Category: Blog

Nature Unplugged

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

21nov2011_1__dsc7226My husband and I went camping last weekend when the temperatures were in the freezing range. Our neighbors wondered out loud if we had perhaps neglected to note the arrival of colder than normal weather, especially when they heard that we were going to Galveston Island State Park. Somehow in their minds it seemed rather strange to head to the beach in low thirty degree conditions. I suppose that most people would agree but that’s because they haven’t tried it.

We covered out plants before leaving and took the more delicate potted ones inside. We kept our smart phones tuned to the Weather Channel and equipped the trailer with our warmest blankets, lots of hot chocolate, coffee and tea. We made sure that we had coats, gloves and hats and that the propane that runs our heater was in full supply. Mike even had foam insulation to put around the hoses that provide water for our convenience. We were as well prepared as a bevy of Boy Scouts.

It was grey and rainy when we arrived at our campsite. We had a grand view of Galveston Bay which was anything but tranquil. The thirty mile per hour winds created enormous white caps on the waves that churned the water. It was a glorious site that we enjoyed from inside the cozy comfort of our trailer whose walls were buffeted by the storm. We listened to music and had the rare privilege of simply enjoying the scene around us without interruptions from phones or unexpected solicitors at our door. We felt as though we were in a warm cocoon hibernating from stress and it was wonderful. We had neither the need nor the desire to venture outside because we were surrounded by the serenity and bounty of nature.

The marshlands between us and the bay were teeming with exotic birds doing their best  to hunker down until the environment became less hostile. They were magnificent and I felt as though I was being given a rare treat because I doubt that they would have been so bold if the other humans that were in the park with us were walking about. Since all of us stayed indoors we had a rare peak at what goes on inside such an ecosystem. I most enjoyed the pelicans who somehow appear graceful in flight despite their bulkiness in physique. There were cranes and seagulls and grumpy blackbirds that attempted to take control of the area but were generally ignored.

After dark we watched a movie while wrapped tightly in our blanket with the heater warming all of the corners of our tiny home away from home. We sipped on chai tea and hot chocolate and munched on bowls of popcorn. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening.

The sun eventually came out and we ventured over to the Galveston Seawall where the water was crystal clear and shining like brilliant jewels. Nobody was swimming but many sauntered along in their heavy winter gear just enjoying the sound of the waves and the lack of big crowds that usually cram the beach. It was actually far more beautiful that it is in the heat of summer and I began to think of all of the secrets of the sea and wonder what the waters had witnessed during the course of history.

We followed Seawall Boulevard all the way down to the end of the island where huge ships were entering the bay. I wanted to know from whence they had come and where they were going. There was a virtual traffic jam of tankers, barges and tug boats. Along the shore fishermen quietly cast their lines in hopes of landing dinner for the evening. It was isolated and felt like a private  tour of places on the island that I had not before seen.

We drove to the historic Stand and braved the cold to walk among the shops and browse the wares. The clerks were happy to have customers and the time to tarry in conversation. I learned that many people come from other parts of the country just to live in Galveston during the winter season. Most of them had neglected to bring their cold weather clothing and so they had to make do with layering on that very cold day.

It was Galveston Restaurant Week and so we stopped at one of our favorite haunts, the Gumbo Bar. It was good to find some warmth and a special menu in honor of the festivities. We enjoyed oyster po’ boys and bread pudding and then drove to the ferry that goes across the bay to the Bolivar Peninsula. There were more ships and hundreds of birds as well as offshore oil rigs to keep our attention in the short trip across.

I had not been to that area in a long time. I had heard that there had been grave damage when Hurricane Ike hit several years ago. It seemed to have recovered rather well but as always it is a quieter side of Galveston Bay without nearly as much of the tourist trade. It’s a paradise for fisherman and those who want to catch a few of the blue crabs that inhabit the waters. I noticed a number of RV parks hosting snowbirds from northern states, people who come each year to avoid the snow and months long cold of their homes.

