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A New Family

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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My father died in the nineteen fifties, a time when it seemed as though everyone had both a mother and a father. My mother assumed the role of both parents and did a rather remarkable job, but back then she was somewhat of an anomaly. Families were fairly clearly defined by tradition and ours was strange in some people’s minds. Nonetheless my brothers and I turned out quite well in spite of the naysayers who worried that our upbringing just wasn’t natural.

I would be an adult before I learned that my grandfather’s childhood was even more exotic than mine. His mom died from childbirth complications and his father felt unprepared to care for a baby, so Grandpa was taken to his grandmother’s home where he would spend his boyhood years being cared for by a single woman in her eighties. When he was thirteen his grandma died and an uncle became his guardian. In spite of what appeared to be a rather chaotic childhood with unconventional parenting, Grandpa grew to be a fine man with exemplary character traits that he learned from the two people who loved and cared for him. He would always remember them with both a sense of gratitude and a feeling that he would have done no better had he enjoyed a more typical upbringing. The fact is that good families are created from love, not some predesigned template, and there is no one right way to form a strong unit.

I sometimes worry a bit about the growing trend among young adults to shy away from commitment to another person, even when a child is part of the picture. All too often there is a reluctance to make lifelong promises of loyalty to another. That is why I find it refreshing that members of the gay and lesbian community are so eager to legalize their relationships with marriage and pledges of love. Sadly their efforts have often been thwarted and even condemned by the very people who are proponents of more stable partnerships between men and women. Somehow many in our society have failed to see gay marriage in the light of genuine love between caring people that is truly present when two souls take the step of solidifying their bond. It is in reality an example of trust and loyalty that is all too often lacking in today’s way of doing things.

I learned that my nephew Daniel was gay many years ago. I was initially sad for him, not because I thought his feelings were wrong, but because I understood the world of hurt and humiliation that he might have to endure. For a time he was quite circumspect in admitting who he really was, sometimes out of respect for people with different opinions about such things, and other times because he knew that he might be shunned for his way of life. It worried me particularly because he is quite possibly the sweetest individual that I have ever known, a sincerely generous and giving person. He has always been a bright light of kindness in our family and most likely to be voted everyone’s favorite person. Because I knew how cruel some people can be I often thought of all of the beautiful aspects of life that Daniel might never be able to experience in the light of day. I wanted as much happiness for him as all of the straight people in our family had, but wondered if the time for such possibilities would ever come.

Attitudes toward gay men and lesbian women have slowly improved from what they once were, but are hardly perfect. Still my nephew was more and more able to be completely honest with everyone as time passed. He was open about his life and enjoyed a modicum of joy that had once been denied, but he really wanted to be able to marry the person that he loved just as his sister and cousins had done. He envisioned a life with his partner Nathan that was duly sanctioned and that would be indicative of how much he cared. Thanks to the sacrifices of legions of gay and lesbian individuals the day finally came when marriage became a reality and he and Nathan began to speak of joining together for all time.

As a family we were overjoyed for both Daniel and Nathan. They seemed perfect for each other and for our crazy quilt of a family. We hoped and prayed that there would one day be an announcement of an impending union and this month we rejoiced when invitations to their special day arrived in the mail. We were giddy with excitement.

Last weekend Daniel and Nathan were married in one of the most beautiful and touching ceremonies that I have ever witnessed. Many of us who love my nephew and his new husband gathered together in his parents backyard under a beautiful blue Texas sky on a picture perfect spring day. Lovely baskets of flowers hung from the branches of a big tree that shaded the deck on which the two stood with smiles that showed their joy as they joined hands and spoke their vows. They were so handsome and so obviously relieved that this wonderful day had finally come. Tears formed in their eyes as they listened to the minister while everyone present choked up with emotion when we saw the depth of their love and felt its power. It seemed so very right for these two men to promise to honor and cherish one another for the rest of their lives. Seeing so much sincerity up close moved our hearts,

A new family was created on Saturday. It is a good and wholesome one where love reigns supreme. It is a union that all of us should celebrate because it is filled with the selflessness that is so important in making such things work. I know that years from now it will be even stronger because it is based on the best of reasons, and I am filled with happiness in knowing that maybe one day it won’t be thought to be unusual by anyone.

