Category: Blog

Higher Ground

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

4-ways-to-prevent-office-bulliesI’ve observed bullying for most of my life. I was once the victim of bullying, a situation that I nipped in the bud by ignoring my antagonist whom I considered to be sadly damaged. I successfully defended a classmate who was the brunt of ugly jokes and taunts. As an educator I witnessed incidents of cruelty that were horrific. I did my best to teach both my children and my students the importance of living by a moral code imbued with sensitivity, integrity and kindness. When necessary I entered the fray to protect those who had become emotionally broken from the barrage of insults that they had experienced. Sadly I have noticed that over time the game of bullying has only seemed to grow stronger and more common as social media provides a powerful conduit for harming individuals with words and ideas.

Bullying appears to have evolved into a worldwide blood sport these days. We have a presidential candidate who is lauded by his supporters as a kind of warrior because of his fearlessness in accusing an opponent’s father of being somehow associated with an assassin or remarking on the physical flaws of women that he finds threatening. He hurls insults at entire religions and countries. Instead of admonishing and spurning him, large groups of people provide him with attention and adulation as though his lack of manners is a sign of courage rather than crudeness. What are our children to think?

We have countless commercials in which people quite subtly demean others in an attempt at humor. Why do we find it funny when an individual pokes fun at a friend’s command of grammar? What is so wonderful about a woman rolling her eyeballs at a husband being portrayed as a total moron? Why do we laugh when we know we should instead feel uncomfortable?

Facebook and Twitter abound with ugly derisive posts. We encourage bad behavior by sharing and retweeting comments that might once have been considered too rude to repeat. We say that we abhor bullying of any kind and yet we do little to stop the ceaseless chatter that demoralizes and demonizes individuals and groups alike. In today’s world none of us are immune from unwanted and often unsolicited hatefulness. It is little wonder that so many people are choosing to tune out.

Prince William and Princess Kate are attempting to vanguard a movement to bring attention to the horrific effects of bullying. Their campaign reminds us of the often unfair and sordid gossip that swirled around Princess Diana, William’s mother. The poor woman was hounded by cameras and invasions of her privacy. Rumors smothered her attempts to live normally. In the end she died in a tragic accident as she attempted to evade her stalkers. It might be said that she was the victim of a form of salacious and relentless bullying from a public all too hungry to learn her dirty little secrets.

I have generally found that bullies are quite insecure. While they may appear to exude confidence the truth is that they have a need to exert power over others to assuage their own fears. When stripped of their boorish behaviors they often have very little to offer. They are generally very unhappy people and many times are the product of abusive parenting practices. They struggle physically, academically and emotionally. Their bravado masks the emptiness that they feel. They need to dominate others so that they might may pretend to be powerful. They become particularly happy whenever they attract a following for their contemptible behaviors. Like the boorish dictators that they are, they mistake fear for respect. In most cases the quickest way to shut them down is to leave them alone and isolated, a tactic that is all too many times easier said than done.

Back in high school I ran for student body secretary. One morning I had a minor skirmish with a fairly well known bully. I stood at the entrance of my school handing classmates campaign material and requesting votes. Most people politely acknowledged my greeting but one fellow decided to speak his mind. He tore the paper that I had given him in half, spat on it, let it fall to the floor and then crushed it with his shoe. He looked me in the eye and proclaimed that nobody liked me and that I espoused a special hatred in him. He told me that I was so unattractive that it was hard for him to even look at me. As a parting shot he gave me directions as to where he thought I should go.

I suppose that he wanted me to cry or react in some manner but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. The only thought that I had was a deep sense of sadness that his life was so bereft that he found some sense of joy in putting me down when I barely knew him. His actions only registered in my mind because they seemed so overblown and indicative of an individual who was headed nowhere in life. I’ve always remembered that occasion because I wanted to understand what kind of poison might have created someone so hateful. His cruelty was stunning to me because it said more about him than it did about me.

We all have a vested interest in helping not only those who are bullied but the bullies as well. Our children need counseling in how best to handle such negative situations but we also must consider how to help those whose actions are so obviously toxic. We can begin teaching our kids by modeling healthy behaviors ourselves. We have to speak out against anyone who wrongly uses words and actions to demean or harm. We must show our young that it sometimes requires courage to stand up for what is right. We have to be careful that in defending we do not sink into the morass. We can demonstrate how to debate with facts and ideas rather than insults.