By the last day of our mini-vacation the temperature was hospitable enough for us to take a long stroll along the beach. We bundled up and brought a bag to use in collecting the many shells that had been left behind by the storm. I found some beauties but mostly enjoyed the fact that we were the only people anywhere. I felt a contentment as we walked silently from one end of the beach park to the other with the waves whispering their welcome to us. I didn’t need to enter the water to feel a sense of joy. I only desired to observe all of the wonders of nature that graced us in our solitary little haven.

We reluctantly left for home driving for one last time along the seawall. There were more people braving the cooler temperatures to walk on the wall built by people attempting to tame the wildness of the sea after the ocean swallowed Galveston in a hurricane of 1900. The waves were asserting themselves as if to remind us all that they are ultimately in charge. Their power is breathtaking and my last glance at them left me with a lovely memory whose image I draw upon for comfort and serenity.

Those who believe that there is nothing to do in Galveston on a freezing cold day in January have never been there to see what we did. It was one of the loveliest camping trips that I have ever made. It’s delightful to visit a place without the sometimes intrusive footprint of other people crowding the view. Go there in the winter. Linger in the quiet. Enjoy nature unplugged.     

Time and Place

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

7aea08a23754ac4ae7fb7ce0b0ca8567.jpgI was a very young child when my father died suddenly. I had a rather difficult time grasping the reality of the situation. For a very long time I had recurrent dreams in which he would return home, explaining that he had been on a long business trip. We were overjoyed to learn that he was okay and our lives continued just as they had before his fatal car accident. Sometimes even in the light of day I would have moments when I almost forgot that he was gone. I expected to see him coming through the front door smiling. Then I would remember what had happened and feel a sense of grief overtake me. Slowly but surely over a period of many months I adjusted to the reality of my situation and it was a painful experience filled with sadness and many fears.

Since that tragic time in my life I have endured other losses but none quite as surprising and gut wrenching as the death of my father. Nonetheless there were moments when I  dreamed of other loved ones who had died with such vivid reality that it seemed as though they really were still here with me. I would awake feeling disoriented and extremely disappointed upon realizing that my mind had played tricks on me. I suspect that my night time reunions with the departed were a kind of survival mechanism to help me ease into the stark realization that my world had dramatically changed and there was nothing more that I might do about it other than learn how to cope.

I have been quite weary since November. I still think back on the instant when it became clear that Donald J. Trump was going to be the next President of the United States and my mind goes foggy as though I am grappling with a concept that still has not quite computed in my brain. I was barely awake when his victory was declared at nearly three in the morning. I think that I actually went into shock. I remember seeing President Elect Trump’s face in those first moments and I believe to this very day that he was almost as surprised by his victory as I was. During those few moments when he first learned that he would be the leader of our nation he appeared genuinely humble and perhaps even a bit afraid. I almost wish he would stay that way but alas he has regained his old bravado.

I awoke early the morning after the election feeling groggy and a bit hungover, not from drink but from the brew of disbelief that still kept me from accepting what had happened. I fully expected to learn that I had only imagined that a man who seemed so singularly unqualified for the highest office in the land had actually won. In the days and weeks following I became engaged in a flurry of activity that included my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the dawn of a new year. I even lost my dear sweet cousin Jack to heart disease. All of these things kept me busy enough that I rarely even thought about the election or any of my fears of what might happen once Donald Trump takes the oath and becomes our head of state. It was not until the lights and glitter of the holiday season were tucked away that I began to think about what had happened. Amazingly I have yet to fully embrace the realities to come. Somehow I harbor the same disbelief that overtook me when my father died. I expect to learn at any minute that the whole election season had been an elaborate joke or a very bad dream.

I feel a bit weary from all of the back and forth and hatefulness that was so much a part of the election season. I’m very tired of the invective and bitterness. I’m ready to sit back and give the man a chance to demonstrate that he is not as ill suited for the job as I think he is. I grasp at moments when he actually assumes a presidential demeanor and try to give him credit when it is due. I don’t believe that writing him off before he has even begun will do our country any good. Self fulfilling prophecies rarely bring positive results. I tell myself that I need to be vigilant but also fair in judging Donald J. Trump and hope that he will prove me wrong. I would like nothing better than to witness him rising to the occasion and showing compassion and understanding for all of the citizens of our nation.