I now have a new nephew to love as much as I do the one whom I held in my arms long ago when he was a baby. Both Daniel and Nathan are truly wonderful people and knowing that they have an opportunity to enjoy the gift of true love just as they have always hoped is an exciting notion. I wish them all the best and pray that they will experience a lifetime of adventure and quiet comfort. I thank them for demonstrating so much courage and honor. I look forward to spending many more happy occasions with them. 

If Only We Had Tried Harder

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I’m a student of human nature. I watch people all of the time, even when I’m at the gym. My mother used to correct me for staring when I was a child. I suppose that I become so interested in observing that I sometimes forget how invasive my glances may appear to be. My interest in people watching worked well when I was a teacher because as anyone who has been in charge of a group of youngsters knows, it is potentially lethal to look away for even a second. Thus my skills in noting the goings on around me worked fairly well although there were always sly individuals who snuck past my notice.

I am particularly fascinated by criminal activities. Mysteries have always been my favorite kinds of books and true crime has the power of fully engaging my thoughts. The television programs and movies that I enjoy the most are those involving investigations of murders and such. I suppose that I might have been a good candidate for the FBI or even the CIA. I wouldn’t want to be the person working in the streets to prevent crime, but rather someone who does the detective work after the fact. Mostly I am the kind of person who wants to know what causes an individual to act beyond the confines of normal law abiding behavior. I wonder what circumstances lead to violence and murder, and more importantly whether there is a critical moment at which such tendencies might be noted and deactivated.

I believe that we only know a fraction of what goes on in the human brain. Somehow illnesses and dysfunctions breed there just as they do in other parts of the body. We have yet to unlock all of the secrets of the mind or the impact of environmental factors on human behavior. We are certainly more advanced that in the past, but there is still so much to learn, and in those discoveries may lie the keys to helping the wretched souls who become monsters in our midst.

Unlike many who believe that we are born with the stain of sin and must be saved, I have always thought that we are the most innocent and pure as babies. It is in our future development that we become either good or bad people, and the complexity of how that process works is difficult to unravel. The chemistry and makeup of our brain, the ways in which we are raised, the events that befall us, the people with whom we come in contact and every little interaction with the world around us slowly molds our character and influences the ways in which we make choices and how we react to their consequences. Two people from the very same family will quite often be very different in spite of experiencing almost identical circumstances. So how are we to learn how to effectively build character, and how do we judge what the best practices for doing so should be?

I am quite troubled by the mixed messages that we send our young. On the one hand we want to eliminate the means of committing acts of violence by enacting laws restricting the use of guns, and at the same time we allow our teens to spend hours defending themselves with electronic arms on video games. The programs that stream into our homes are filled with murderous tales and some of them even provide a kind of hero status to characters whose actions are as questionable as the villains that they pursue. The line between good and evil is often so blurred that it is difficult to determine right from wrong without lengthy debates. We depict serial killers with a hint of sympathy and barely examine the lost lives of their victims. We no longer insist on a certain level of public decorum from those who lead us, and yet we wonder why so many children today are bullies. We see hypocrisy and lack of personal responsibility all around us and then shake our heads in disbelief when someone loses it and strikes out against complete strangers in murderous rage,

I heard an interview with a man on NPR the other day that was fascinating. He claims to have had violent urges from the time that he was only about five years old. He was continually in trouble during his school days and became known as a troubled child. Somehow he managed to turn things around in high school and landed an appointment at West Point but he still felt those horrific urges in his mind. While at the academy he met a teacher who spoke of the role of the military in striving for peace rather than automatically opting for war. The professor taught the students the skills of finding a place of calm inside their own minds so that their reactions would be reasoned and calm even in times of great stress. This concept changed the direction of the young recruit’s life. He became a disciple of such thinking and made it his vocation to study ways to tame the beasts that seemed to lurk inside his mind. He devotes his career to helping others to find the peace of mind that he now possesses. He truly believes that given the right situation it is totally possible to help many violent people to set aside their aggressive tendencies.

As a teacher I encountered many children who were so troubled that they had been designated as special needs students with emotional disturbances. They would often act out with little provocation or warning. Their behaviors were sometimes frightening. It was heartbreaking to see their pain and suffering and not have enough time or training to really help them. They were often relegated to self contained groups under the direction of someone who did little more than keep them from hurting themselves or others. It felt as though their lives had already been defined.