There have been bullies throughout history. We have yet to find a sure fire way of ridding ourselves of them. Sometimes the answer is as simple as ignoring them. Other times we have to provide them with counseling and help. When all else fails figuratively bloodying their noses is our final option. Mostly though the most effective method for dealing with bullies involves being assured within ourselves. When we have confidence nobody can touch us. Feeling good about who we are is the first line of defense against bullies. Our goal for stopping the current trend toward ugliness should be to show our children how to rise to higher ground. When we provide them with a strong moral compass they will be ready to overcome any taunts that come their way and they will do so with the strength and conviction that we have imbued in them.

Life In Color

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

5172363-joseph-and-his-coat-of-many-colors_331590I’ve read somewhere that dreaming in color is indicative of a creative mind. Not only have I never seen night time images in Kodachrome, but of late I don’t even dream much anymore which is probably related to the fact that as I age I don’t sleep for long stretches of time anymore. I am growing older and I come from a time far different than today. I was a small child when television was in its infancy. The programs that we watched on those tiny screens inside wooden boxes were in lovely shades of black, white and gray. We couldn’t even imagine that there would one day be an NBC peacock. We were as content to tune in to those colorless shows as we were to see images of ourselves in mostly black and white photographs. We were still a very long way from so many of the advances that now seem to be par for the course. The progress that we have made is good, as it should be. Those of us in our senior years are nostalgic but our reverie should not include a desire to return to outmoded ways of doing things.

I remember the great anticipation that ensued when the television series Bonanza became one of the first programs to feature living color. It was an exciting time even for those of us who did not yet own color televisions. Just knowing that someone, somewhere was seeing the green trees and blue skies of the Ponderosa was thrilling. We had entered a whole new world that would only become more and more brilliantly hued over the ensuing years.

It is all too appropriate that our modern day images be filled with a spectrum of reds and yellows and blues mixed together to create greens and purples and oranges. Life is a magnificent rainbow that includes the glorious variety of nature and mankind. There is a beauty in diversity that is never found in the dull sameness of black and white. We are all part of a colorful world that we should embrace but sometimes neglect or even refuse to do.

Just as we didn’t have color photographs or television back when I was very young we humans had a tendency to isolate ourselves from those whose skin appeared different from ours. We convinced ourselves that our ways were normal but in reality we must have known that it was not right to judge anyone without ever getting to know them. Eventually we allowed ourselves to be neighbors and friends with individuals of many different colors. We learned that we had been missing so much and that life was more vibrant and lovely than we had ever before imagined.

When I was just a girl I thought that I would never know anyone who was gay or a lesbian, but I was wrong. As those with differing sexual preferences began to bravely reveal themselves I learned that some of my friends and relatives alike belonged to a world that had once seemed so confusing to me but now seems so perfectly normal. The rainbow flag of the LGBT community is a beautiful thing that represents love. I wonder how we ever could have believed that caring relationships between any two people was anything other than beautiful.

With inventiveness and acceptance we have entered a brighter world filled with possibilities that seemed not to exist when I was young. We have shown that blending hues together is interesting and inclusive. The days of our ignorance should be gone but sadly they are not. Just as it would seem ludicrous to find someone still watching television from a small box with only shades of gray, it should be just as ridiculous to continue to harbor outdated thinking that is cruel, unforgiving and without reason.

As a Christian I was always taught that God makes each of us in His own image and likeness. If we reflect on that idea we realize that God is telling us that every one of His creations is wondrous and perfect. He loves us without conditions and wants us to feel the same. He sent His son to teach us how to behave. Unfortunately some of us never really understood the messages that Jesus made so clear. Not once did He preach that we should spurn those who are not like us. He often went out of His way to embrace those who were outcasts of society. I interpret His actions as meaning that the rules are very simple. We must love everyone, even those who appear to be or think differently. It’s not really that difficult to do. It doesn’t even take much practice. It just requires suspending all restrictions and coloring outside of the lines. We have to break the old rules to follow the new rules which are far more right and just.

Once we experience the colors of the world there is no turning back. We burst out of the boxes that have constricted us and see the watercolors that make life so much more enjoyable. We begin to realize that we only see different hues because of the way our eyes are processing the light. Being able to see the true appeal of all of the world is a gift that makes us feel more joyful. Without the great big box of crayons life would indeed be dull.

