Category: Blog

Memories of Another Time

Published on by Sharron Burnett2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Brotherhood of Man

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

frederick-douglass-1852The first slaves were brought to North America in 1619, when the colony at Jamestown, Virginia was formed. It was not until 1863, that all slaves were freed by President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. If you quickly do the math you begin to realize that there were slaves on our soil for two hundred forty four years before that barbarous practice was finally outlawed. It is difficult to even consider how anyone might  have ever believed holding another human being in bondage was anything other than immoral. Even considering that times and ways of thinking were different doesn’t seem to absolve the ignorance and evil associated with that custom. The old argument that it was legal so it must be okay trumped common sense and the concerns of religious groups and abolitionists. Those who advocated freedom for all people were often considered overzealous kooks who simply did not understand the complexities of the situation. Most citizens simply looked the other way rather than honestly face the horrific realities of slavery. It was easier to keep it in place than to insist that it be abolished forever.

As with all of history there have always been courageous individuals who have been willing to endure unremitting criticism in a quest for what they believed to be right and just. Frederick Douglass was one of those people. Douglass was born in Maryland in 1818, and named Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey. He was a slave who had little memory of his mother who was traded away while he was still a baby, a common practice designed to keep enslaved people from forming strong attachments to one another. Frederick was moved from one master to another over time. When he was twelve the wife of one of his owners taught him the alphabet and the basics of reading. From this humble beginning he stealthily taught himself how to read and write, often glimpsing newspapers and books when no one was watching. For the rest of his life he believed that “once you learn to read, you will be forever free.” In that spirit he taught other slaves how to decipher the words of the Bible when they came to Sunday school. Once the owners learned what was happening they put an end to the lessons by beating the congregants and disbanding the services for good.

Eventually when Douglass was sixteen years old he ended up in the hands of a man known to be adept at breaking the spirit of slaves. The overseer beat Douglass mercilessly but the sixteen year old fought back in both body and mind. He had already read enough to understand fully that his imprisonment was morally wrong and he became more and more determined to find a way to freedom. After multiple attempts he finally managed to make his way to New York City where he was protected in a safe house run by David Ruggles. He was twenty years old and eager to advocate for other slaves still held in bondage. The year was 1838. It would be twenty five years before Douglass saw his dream of emancipation come true.

Frederick married a free black woman whom he had previously met and they settled in Massachusetts. It was at this time that he chose Douglass as his new last name. He quickly became known as an eloquent orator and writer among abolitionists and was often featured at gatherings of anti-slavery groups. This was a difficult route to follow. He and those with whom he worked were often the victims of violence. Still he dedicated his life not only to abolishing slavery but also to advocating for the rights of women to vote noting, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters. This struggle may be a moral one; or it may be a physical one; or it may be both moral and physical; but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

Douglass was a highly religious man who openly criticized those Christians who remained silent about slavery saying that their refusal to speak up for what was right and just was an abomination of the teachings of Christ. “Here we have religion and robbery the allies of each other – devils dressed in angels’ robes, and hell presenting the semblance of paradise.”

By the outbreak of the Civil War Douglass had become one of the most famous and outspoken black men in the country with his views being published and discussed in gatherings across the globe. His influence was so great that he often conferred with President Lincoln whom he was not loath to criticize for taking too long to free the slaves. He worked tirelessly to secure the passage of the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments which outlawed slavery, provided citizenship and equal protection under the law and protected all citizens from being discriminated against in voting.

Douglass continued to work for causes of fairness and equality for another twenty five years after the war had ended. He understood that there was still much to be done and many injustices to be overcome. He wrote for newspapers and authored books. He spoke all over the world reminding people that “where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.” 

Frederick Douglass died at the age of seventy four of a heart attack or possibly a stroke.  He had energetically fought for the rights of all people for his entire life admonishing his fellow man to consider our shared humanity. “A smile or a tear has not nationality; joy and sorrow speak alike to all nations, and they, above all the confusion of tongues, proclaim the brotherhood of man.”

Ever Forward

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

childhood-011I suspect that there are often times when those of us who are adults wish that we might return to that age of innocence that was ours when we were children. We long for the times when we were yet to realize that evil and hatred exist in our midst. We ask ourselves when we began to lose our sense of wonder. How is it that we find ourselves lacking in trust? What makes us so afraid and reluctant to take risks? When do we begin to pull back on exploring the people and the world around us? Is it in fact true that ignorance is bliss? Does knowing too much make us unhappy?