I took a special interest in such young people. I desperately wanted to make a difference in their lives. Most of the time they would indeed improve while they were in my class, but ultimately they had to move to the next grade and I would not see them again. I would hear of egregious acts that they had performed. I would grieve for them, and consider better ways of working with them. Only once did I feel that I might have actually changed the direction of such a student’s life. He was someone with anger management issues who was generally a sweet soul, but when something set him off he became enraged and dangerous. I managed his behavior quite well. I began to sense when his frustrations were overwhelming him and I created safe spaces where he would go to unwind, He seemed to be improving as long as he was with me, but when he went to other classrooms he often lost his composure and found himself in trouble. 

Each summer San Jacinto Junior College offered a special math/science program for students who wanted to enrich their knowledge of those subjects. The college sent me applications and urged me to encourage my students to try for the limited number of spots. Interested parties had to write essays describing why they should be chosen and most of those papers were so similar in content that the selection came down to a lottery. I would allow anyone who was interested to apply, but I was somewhat concerned when my behaviorally challenged student turned in his forms and written work with great earnestness. When I read his composition I believed that he would win the competition because it was profoundly moving. Indeed he landed a spot over many of my most brilliant students. When the other teachers heard about this they urged me to ask him to withdraw lest he embarrass the school with one of his outbursts. I decided that it was more important to let him have the opportunity to do something positive.

I found out that the young man didn’t have a way to get to the daily classes at the college and so I agreed to take him. I picked him up early each day and for four weeks drove him back and forth from the college which was about a forty minute drive. During that time we talked about so many things, but mostly about how excited he was to be thought of as someone who was good and worthy. He confided that the instructors and the other kids at the program thought he was smart and good natured and so for a few hours each day that’s who he was determined to be.

The program continued all the way through the young man’s high school years and even included special events. Each time he had an event to attend I was his chauffeur. We became the best of friends during those rides and I watched him grow into a truly remarkable person over the next four years. He laughed at the idea that nobody ever knew that he was actually a bad boy, or had been deemed one at his regular school. He assumed the role of a studious and well behaved young man and soon realized that it wasn’t that difficult to be that way all of the time. His life began to change in very dramatic ways.

I was sad when I no longer had to drive him to his classes. We said our farewells and he gave me a lovely gift that I still treasure. Each time I look at it I think of how easy it was to make a difference. I still find myself wondering how many more might have been saved if only we had tried harder.

The Cries Of A Child

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I recently had a very long day. I had arisen early and prepared for a series of appointments which literally spanned the hours from nine in the morning to six in the evening. After completing all of my duties I picked up my husband and the two of us hit the gym around seven. We finished our workouts about an hour and a half later and only then began to think about having dinner. I instinctively understood that it was a bad idea to eat at such a late hour, but it had been one of those days in which I had moved from one thing to another without a moment to even think of nutrition. Since the YMCA that we use is across from a grocery store I suggested that we find one of their prepared meals to heat at home rather than opting for fast food. It would be a quick and preferable alternative to undoing our attempts at a healthy lifestyle and would cost less as well. It seemed to be a grand idea.

The section containing what we wanted was located near the front of the store and we quickly found choices of seafood and chicken coupled with fresh vegetables that ranged from four hundred to five hundred calories. We made our selections and headed for the checkout which wasn’t particularly crowded because by then the clock was ticking toward nine. As we were waiting behind a young couple buying ice cream and a number of items that we have chosen to eliminate from our diet I heard the screams and cries of a small child.

I glanced over to see a father attempting to control a little boy who had obviously reached his limit of navigating happily through his own long day. I felt for the father who was doing his best to console his son, but as a mom I knew that the youngster was simply exhausted and ready for bed. The frazzled dad didn’t appear to be in much better shape. I imagined that both of them had been blowing and going all day long and that the child had been the first to hit the wall. I thought of how tired I was and remembered the times when I would work all day outside of the home and be making last minute runs to the store to purchase items that we had to have for the following day. I just wanted to go hug the little boy and tell the man that things would be better and that he would one day be able to laugh about such incidents. Still, I worried about our often relentlessly fast paced and demanding society and wondered what it is actually doing to all of us.

