless. A hundred percent of those who took the survey could hear a definite Texas twang in the speech of the older women, but wondered if the younger speakers were from some other part of the country like the Midwest. In fact, the survey answers indicated that as the speakers became younger, less and less of a regional dialect was apparent.

I drew some conclusions based on various theories that we had studied in class, the main one being that the younger individuals who spoke had grown up watching television which generally favors a rather bland Midwestern way of speaking. In addition our city of Houston had become much more diverse and cosmopolitan over time leading the younger women to more exposure to different ways of speaking. Finally, the educational system had impacted the young by allowing them to interact with teachers from places all over the country, unlike the older women who had mostly learned from people native to the area.

My professor was quite pleased with my study and gave me a high mark. I knew that to draw any meaningful conclusions regarding dialects I would need to have more speakers, more respondents and better controls, but it was a somewhat daring project for an undergraduate and my teacher appreciated my efforts. He also agreed with many of the conclusions that I formed as to way there was such a dramatic difference in the ways of speaking.

There was a time when it was quite easy to detect linguistic differences in people. New Orleans had its “Where ya at?’ natives, and Chicago had its south side workers who cheered for “da Bears.” There were the people from Jersey and those from Georgia, all of whom gave away their place of origin the minute they opened their mouths to speak. Of course there was also the classic Texas drawl that stereotyped our state for posterity, but according to the most recent research many of the linguistic differences are dying out as people have more and more access to the world at large. The kind of isolation that bred distinct ways of speaking is becoming less and less frequent, so for the most part there are few people today who actually never hear anyone but the people in the immediate neighborhood.

My high school English teacher used to encourage us to become citizens of the world. This was long before anyone was even dreaming of the Internet or hundreds of channels on television. At the time I rarely ventured more than a few miles from my neighborhood and even then it was to visit with relatives who spoke in ways similar to mine. To this day I have a discernible accent that has been described by strangers as cute, southern or even Texan. They seem able to determine where I was born, but mostly are unable to hear the same dialect in the speech of my daughters. Only once was one of them referred to as a “Cracker” when she was working in Chicago and someone heard a hint of the south in her speech.

We are more and more becoming just Americans with regard to the way we talk, The old differences are fading and mostly found in older citizens rather than the young as noted in the most recent studies. The old ways of speaking are becoming the venue of folklore and should probably be recorded for posterity so that we might one day remember a way of life that is vanishing.

My grandfather grew up in the hills of Virginia. He was not even listed in a census until 1930, mostly because nobody wanted to travel into the backwoods areas to find him and his family. His way of speaking was quite representative of the area where he lived. When I played a recording of him telling a story to someone whose childhood was spent in the same part of the country, he smiled with recognition and said that it sounded just like his own older relatives. He noted that there are still places so remote that the local accents thrive, but in his own case all traces are gone. His education as well as his travels to New York City and Chicago have all but eliminated any hints of his origins.

Language is a fascinating way of expressing ourselves that tells us so much about who we are and where we have been. Today our influences are so many that it is becoming more and more difficult for anyone who is not an expert or who does not possess a good ear to discern our stories simply from the way we speak. In some ways that is a sign of progress, and in others it is just a bit sad. There was something quite delightful in the variety that was once so evident in our voices. Perhaps it will one day be little more than a memory as our speech becomes one speech, better but devoid of our frailties.