Perhaps the lessons that we learn from life’s hard knocks teach us to be wary. One of my grandmothers came all the way from Slovakia all alone with little more than a few meager possessions and a profound faith that joining my grandfather in this foreign land would be a good move. For a time she threw herself wholeheartedly into work and learning about her new country but the strain of caring for an ever growing family and dealing with prejudice aimed at her and her kids sent her into a mental tailspin. She had a breakdown and ended up in the state mental hospital. Her trust was broken by this experience. When she returned home she never again left with the exception of the time when her appendix burst and she had to be rushed to the hospital. She was content to stay in the safety of the tiny house that defined the rest of her days. She chose to be purposely insulated from the horrors of the outside world. Her children became fully responsible for her care, paying bills, doing shopping, and repairing her home.

Most of us would not want to withdraw so permanently from reality and yet there is something rather tempting about no longer having to deal with the irritations that seem to take up so much of our time. Such are the dreams of hermits but the truth is that there is little chance that any of us might successfully ignore the ebb and flow of progress. We allow ourselves mental health days and vacations but we ultimately have to return to our duties. It is ridiculous for anyone to believe that there is a way to avoid the hurts that we begin to experience from our earliest childhood days.

We all remember the schoolyard bully who terrorized recess as well as the hero who shut him/her down. We learned how to watch for such people and how to avoid them when possible. We formed friendships that were based on immature connections. Sometimes they didn’t work out and we felt the sting of abandonment and loneliness. With each new experience we catalogued the pluses and minuses of how to react. The Forrest Gump in our natures slowly faded away but oh how we loved to see someone like him operating so fearlessly. It reminded us of the times before we skinned our knees and understood that putting our hands over a flame might result in a burn.

Of course we need to learn caution and how to interpret cues if we are to survive. Fright and flight is an instinct that we must have. We must discover how to tell the difference between good and bad just as importantly as we need the skills of reading and writing and arithmetic. We have to become adults and learn to fend for ourselves. It is the way things are.

The real problem is that even with careful attention and research we find ourselves wondering how we should respond. Should we open our hearts with openness and kindness or is it in reality a dangerous game to be so guileless? Is it wiser to enjoy life while we have the opportunity or should we be more inclined to saving for a rainy day? Do we allow ourselves to love and possibly be hurt or do we lock ourselves away in safety? Is the best person the one who works tirelessly or the one who makes time for family and friends? Who are we? What are our responsibilities? These questions and the like keep us awake at night and make us anxious and sometimes even filled with guilt. We see those who seem to care less than we do and wonder if they have found the secret to a good life or if they are simply selfish. Why can’t we go back to that lovely state of ignorance and should we even think of doing so?

We have watched bright lights among us being snuffed out far too soon because they relied on foreign substances to still the worries in their hearts. They became addicted to the false promises of alcohol and drugs, silent killers murdering their bodies and their souls. We have seen broken souls who were trampled by people to whom they gave their trust and their love. We wonder what we might have done to help them and why we were so busy looking the other way when they were in trouble. Why did we pretend to be ignorant. Did the not knowing really bring us the bliss that we wanted?

The wounded souls are all around us. It is difficult to see their pain and even harder to attempt to do something to help them and yet we all know of brave individuals who open themselves to criticism and misunderstanding by having the courage to take a stand. Whenever someone steps forward to admit to being human they are invariably subjected to insults. It is not easy to walk out of the dark shelter of a closet and tell the world exactly who we are and who we want to be. Just as my grandmother’s children had rocks thrown at them only because they were different from their neighbors, so too do we have a tendency to laugh at and torment those who appear different from ourselves. Where do we learn to do such things? Is it a fact that  ignorance is not bliss at all but instead an evil that causes us to do and say ridiculous things? Is the truth that in learning we actually begin to free ourselves from the chains that bind us to our narrow minds? Should we be less afraid of venturing into unknown territory and more of never going outside? Does our isolation lead to the very heart ache that we most fear?

Each life is a blessed creation that should receive care and feeding. We are born to interact with the universe and to learn as much about ourselves and the people who share the world with us as we possibly can. The happiest souls are not the ones who shutter their windows and never risk being hurt. We become stronger and better even from the most difficult moments of our lives if we are willing to grow from each experience. Ignorance is a false bliss. Knowledge can be frightening but it can also bring truth and truth is ultimately what we all seek. No matter how much we want, it is unwise to turn a blind eye to reality. If we are to find happiness we must first be honest with ourselves. That means having a willingness to learn new ideas and to accept that nobody ever has all of the answers. Ours lives should be exciting adventures in which we steadily increase our knowledge of the world and its people. Regardless of the number of times that we stumble and fall its up to each of us to keep moving forward, ever forward.   

Lemonade

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

lemonade-012.jpgWe humans love a good party and manage to find excuses for having one on a regular basis. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, new jobs, weddings, retirements. Our yearly calendar includes festivities for the New Year, Valentine’s Day, Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving and of course the Big Daddy of them all, Christmas. We call friends together to view special events like the Academy Awards or the Grammys and we have elevated the watching of major sporting events to a form of high art in our quest for the perfect gathering.