I’m retired now, so one really rough day of obligations isn’t that tough on me. I am able to sleep in after challenging schedules, but that wasn’t always the case. My work hours were often erratic and almost always long. I recall so many times when I reached home after nine or ten at night hoping that my family’s needs had been sufficiently met. Routines were difficult to create because we each had such divergent schedules. There were times when we literally felt like strangers passing one another in the night. As a teacher I had to attend meetings, conferences, trainings, performances, and field trips. Those demands only increased once I became an administrator. I assumed the role of caring not only for my students, but also for my teachers. All too often my own family had to take a back seat, and to this very day I worry that I may have neglected them a bit more than I should have, even though they appeared to be quite resilient.

My husband too had to work strange hours from time to time. My dear mother and mother-in-law often covered for us when our obligations coincided and our girls were going to be home alone. I know that I missed some important moments with them, and even though they were safe and sound the guilt that I felt was far greater than I might have wanted to admit at the time. I have often wondered if we as a society have created an unhealthy new world order with our two parent careers, or if our children are actually okay with just rolling with the whatever happens. After all, the only reality that they know is the one that we as parents create for them. They do not experience the same type of steadfast routine that I did when I was growing up. The world is different for them and they seem to have adapted, but when I see a youngster like that little boy crying from sheer exhaustion, I wonder how many times I too pushed my children to the brink. I think about how I might have done things differently or at least a bit better.

Parenting is one of the most difficult jobs that there is. In today’s world many adults are raising children all alone. They don’t enjoy the benefits that I had of extended family members filling the gaps. I can only imagine the tough choices that they must continually make as they balance work and home obligations. Most organizations don’t take too kindly to absences even when they are supposedly allowed. Shirking overtime demands is a quick way of losing momentum in climbing the career ladder. Those who defiantly insist on working only the minimally required amount of time are in danger of receiving lukewarm appraisals and of being thought to be lazy. The tension between work and home is real and both men and women feel the push and pull. It’s tough to be all things to all people, and yet we seem oblivious to the toll it is taking on all of us. We just keep moving day after day like drones on a conveyor belt, hoping that one day there will be some rest.

There was a time when workers generally had a more carefully constructed schedule that allowed them to arrive home each evening at a fairly consistent time. If they worked long enough for the same company they would accrue as many as six weeks of vacation time and their bank of sick days would steadily grow. Jobs were fairly plentiful and raises and bonuses were an expected part of the packages. Many organizations provided generous pensions and health insurance benefits. One by one many of those things have gone the way of the buggy whip. A single worker today often fulfills the duties that might have required multiple individuals in an earlier era. Employment opportunities are more difficult to find and once someone lands a job he/she is expected to demonstrate utmost loyalty and dedication to the cause. It’s a dog eat dog environment that is putting new stresses on individuals and their families.

I have to admit to being overjoyed that I’m now retired, but I can’t just rest on my laurels. I actually worry about today’s workers as I see them struggling to keep pace and still maintain their own health and happiness. I wonder if it will ever be possible to slow things down once again as I think of a time and a promise that our inventiveness would one day create a world in which we would get things done in a shorter work day that would provide us more time to enjoy ourselves. Instead we have just decreased the need for workers and increased the demands on those lucky enough to land the jobs. There seems to be no end to the demands that we place on employees and I fear that many of the ills that we see in our society are incubated in such an environment. Perhaps it’s time to rethink the way we do things. The cries of our children are telling us that something is wrong. Surely we can do better.

Bad Luck

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I have a friend who says that she sometimes feels as though she has an invisible target on her head that only God and the angels can see. She imagines them having a bit of fun raining trials and tribulations down on her head to see how she will respond. She’s a determined person, and so she somehow manages to survive and even win the game time and again, but she admits that she often grows weary and wishes that the fates would choose someone else for the bad luck that really does appear to befall her again and again and again. Some people really do seem to be snake bit and no amount of platitudes can make them feel better about the barrage of tragedy that befalls them.