Winter has always been symbolic of death. With its withering and limited palette of variations in light it has a certain beauty but none as breathtaking as the riotous colors of spring, a time of life and renewal. We can choose the end of the seasons or the hopeful beginning. It us up to each of us to see the full spectrum of life and rejoice in it.

I am often saddened in knowing that we still have many people who are unwilling to change but I’d like to believe that they are more and more often becoming the minority among us. Slowly but surely we are shining the light on a more beautiful way of living. Because our young have always been more willing to take risks and embrace adventure, they are leading the way to more colorful tomorrows and that is good. Perhaps one day the pallid world of old will be housed in an ancient junkyard and all of us will view life in color. 

Linger Longer

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

glacier-sm10-735-rainbowI have a memory that I keep in my heart and often bring to life. It is from long ago. My father and I are sitting in the kitchen of our home on Northdale Street, just the two of us in the quiet of night. I am six years old and he is thirty one. We are at the table drinking grape juice with only the night light on the stove providing illumination. We are smiling and laughing. It feels good to be there with him. I can tell that both of us are happy and content. I can’t remember our topic of conversation but that doesn’t seem to matter. I only recall feeling at peace and wanting to linger there just a bit longer.

I have had many such moments over the years when I wanted to stop the ticking of the clock so that I might have more time to enjoy a special moment. It seems as though the childhood of my two daughters sped by far too quickly. I loved the simple times that we shared especially in the lazy days of summer when we were able to sleep in and had entire days before us to roam and find adventure. I remember stopping with my friend Linda for shaved ice snow cones on Old Galveston Road after swim lessons and traveling with Mike and the girls to the mountains in our Chevy truck. There was the year when my children and I read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn and pronounced it our all time favorite novel with tears rolling down our cheeks. I laugh at the thought of the day when we so enjoyed the movie E.T. that we returned for a second screening after dinner so that we might share our new favorite film with Mike. I loved the evenings when I sat in the front yard watching all of the neighborhood children run and play until the moon and the stars came out while laughing at the stories and wisdom of my good friends, Carol and Betty. Those were some of the best times of my life and I often wish that I had lingered just a bit longer when I was in those moments.

I have been on vacation trips so incredible that I never again wanted to return home. Seeing a rainbow in Glacier National Park as we rounded a curve in the road brought me to tears. Walking with grandson Andrew along the beach in Chatham still makes me smile. Remembering the spiritual conversations that I shared with Jack under the ancient trees of Yosemite National Park is a priceless treasure. Watching Ben and Abigail play so joyfully in Central Park or Eli and Ian romping on a rocky beach near Seattle are pictures to comfort me even when times grow difficult. Ringing in the New Year in Austria with Monica and Franz comforted me at a time of change and loss. If I had the power I would have stretched out those hours so that they would not have gone by so quickly. I would have stopped the clock and lingered longer.

Have you ever noticed that when we are experiencing pain, suffering or death even the seconds seem to stall as if time has decided to stand still to mock our suffering? We feel as though we will surely collapse before our trials are over. It is then that we find solace in harking back to thoughts of the good things that we have experienced, They remind us that life always has a tendency to work its way back to joy. Sadly we can’t seem to stop the advance of the hours when we are the happiest but we can bring pleasant images to mind anytime we want or need to do so.

We have no guarantees of what tomorrow or even the next minute will bring but we always have our memories. Even those who become afflicted with Alzheimers are often able to recall the distant past even when they no longer remember what happened only days before. Perhaps it is the mind’s way of helping us to cope. By thinking of the beauty and blessings we have known in the past it becomes easier to deal with even a difficult present.

When I was a very young and inexperienced teacher I often judged the success or failure of my day on the basis of how many bad events had occurred. I did that as a young mother as well. Over time I became happier and more productive by instead harking back to the positive things that had occurred. As I reflected on them I realized how much more often they occurred than the horrors. All and all if we linger just a bit longer when we are enjoying life that moment will imprint on our brains and serve us well in the future. 

We all have many struggles that overwhelm us. We grow fearful and sad. We wish for success, money and good health. We run in a rat race and accumulate possessions that ultimately grow old and worn. We soon realize that our happiest times are often so simple: seeing our babies for the first time, getting an unexpected hug or kiss, laughing until the wee hours with friends, feeling rain on our faces, reaching the top of a mountain. Our stresses usually come from forgetting to linger longer in a joyful moment.