I am a peacemaker by nature, a diplomat. I believe in compromise and the power of finding points of agreement between differing camps. Deep down inside we all want a better world for our children. We unfortunately have conflicting visions of what that looks like. Sometimes the best answer to our problems is the one that takes into account everyone’s feelings. I worry that we are now so divided that we will automatically spurn offers of an olive branch even when it seems wise to give a little to get a little of what we want and need. Right now the knee jerk reactions from both sides of the political spectrum indicate that we are not yet ready to surrender our implacable points of view, which gets me to a pet peeve of mine.

I love to watch awards shows like the Grammys, Emmys, and Academy Awards. I enjoy the pomp and the celebrity of such celebrations. They provide me with an escape from the tedium of day to day realities, just as the artistry that they honor also brings me relaxation and momentary forgetfulness about the troubles that plague us. Fantasy has a way of helping us to cope just as the dreams of my father did. We want it to take us away from whatever is bothering us, not remind us of our worries. When we enter Disney World we become enchantingly entranced and leave our hurts and fears at the gate. So it is with music, television and movies. Our minds feel free as we momentarily forget whatever has been bothering us. When we honor the gifted individuals who give us the gift of their talents we want to be festive, not political. If we wanted to hear editorials we would tune in to Meet the Press or read the opinion pieces of the Washington Post.

During George W. Bush’s presidency the awards programming became boorish to me. It was almost certain that someone would launch into a tirade that I didn’t want to hear even if I agreed with the thoughts. It seemed an inappropriate time in which those of us in the audience were being held captive to points of view that had little relevance to the reason for the event. I slowly began to switch channels when such things happened and to be conditioned to not even tune in at all. For the most part these antics have disappeared in the last eight years because most celebrities were strong supporters of President Obama. Now I fear that the tactics will begin anew and I will have to abandon my viewing in protest.

I have always considered Meryl Streep to be one of the finest actresses to ever grace the silver screen. Many decades ago I listed her as my favorite star and that admiration has not abated over time. She is a gracious and supremely talented woman. I am well aware that she was a dedicated supporter of Hillary Clinton. I think she might even be a grand person to one day portray Ms. Clinton in a biopic. I deeply respect her political views as well as her disappointment in the outcome of the election because I am as stunned and worried as she is. At the Golden Globes she was given a well deserved lifetime achievement award. The acceptance speech that she gave was moderated and heartfelt but it was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A simple thank you to those who gave her this distinction was all that we needed to hear. There will be ample time and multiple places to more appropriately deliver her message. I would ask her and other celebrities to please just entertain us. We need our moments of escape and when we want to hear what they are thinking we will tune in to programming that is designed for discussions and opinions. We will read their tweets and ponder their editorials when they appear in the proper settings. We don’t want to hear lectures when our purpose is to pause from the irritations of life for an hour or two.

Celebrities must understand that we ordinary folk live in the big middle of the furor. We don’t have fences around our compounds. We have no cooks or cleaning ladies. We are our children’s nannies. We work hard and have very little free time on any given day. We have bills to pay and repairs to make. It’s not that we don’t care about the issues that are so vital to the artists who entertain us. It is only that we need a break now and again which is why we love the movies, shows and music that these gifted individuals provide us. When it comes time to honor the best of the best we want to see a celebration not a political rally. That is all that we ask. If they think about it perhaps they will understand.

A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

lead_largeWe humans have a need to control our environment, to fix things that appear to be broken. All in all that is an admirable trait until it gets out of hand, which it often does. Then we become almost obsessive in our desire to find a kind of perfection in the world around us. We craft rules and laws hoping to improve everyone’s lives. Most of the time our motives are not evil or selfish. Our intentions are generally good but we sometimes miss the mark. Sadly we have a tendency to stick with our plans even when it becomes apparent that our ideas have not worked as intended. We change a little of this and a little of that, complicating our lives just a bit more with each new layer, refusing to admit that maybe we have been moving in the wrong direction all along.