We all know somebody who appears to have to endure one horrific event after another, usually through no fault of their own. My friend is like that. She no sooner navigates her way through one crisis than another one happens. She leads a good life and makes wise choices, but the only lottery that she wins is the one that leaves her in a new pickle. She’s lived with a life threatening disease for years that has prevented her from working which of course means that her income is distressingly low. She has made the best of her situation asking for little of material value and enjoying small pleasures. It would be nice if she were to get a reward or even a bit of respite from time to time, but she has little luck in that regard. Sometimes I want to cry for her, but know that she is not someone to be pitied, but rather admired for her spirit and determination. I’ve learned a great deal about how to keep on trucking from her. She’s a Survivor with a capital S and would be a great team member to take on a difficult journey as long as one doesn’t mind the crazy situations that seem to follow her.

There is seemingly a kind of randomness to life’s lottery and over time most of us experience the full spectrum of happiness and sadness. We become ill, have accidents, fail at some things, grow old, watch loved ones die, but also find love and friendship, travel, enjoy the world around us. Such things are part and parcel of living, but what do we say to comfort someone whose hardships seem endless? How do we help a person who does everything right but still gets battered, especially when we also see those who seem almost immune to misfortune, those with a supposedly golden touch?

I’ve been watching the CNN special on the Kennedys. It would be easy to believe that they are somehow cursed or at the very least terribly unlucky. The reality lies more in their sheer numbers of family members and the fact that they have been generally willing to take risks in order to live life to its fullest. Still their tragedies must have been almost unbearable. Sadly the matriarch of the clan, Rose, often believed that they were retribution for sins that she or her children had committed. How awful it must have felt for her to wonder why she was continually being punished when she was obviously a good woman. Sometimes we attribute reprisals to God when we should instead just understand that life is a series of random events combined with the choices that we make. The dice that we cast are not loaded, even when they just keep coming up with the wrong numbers. To believe that misfortune is actually some form of karma would be to judge those who have pain filled lives as somehow deserving of their fates. Surely we know that this is not so.

We humans have a tendency to avoid sadness. We live as though we expect the world to be  like Disneyland. We want to stay away from situations or conversations that are difficult. We shy away from people who are experiencing tragedy which only makes them feel even more isolated and hopeless. We are continually running away from troubles, wanting to solve problems with quick and easy fixes so that we might get back to having fun.

I often think of my outgoing mother whose home was a center of activity until her bipolar disorder made her frightening to former acquaintances who began leaving her in droves. There were actually people who verbalized their distaste for being around her because her illness unnerved them. They were unwilling to submit themselves to a bit of discomfort out of kindness to someone who had once been a great friend to them. Her situation made her a kind of pariah to all but those who loved her without conditions, which was little more than a handful.

We are attracted to joy, success, good fortune. We naturally gravitate to people who are doing well. As soon as someone opens his/her heart to reveal uncomfortable truths we so often look away in fear and find excuses for steering clear of them.

There are many discussions these days about teaching our children to notice and embrace those who have been sidelined by little more than the luck of the draw. We adults are suggesting that youngsters find the downtrodden among them and consciously work to include such souls in the daily interactions of social life. We would not have to so consciously engineer such things if we were modeling those kinds of behaviors in our own lives. If our kids saw us regularly embracing people who are lonely or suffering they would take it for granted that this is the way to live. Because we all too often ignore or even avoid depressing situations, we teach our young to fear such things.

Saying prayers for someone in need is always nice, but we have to do more for those who are enduring misfortune. Sometimes it takes is a willingness to listen to them complain, for surely what they are experiencing is very very hard. We may or may not have solutions, but we can provide them with the understanding that they need. We can help them by not allowing them to feel alone or different because of whatever fight is demanding their attention. We can show them that they are loved and that someone cares about what happens to them.

We get busy and make excuses and soon realize that we have forgotten the lonely, the sick, the depressed people who are overwhelmed by events that have stolen their joy. It’s time that we hear their cries no matter how silent they may seem to be. Reach out today. There is someone who is waiting for a sign that things are going to get better.    

Jack

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Jack is one of those names that almost instantly brings warm feelings to my heart and a smile to my face. I suppose that it is mainly because that was my father’s name and he set the standard for the type of person whom I believe should bear that moniker. Jack of Titanic fame only confirmed my belief that those who bear that designation are adventurous, loving, and courageous souls just like my dad. Then along came Jack from This Is Us who reminds me of my own daddy in so many ways. In fact I’ve yet to meet or hear of a Jack that I didn’t like, souls so full of joy and intellect, people like Jack Kennedy and even a man with whom I attended school for dozens of years who still makes me laugh with his humorous ways just like those with which my father so impishly entertained us. One of my brothers officially bears the Jack designation even though he goes by Mike, and a grandson honors his great grandfather by living with the same level of joy that seems to go hand in hand with being known by that grand but simple title. Even a favorite cousin was named Jack and the two of us enjoyed the most amazing childhood together.