A good friend recently wrote a blog dedicated to showing young mothers how to give themselves the gift of enjoyment in the moment. Perhaps each of us should begin a daily ritual in which we set aside a few minutes to be totally free of any but beautiful thoughts. It may be exercise that brings us to our happy place or music or even reading from a special book. We can meditate or write in a journal. Sometimes just sitting in silence is all that we need. We owe it to ourselves to take the time to linger longer. The more we do this, the easier it will become to relax and be present in an untroubled state of mind.

I must admit that I am someone who too often measures the merit of a day by the number of my accomplishments. I have difficulty slowing my pace and relaxing to the point of inactivity. I often feel that I am being selfish to lavish the gift of time on myself but I know full well that it is one of the best things that I might do. In being wholly in a relaxed state of mind I find clarity of purpose and energy to face any problems before me. I in fact become far more productive and tend to stew less over my own predicaments. I give myself oxygen first so that I will be useful to others who may need my help.

Find those triumphant memories that bring a smile to your face. Let them envelop you until you are certain that you will always remember how good they felt. Carry them with you as reminders that you have lived a good life and that you have been, are and will always be loved. Accept the offers of friendship and caring that are extended to you. Don’t be afraid. Just be sure to immerse yourself in happiness and linger just a bit longer.

Just Breathe

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

764562-Kid-1411175258-363-640x480My fourth grade school year was traumatic in more ways than one. My father had died the summer before and our family was in a state of grief and uncertainty. We had returned to a familiar neighborhood after Daddy was killed in the hope that being back among good friends would help us to heal. Our home was a shell of the one that we had inhabited with my father. Without his engineering income we had to downsize considerably but ours was a sound house and the neighbors were warm and welcoming. I reenrolled in Mt. Carmel Elementary School and was looking forward to being united with the classmates that I had known before we moved in my third grade year. It was comforting to be back in a place that had heretofore been quite happy for me. When I learned on the first day of school that I was in Sister B’s class I had little idea that my emotional rollercoaster would become even more torturous.

Sister B was one of those old school Catholic nuns about whom legends and comedy routines abound. She thought of verbal and physical punishments as ways to build lasting character in young boys and girls. Those of us subjected to her classroom management style thought differently. It took no more than a few weeks in her presence for me to become utterly terrified, so much so that I was afraid to even speak of my fears to my mother. That environment was totally the wrong place to be for someone already scarred by the death of a parent. It was so hellish in my mind that I somehow began to believe that I had unconsciously and unknowingly done something terrible for which I was being punished. Why else would I have to endure a year with this tyrant, I wondered? I adapted each day by telling myself to just breathe.

I was actually one of the students that Sister B most cherished. For a very long time I was not the object of her wrath. She loved me so much that she became good friends with my mother. She often gave me letters of encouragement and special religious gifts. I should have returned her affection but I have always been a social justice warrior and I witnessed her unkindnesses to my fellow students more often than not. I don’t know if she just didn’t realize the impact of her humiliations but I did. With no place to turn, I seethed inside each time one of my classmates was harmed. I found solace in escaping to a place in my mind where all I had to do was just breathe.

Sister B once created a bulletin board that featured rockets advancing to the moon. On the side of each rocket she had written the name of a student and the grade that the individual had made on a test. Mine was proudly standing on the lunar surface with a one hundred indicating my success. Down at the very bottom were the spacecraft of less fortunate souls whose names were on display as failures with their rockets lying broken in half. Even as a nine year old I knew that it was utterly wrong to bring such negative attention to those who had not done so well with their academics. I felt embarrassed that I had to sit near the bulletin board filled with so much venom and hurtfulness.

I listened to the verbal taunts of my teacher until even I felt broken. I lived in fear that I might one day invoke her ire and become the focus of her anger. I hardly slept at night and thought myself terrible for thinking badly of a religious person. I was torn between hating her and wanting to forgive her. Since there were no counselors back in those days I suffered in silence often reminding myself to just breathe whenever the atmosphere became unbearable. Eventually things turned dark even for me, one of her pets.