For the vast majority of history only the most wealthy and powerful individuals were afforded the luxury of an education. The sons of royalty were taught to read and to cipher and once in a great while even their daughters had tutors to show them how to unlock the mysteries of numbers and words. Most of the great unwashed millions were illiterate which made them less likely to change their economic status from one generation to the next. Eventually there was a realization that societies might benefit from having a more educated populace and more emphasis was placed on providing youngsters with the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic. Still, the average soul never went very far up the educational ladder, especially if that person was a woman or a minority. Up to and including my grandfathers, nobody in my family had gone past the seventh grade in their learning and my grandmothers were both functionally illiterate.

The dawn of the twentieth century brought a whole new attitude about schooling in the United States. The Industrial Revolution had highlighted the need for a more educated populace than the more agrarian work of the past required. When the United States joined in the conflict of World War I it emerged from the isolation that had mostly defined it since its beginnings. Leaders of the nation imagined a better future for everyone and it began in the classroom. Suddenly there was an interest in education for all unlike anything that had come before. Even the poor and women were to receive the basics needed for a literate society. The debate over what knowledge and skills should be included in a publicly funded system began in earnest and it has been raging ever since.

At first it seemed as though the efforts to teach the children of the nation went fairly well, fairly quickly. More and more youngsters were reaching higher and higher levels of education. My own parents not only graduated from high school but also went on to earn college degrees, a rather amazing feat given the almost non-existent levels of education of their parents. Still there were numerous individuals within their generation who attended school only until they felt a need to drop out and begin working, sometimes as early as middle school. Blacks went to poorly funded schools that were segregated and rarely equal in the quality of supplies and books and programs being offered. There were still many reasons to note that we had not reached our goal of universally equal and excellent schooling for all.

By the time that I was in school the civil rights movement was in full bloom, highlighting the need for integration and fairness for everyone. More and more people began to take completion of high school for granted and enrollment in colleges began to increase. Nonetheless, there was a general feeling that we were still behind our counterparts from around the world. Educational research began in earnest and methods for improving schools were incorporated inside classrooms. We pushed not just to have bodies in the seats but to create real participation in the learning experience, to have teachers who inspired and created lifelong learners.

I mostly loved going to school. My teachers were dedicated individuals who had few supplies and little in the way of technology. They made up for the lack of such things with enthusiasm. I recall feeling relaxed in my classes and enjoyed the laughter that was always a part of the ones that were the most enjoyable. We had a few standardized tests here and there but very little mention was ever made of them so we took them without worry. Somehow they were a mysterious aspect of the school year that had no real meaning in our lives, at least that’s how it felt to me. It was only when we reached the moment of taking college entrance exams that we felt the pressure of achieving a particular score and even then most universities were less concerned about how we had done on a three hour test than what kind of effort we had demonstrated over the course of our four years in high school. In other words, my generation was somewhat spared the angst of continual standardized testing.

I became a teacher because I literally loved the magic of the academic process that had taken place in the schools of my youth. They made me feel happy in a strange kind of way. I wanted to help transfer my own joy of learning to the next generation. For a time it was a most rewarding way to earn a living but slowly the idea of measuring the success or failure of every aspect of education began to take a stranglehold on how things were done in classrooms. I initially supported the idea of requiring teachers to follow more stringent guidelines in the curriculum. As a result of such designs I received a more ready group of students each year. My job became easier because there were fewer gaps in learning than ever before. I believed that we were on the right track until the entire focus began to revolve around determining how well educators were sticking with the prescribed curriculum and that meant testing the students. Before long we were asking our kids to take tests to prepare for the tests. We had to throw out the fun lessons that took too long and push the students to keep moving forward even when we knew that they had not yet mastered the material. There was no time for lingering and sometimes not even for laughing. There would be a common assessment at a scheduled time. We all had to be ready lest we be judged to be poor teachers.

Now we seem to be stuck in an educational quagmire that is increasingly uncomfortable for our teachers, our students and even the parents. Every January campuses take on a sense of dread as the clock begins ticking in the countdown to the spring testing season. So much is at stake for everyone. Teachers will be appraised based on how well their kids do on the tests. Students know that the trajectory of their lives will move one way or another depending on their scores. Parents watch helplessly as their youngsters grow increasingly stressed. Administrators will rise in the ranks or be cast aside depending on the ultimate results of the children in their care. It is a situation in which few are happy and yet the insistence on adhering to high stakes testing continues unabated.