In our efforts to find distractions from the routine of our daily lives we go to great lengths to make our occasions special. We decorate our homes and prepare special recipes. We don appropriate clothing and take photographs so that we might record our joy for all time. It’s all quite fun and plays to our natures as social beings. Mostly such times make us quite happy, but because we are each highly complex individuals such well intentioned galas sometimes also have the power of creating problems for us.

Our lives are never simply smooth transitions from one era to another. None of us are immune to the slings and arrows of misfortune. We all experience illnesses, loss, heartbreak, loneliness, fear. It is part of our destiny to be up one day and down on another. Challenges pop into our lives without warning. That special person to whom we have given our love proves to be disloyal and hurtful. The phone rings and we hear unbearably bad news. A routine visit to a doctor reveals an unexpected and frightening diagnosis. Our personal world is turned upside down from time to time as inevitably as the rest of humankind celebrates. Suddenly we view all of those lighthearted images on Facebook from a different perspective. We wonder how it is even possible for so many to be so happy when we are so down. Our pain can be quite real and disabling.

There are angels among us who notice such things. Even in the midst of their own revelry they think of people who are less fortunate. While they are buying the hot wings and beer for the Super Bowl party they also take time to contribute time and donations to the Super Bowl of Caring. These are very good people like the little Cub Scout that I know who spent his entire Saturday gathering food for the hungry in the city that hosted this year’s football extravaganza. Perhaps he has learned his generosity from his grandmother who quietly visited her elderly mother in a nursing home on Sunday night while the rest of us were cheering at parties and sports bars. Such gentle and unselfish individuals remind us to be aware of the suffering even as we have a good time.

I think of life as a joyful experience and I believe that it is good for us to find ways to celebrate. I went to two wonderful parties yesterday. The first was for a little boy who turned one. He is both a blessing and a miracle. Before he was even born doctors worried that he might have major heath problems. His parents were counseled to be ready for some rather frightening possibilities. They are faith-filled and were determined to trust in the will of God. They believed with all of their hearts that they would be able to handle whatever challenges lay ahead. Gloriously the baby boy has flourished and enjoyed good health but in an ironic twist his mother has spent much of his first year of life being treated for cancer. She and her family have approached her ordeal with the same level of hope and faith that they exhibited during her pregnancy. At this moment it appears that her treatments are doing exactly what they should and that she will one day be restored to good health again. Yesterday’s party was more than just a milestone for the little boy. It was a celebration of life and hope and never ending love evidenced by the smiling faces of adults and children pausing just long enough from their own trials and tribulations to show their gratitude for the wonders that they have witnessed in this remarkable family.

The second party was centered on a birthday for my sister-in-law Allison. Each year she invites family and friends to enjoy her special day while viewing the Super Bowl which invariably takes place right around the day of her birth. I have always suspected that Allison was born with a big smile on her face and that she filled her family’s home with laughter from the very beginning. She is one of those truly optimistic souls who bring joy and sunshine into every room that she enters. It would be easy to believe that she has somehow been immune to the sorrows and tragedies that stalk the rest of us but that would be false indeed. She has had many crosses to bear, maybe even more than most, but she manages to do so with a determination to continue her journey without becoming overwhelmed. She does whatever she has to do to stay upright and rarely allows her optimism to fade. I suspect that her secret is that she almost never focuses on herself even at her own birthday party. She is always thinking of everyone else and it is in her generous spirit that her true essence resides. It is the stalwart that keeps her from crashing into a state of despondency when her world goes awry. The people at her party all love her because she is a giver who makes each person that she encounters feel special.

It is good and right that we find reasons to celebrate. God knows that we are surrounded by much sadness and want. We don’t have to feel guilty for being happy and nourishing our souls. We need not don hair shirts and beat ourselves for being fortunate. There is a special beauty in a gathering of souls connected by a bond of friendship and love. It is from these small communities of caring that the power of all that is right and just eventually grows. The goodness that we all want for the world begins in living rooms with people smiling and cheering and sharing common bonds. If it takes a ballgame to create such moments, so be it.

For a few hours yesterday many of us forgot about our problems and our differences. We enjoyed the amazing talent of individuals who are among the best at what they do. We tapped our feet as Lady Gaga showed us how to come together by remembering who we are and what we have in common. We sat with people that we love and sent posts to friends who were with us even as they were far away. It wasn’t just about the food or the decorations or the game itself. Somehow we all knew that it was mostly about our humanity and our hopes and our dreams. Sometimes it is a truly good thing to stop in our tracks and allow ourselves to just enjoy the moment. It’s how we renew our energies and mend our divisions. Perhaps the best advice that any of us might follow is to seize the day. There is something quite lovely about making life a party in which we honor the best of ourselves and the people around us. Finding reasons for happiness is not an ignoring of reality. It is a celebration of it. So when you find yourself losing hope gather all of your lemons, make some lemonade and have a party.

Learning To Be A Woman

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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