We were in the middle of music class one afternoon when my bladder told me that it needed to be emptied quickly. I hated to interrupt Sister when she was so engrossed in a lesson but I felt that I had no choice. I raised my hand and calmly asked to be excused but my request was instantly denied. I crossed my legs and hoped for the best but as the minutes ticked by the pain that I felt became almost unbearable. I repeated my request several more times, being refused over and over again even as I began to wiggle in my seat to keep from having an accident. I was on the verge of tears and getting dirtier and dirtier looks from the teacher as I realized that I was not going to be able to hold back for much longer. I made one final attempt to be released to take care of the problem only to receive the same negative response. I was doomed and I felt my bladder slowly but surely ease the pressure as a puddle formed on the seat of my desk. At that moment I was in agony. I wanted to disappear so that I would not have to endure the fate that I knew was coming. I sat rigid hoping against all reasonable hope that nobody would notice what I had done. Of course that was not the way things were going to work.

Soon enough Sister was standing over me demanding to know what had happened. She ordered me into the hallway where she berated me for being absurd enough to wet my pants rather than race out of the room to the bathroom like any rational person would have done. I had no answers for her. I had learned long ago that she never accepted the excuses that any of us gave for our unwanted behaviors. I just stood silently wishing that I might run away and never have to face her or my classmates ever again and urging myself to just breathe lest I let my own tirade escape from my lips. She sent me to the office where I waited for my mother to come with clean clothing and a ride home. I was never able to fully explain to my mom why the incident had occurred. Sister B had already muddied the waters with her own defense and since my mother only knew her as a saintly woman I made no effort to disagree.

When I returned to school the following day my classmates pretended not to have noticed what had happened. I suppose that they all felt as I did that we had to weather the storm of our teacher’s angry behaviors together. Somehow we were bound by the realization that the way she was treating us was very wrong but there was little that we might do other than accept our fate and just breathe. I suspect that I first learned how to be a good teacher in that classroom. I remembered what not to do to students from those days. For that I am thankful to Sister B but I would have preferred not ever knowing her at all.

For a very long time I felt terribly guilty for disliking my teacher, especially since she was a nun, that is until I learned that my brother also found her behavior to be abusive and untenable. When he confessed to me it was like having a heavy weight lifted from my mind. I no longer had to just breathe when I thought of that terrible woman.

My mother corresponded with Sister B until she died, convinced that my old teacher had been a master educator and a saint. It was not until I was almost fifty years old that I shocked my mom with revelations that she found to be painful and difficult to believe. I kept my negative comments mostly to myself. I didn’t want to destroy the icon that my mother thought Sister had been.

I suppose that I developed lovely cursive handwriting under Sister B’s watchful and critical eye. I even mastered the lessons of the fourth grade curriculum with her guidance. More importantly, however, I understood the need to treat children with dignity and respect. I didn’t suffer permanent damage from that school year but I don’t believe that any of us needed to endure the shabby treatment that was inflicted on us. We were resilient but it seems that we never forgot what we had seen. Now I can laugh a bit at the memories of those days but I suppose that I always knew that what we endured was wrong. Thank God I survived by being able to just breathe. 

This I Know For Sure

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

carnivorous_glow_worms_imitate_starry_sky_to_lure_prey_m7.jpgWe humans often have a tendency to accept ideas and pronouncements as fact that may or may not be true. I know that most of the mathematical formulas that I used in my classroom have weathered the burden of proof over time. I also realize that just since I was born theories regarding the universe and its beginnings have changed. If I had taken the earlier pronouncements as fact, I would have been wrong. I have faith that there is a God but as far as I have found, there is no way to definitively demonstrate that I am more correct than someone who belies the idea of a divine being. I think that I know my friends and relatives well but I also admit that I can’t get entirely inside their heads. I believe that the sun will set this evening and rise again in the morning but I can’t be entirely certain that nothing will happen to interfere with the centuries old rotations of our earth. The fact is that what we think to be totally true may indeed be debatable. Somehow in understanding this my outlook on life has become an oxymoron for I am definitely a cynical optimist. In other words, I question virtually everything understanding that ignorance and evil often reigns supreme, but have faith that good will ultimately win the day.

I learned today that Adnon Syed, a young man convicted of murdering his girlfriend fifteen years ago, will receive a new trial mostly as a result of questions raised by the podcast Serial that captivated the world’s attention a couple of years ago. Most of the evidence against Mr. Syed was circumstantial with the exception of testimony from a friend who claimed that he helped Adnon bury the body of Hae Min Lee on the day of the murder. Many of the other witnesses told conflicting stories and aside from cell phone records placing Syed at the park where the young girl’s body was found, there was no DNA, no fibers, no blood to tie the defendant to the crime. The only thing that any of us know with certainty is that a promising young woman lost her life and that nobody has ever admitted to the crime. Being a juror on such a case must be an enormously difficult task. It requires the wisdom of Solomon. On the one hand there is a desire to find justice for Hae Min Lee and her family. On the other hand nobody wants to convict an innocent individual which Adnon Syed claims to be.