The cries for help are already appearing on the walls of Facebook and in blogs. A poet admits that questions on a seventh grade test about one of her works were too nebulous for her to answer correctly even though the words had come from her mind. A teacher recounts the horror stories that are pushing her out of the profession. A distraught parent wants to know why her child is so nervous and confused and why the teachers won’t slow down enough to allow her little one to master the materiel instead of moving from one topic to another at breakneck speed.

We have a sense that we have somehow gone astray and turned our educational system into a million dollar industry for testing companies rather than a place where learning is viewed as a pleasant experience. Our children have to be taught to think in a particular way so that they might beat the tests that they will take again and again and again.

We know that there are those among us who have the experiences that make them more likely to do well on those tests even without the instruction that they receive and others whose minds work differently who will overthink their answers and choose based on legitimate reasons that they are not allowed to explain on a bubble sheet. Our mathematics teachers are reluctant to give partial credit for answers that were calculated correctly but for one small error so that students who actually understand concepts are lumped with those who have no idea what they are doing. After all, the standardized tests will not differentiate between those who just need to check their subtraction on one step and those who have simply guessed and chosen the wrong response because they are clueless.

I don’t know what it will take to rid ourselves of this onerous situation which is forcing a generation of teachers, students and parents to become testing drones rather than thinkers. Perhaps instead of mounting a silent revolution with frustrated comments on social media we should all begin to insist that our voices be heard. Many groups are marching through the streets these days with their individual protests when the one cause that should unite us all is the education of our children. We should feel fervent in our desire to rid our schools of the plague that is killing the very liveliness and joy that should come with learning. It is in classrooms all across our nation that so many of the problems that trouble us begin. Our young women might feel more empowered if we quit subjecting them to tests that have been proven to favor their middle class male counterparts. Those who roam the streets of Chicago performing murderous acts might be more inclined to turn their attention to school if they were to find a more interesting atmosphere that is attuned to their needs rather than to constantly assessing how much they know. Our levels of poverty and unemployment will be greatly reduced if we work on providing our youth with real world skills that take note of their interests and talents rather than attempting to force them all to embark on STEM careers. It’s time that we demand that the lunacy of constant testing that is driving our entire educational system receive a major overhaul.

As the old saying goes, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Right now we are sending far too many minds careening over a cliff. When will we insist that we have had enough?

The Crossing

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

children_crossingI stood at the corner just as I was told to do. It was early morning and the students were arriving on foot, in cars and on buses. I liked being all by myself because I was not yet fully awake. My post allowed me to enjoy the morning sunshine and organize my thoughts without the interruptions of the early risers who always seemed to be so boisterous and happy at an ungodly hour. It had been a last minute request from the principal. He needed to be certain that someone would be watching over the kids from that vantage point and he specifically wanted that person to be me. Luckily I had prepared my classroom for the day’s work the afternoon before so I wasn’t bothered at all by the unusual assignment.

I smiled quietly at the passersby. It was actually fun to watch the neighborhood on parade. It was a poor part of town but the people were vibrant and hopeful that theirs would be the last generation to know poverty. They sent their children to school full of dreams and most of the youngsters were responding well. Sadly gangs had infiltrated the area and often made plays for the same kids that the parents were working so hard to protect. Many of the leaders of those groups were my students. They generally behaved well in the classroom, attempting to fly under the radar lest they find troubles that might interfere with their after school work of plying illegal activities. Now and again one of them would be caught and sent to juvenile detention or even prison depending on age. I got along well with them and often let them know that I worried about them.

On that morning I saw many of them arriving at school as though their lives were totally normal. They waved at me as they passed and I felt secure in the knowledge that they might be safe for the next few hours while they were under our care.

I understood that danger was always a possibility. I had witnessed violent fights in the hallways that ended badly for those who became involved. I had talked students out of pursuing brutal encounters more than once. I knew that most of my kids were good-hearted and willing to defer to my wishes. Sadly they all too often found trouble once they left at the end of the day.