Somehow when I hear the name Jack I have a Pavlovian reaction of comfort and happiness. I suppose that there are actually Jacks who are not good at all, but I have never met them. My own reaction to hearing that short but sweet sound is always positive and my Aunt Polly’s two husbands, my uncles, only strengthened my belief that there is something magical about people who bear the appellation of Jack.

My first Uncle Jack was a delight. He was a tall thin drink of water with a grin that lit up his face like Times Square. He seemed born to laugh and was an encyclopedia of  stories and jokes. He is the man who introduced me to westerns, and I liked nothing better than spending time watching those old black and white adventures like Maverick, The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, and Have Gun Will Travel with him.

After my father died it was Uncle Jack who saved my family by helping us to purchase a new car to replace the one that was wrecked in Daddy’s accident. He accompanied us as we searched for a home to settle into our new life. He was smart and understood how to get things done even though his education had been limited. He was a practical soul, a survivor, someone who overcame challenges. I loved him so, and always felt quite safe when he was around. He was the uncle who was the most fun, someone who actually talked to me. Sometimes he seemed like a kid himself who never became too old to have a good time. When he died suddenly I was heartbroken. Like my own father I felt that he was far too young to leave us, but I suppose that some people are so spectacular that they have only a limited amount of time to live on this earth.

My Aunt Polly has always been a beautiful and gregarious woman who doesn’t spend much time feeling sorry for herself. It wasn’t too long after Uncle Jack’s death that she began socializing once again. In the process she met a new Jack and the two of them fell in love and were married. His full name was Jack Tolbert and he like the other Jacks that I have known was sweetness itself, as well as being a most interesting character. He had experienced great tragedy and yet he somehow always appeared to be so serene and pleasant. He loved music and often carried his guitar with him so that he might lead a group in song. He played with other musicians and found much delight in strumming different tunes with his friends. He also had a profound love of God that no doubt sustained him through the trials that he endured.

When Jack Tolbert was only eleven years old he was riding with his older brother when one of the tires on the car blew out. He waited inside the vehicle whole his sibling was replacing the flat. Without warning another driver came speeding by and hit Jack’s brother, killing him instantly. This terrible event was only the beginning of a string of tragedies that would seem to haunt his life. Another sibling was later crippled while hunting, and a third died in the assault on Normandy on D-Day. Jack’s parents both left this earth while still in their forties, and still he carried on, working for an airline and finding solace in his music and his God.

When Jack was in his sixties his beloved wife was diagnosed with ALS. For three years he cared for her with patience and love until she succumbed to the crippling disease. Like my Aunt Polly he eventually began to embrace life again and that is when the two of them met and fell in love. It was a second chance at happiness for both of them and in the next twenty five years they would have great fun together, traveling and hosting big parties for family and friends. As always Jack would regale those of us who were his guests with song and his own sweet smile.

Aunt Polly and my new Uncle Jack liked to play cards and dominoes and loved seeing their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. They would sadly lose sons even as they grew older and older. Just before Christmas one year they were decorating their front yard with lights when their house somehow caught on fire and quickly was engulfed in flames. So many of their belongings and memories burned before their eyes. They were in their nineties by then and the loss took a terrible toll on their health. They moved to a home for seniors and Jack’s mind slowly began to fade away. It was not long before he was a shell of himself, barely understanding what was happening from day to day. Last week he quietly passed away at the age of ninety nine, leaving friends and family to remember what a fine man he had always been, another Jack of such distinctive character, someone who had grasped life with all of his heart.

The Jacks that I have known have been a noble lot, the kind of men who seem to spread delight wherever they go. I miss the Jacks who have already gone to be with God, but I will never forget how wonderful they made my life and I appreciate the ones who are still here to lift up my spirit even on difficult days. Jack is such a simple name and yet the Jacks I have known have meant so much to me that the very sound of that single syllable is music to my ears.