I’ve served on a number of juries and each time I have approached my duties with anxiety. I want my ultimate decision to be right and just. I have found that my fellow jurors were as determined as I was to be fair. We each spoke of losing sleep over the momentousness of our task. In the end we could only pray that we had come to an accurate conclusion. The Perry Mason moments that we see on television rarely occur in a trial. Only those intimately involved will ever know the whole truth and they are generally silent.

Aside from ironclad laws of physics and events that we see with our own eyes much of what we take as gospel is based more on our innate philosophies than on any concrete proof. I am violently opposed to abortion because I believe with all of my being that it is murder. Still, I am not so vain to think that I am one hundred percent right. My conclusions are based on my own thinking that life is life whether it is a blob of cells that will one day become a baby or a fully formed viable human being. As such I cannot imagine anyone defending the barbarous methods of abortion but I wonder if I am wrong and those who see it as a right of choice are indeed the ones who have the higher ground. I only know for sure that I cannot abide by abortion but I am reluctant to foist my beliefs on others. I am caught in a painful conundrum because I worry that by being so I may be guilty of condoning a practice that I should vigorously oppose.

I myself don’t like guns. I am a bit afraid of them and have little desire to either be around them or fire them. Nonetheless, I know so many people who have them and use them wisely, even the scary ones that seem to have no purpose for normal use. I grew up with uncles and cousins who went hunting each year. When I visited my grandmother’s house as a child I saw my uncle’s loaded pistol displayed on his dresser. I understood that I was never to touch it. My husband has guns that once belonged to his relatives. They are family heirlooms in his mind. He keeps them safely locked away. Once in a great while he takes them to a shooting range to practice his skill at hitting targets. He doesn’t like to hunt and as far as I know he has never actually killed another living thing. He is as comfortable around guns as I am uncomfortable around them. Who is right and who is wrong? I can’t say with any degree of confidence. I believe that my gun toting friends and relatives have been portrayed in a negative light that they do not deserve. I know that they are sensible in their use of weapons. I also understand that few of the mass shootings that we have witnessed of late would have been prevented with the legislation that is currently being proposed. I find myself seesawing between arguments and wondering if we are truly getting at the heart of the matter regarding violence in America. The issue is so much more complex than our politicians would lead us to believe.

I read that Neil DeGrasse Tyson recently suggested that we create a state of Rationalia, a place in which scientific reasoning is our guiding light. It would definitely be a welcome change from the emotionalism that presently reigns but I find it doubtful that it would work in all situations. Ultimately in cases like a murder trial or judgements about abortion or gun control there is no hard data or inarguable evidence to guide us. We cannot always determine the truth without a shred of doubt. Our humanity all too often puts the lie to even the best theories. People find ways to demonstrate that it can be lethal to put our faith in a single idea. Instead we have to approach every situation that we encounter with a realization that we are limited in what we know to be true. When we do that we open ourselves to possibilities that may allow us to rethink our own philosophies and consider opposing views. Being open minded is one of the most difficult states of mind to achieve but it is the place where we surely need to go.

I often think of a graduate class that I took in which I was required to work with a diverse group of individuals to create a single project. We were all bright and self assured which created a rather rocky beginning for our work. Each person was somewhat insistent that she was destined to be the leader in developing the group’s ideas. Eventually we managed to move beyond the norming and storming stage just enough to admit that no one person had all of the answers. In fact, as we began to unemotionally consider each of the points of view we all changed. We realized the great power in a variety of ideas. In the end we were the most dramatically struck by the wisdom of the one member that we had at first thought to be the most deficient in knowledge. I learned from that experience that the only thing that is definitely true is that there is so much that I don’t know for sure. Admitting this has changed my life. I have learned to pledge my allegiance to seeking the truth, not to joining a particular crowd or way of thinking. We have to be open to the possibility that what we have long believed may be wrong. I am optimistic that most good people agree with me. It is how we always seem to find the answers we are seeking. This I know for sure.