I liked standing at that crossing on that morning. It was a sunny day with almost perfect spring weather. I was in my element, ready to take on the challenges of the day whatever they may be. My time as a sentry was uneventful just as I had expected. I reported back to the secretary to assure her that all had gone well.

She sighed with relief when she heard my peaceful account, revealing that a tipster had alerted the school that a drive by shooting was planned for that corner on that very day. I wasn’t sure how to react to the disturbing news. I was certainly happy that nothing had happened but I wondered why I had not been informed earlier of the possibilities. I was stunned that I had been left all alone on that crossing when there was knowledge that I might witness or be victimized by violence. I laughed weakly as though I didn’t quite believe what she was saying and silently heaved a sigh of relief.

The more I thought about the incident, the more convinced I became that I had perhaps forestalled the plan because it may have been one of my students who had hatched the plot. Perhaps the perpetrator saw me and decided not to get me involved. I was still quite worried to think that such thoughts had ever occurred to anyone even if the entire incident had been nothing more than a prank. Knowing that innocents and I had been so close to danger bothered me for many weeks.

My situation became the subject of dark humor among my colleagues. We had learned to laugh at even the most dire events. It was our way of surviving much like the doctors and nurses of M.A.S.H. teams. One of my coworkers told her husband about what had happened and after that he showed up in his police car every single time I was on duty. He would flip on his siren for a few seconds and tease me about potential crime. I soon enough figured out that he was watching over me without drawing attention to his kindness. We shared that private joke even though I think we both knew that his patrol was deadly serious.

So many of my former students ended up in the penitentiary. I always cried when I learned of their fate. It was such a waste of intellect and talent and basically good souls. I knew that immaturity and a need to belong had most often prompted their thug life. I preferred hearing the stories of those who had managed to find their way out of the maelstrom. There were many who ultimately found success as firefighters, police officers and soldiers in the military. They belonged to new brotherhoods that gave them hope. Some of them came back to tell me of their success. I was moved by the hard work and determination that they had exerted to set themselves free.

I can still envision that morning at that school crossing. I’d like to think that all of our children will always be as protected and safe as they were on that day. Sadly the realities tell me that there are still so many innocents who become victims of poverty, ignorance and warring gangs. In Chicago the problem is so horrible that we have difficulty even knowing what to do to stop the violence. It is an awesome task filled with danger but we have to try.

One of my former students who seemed to be inextricably tangled with local gangs managed to eventually extricate himself. When I asked him how he found the courage to walk away from the ugliness of it all he explained that it was faith that brought him through. The faith that his parents had in him even at the lowest point made him realize that he already belonged to a loving family and he did not need the outside forces that taunted and tempted him. The faith of teachers who saw the positive aspects of his personality and intelligence helped him to understand his own potential. The faith of the members of his family’s church who prayed for him even when he seemed lost convinced him that there was a power greater than the thugs with whom he had allied himself. The faith of an assistant principal who refused to allow him to throw his life away made him see that he had never been alone. Ultimately he felt the power of that faith and began to believe in himself as well. He turned his life around and left the ugliness of the streets for good.

Each of us has a responsibility to our young. Sometimes it begins by being present at a crossing where they begin to learn of the strength that they have within themselves. We cannot simply give up on them because they have made mistakes. It is with the weakest among us that we have the most potential to change the world. Each of us has to try. We never really know how important a simple act of kindness or encouragement may impact a human soul. We need to be there to see them walk safely across.

Why We Love “This Is Us”

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

This Is Us - Season PilotJack, Rebecca, Kate, Kevin and Randall visit living rooms all across America on Tuesday evenings and the nation is in love with them. The hit series This Is Us tells the story of complex familial relationships through flashbacks and the present. The show provides us with a look at the dynamics of an unusual family that manages to seem so real and so much like us. It has stolen the hearts of fans and critics alike. After each new episode Facebook and Twitter fill with commentaries from devotees whose emotions have been aroused once again by the sheer humanity of the writing and the acting of the ensemble cast, but there is more to the This Is Us phenomenon than talent. There is something so relatable about the characters and stories that it reaches deep into our psyche’s and pulls out thoughts and feelings we have experienced in our own lives. It is so very real.

The series begins with Jack and Rebecca, a young couple very much in love but struggling with the fears that are part and parcel of married life, a lack of ample funds, worry about differing beliefs and the surprise of becoming the parents of triplets. Almost immediately there are kinks in their best laid plans that both strain and bless their lives. Their family’s journey into the present day is littered with the ups and downs that we all experience. Sometimes they seem to hit home runs with their wisdom and at other times they fall far short, creating damaging secrets and hurts that affect everyone.

Kate, Kevin and Randall are the children. There is a brilliant twist in their story that I will not reveal lest I be a spoiler for those who have not yet tuned in to this acclaimed show. Kate struggles with her weight and more importantly, her confidence. She has fought the temptations of eating from her childhood, a difficulty made even more intense because her mother seems to her to be a perfect and exceedingly beautiful woman. Kate is giving and loving and never appears able to put her own needs before those of her brothers and even her boyfriend. She lives to please but finds herself continuously unhappy and confused about what her true role in life should be. She has her own beauty and talents but has subjugated them for so long that she doesn’t even appear to know that they exist.

Kevin is handsome and seemingly full of himself. When we first meet him he is an actor in a successful television series that is nonetheless ridiculously silly. He longs to be more than a shallow caricature and seeks a more serious part, quitting his steady job in a fit of pique. In spite of all of his attributes he is as unsure of himself as Kate. There is an emptiness in his soul that he doesn’t know how to fill. He relies on his family, particularly Kate, for the reassurances that he seeks.

Randall is the odd man out. He is far different from his siblings, highly successful and brilliant. He is the only one who has a family of his own with a gorgeous wife and two adorable daughters. Still, he too longs to know himself better and in his quest for his identity he discovers long buried secrets that test his relationships with the other members of his family. 

This Is Us charts the dangerous waters of real life. It holds up a mirror to the human experience in which we see our own reflections juxtaposed with those of the very believable and lovable characters. They are us with their sibling rivalries, bad choices, and deep devotion to one another. We laugh and cry with them each week because we understand both their pain and their triumphs, for we have walked in their shoes both as children and as parents. We understand what it is to muck up situations when our intentions are so good. We have felt the same slights and unwanted jealousies in our own relationships. We all seek the best of ourselves but too often fall short of expectations. Our lives are wrought with failures and victories. We pick ourselves up from defeat over and over again and keep trying because that is who we are and how we are made. We feel the pain and the joy of Jack, Rebecca, Kate, Kevin and Randall in the most gut wrenching ways. We root for them as though they are real. That is how good the writing and the acting on this show is.

Even with the hundreds of channels and thousands of twenty four hour choices that we have for our watching pleasure in today’s media driven world television is still mostly a vast wasteland. This Is Us is one of those rare jewels that becomes an instant hit from the first moment that we meet the incredible and believable characters. It is a grownup version of The Wonder Years in which the angst of childhood has matured into the difficulties of being an adult. Human imperfections and resolutions drive a narrative that comes to life in the hands of incredible actors like Sterling K. Brown, Milo Ventimiglia and Mandy Moore. Each week the ensemble cast provides us with a tour de force of raw emotion and laughter that we discuss over the water cooler and dining table until the next installment as though we are speaking about our own families.

At times I feel like Rebecca, a mom doing her best to provide her children with the finest possible upbringing but being equally unsure that I have done things properly. At other times I am Kate walking in the shadow of a mother who seemed to be perfection itself and two brothers who never really understood what it has been like to be a woman competing for attention with men. I have known Kevin’s frustrations and the sense that I might do better things with my life than I have already done. I have known the same feelings of being an outsider that stalk Randall. Mostly I have been totally and unapologetically in love with my family just as these characters are with each other. I know that at the end of the day no matter what has happened my brothers will be there for me and I for them. Together we share a bond built on a lifetime of adventures. It is who we are.

If you haven’t yet begun to watch This Is Us I highly recommend that you do so when it returns for the winter season. Previous episodes are now available for catching up with the story. Start from the beginning to better understand why they are who they are. You won’t regret letting this lovable family into your heart. Be sure to bring some tissue with you because the tears will surely flow as you tag along with them and recall your own family memories. Their story belongs to all of us.