Category: Blog

The Lesser of Two Evils

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

clinton and trump downloadEight years ago when Hillary Clinton suspended her campaign for the presidency I was quite sad. Yesterday when she became the presumptive nominee of the Democratic party I was also quite sad. In the last eight years Ms. Clinton has been a grave disappointment to me and decisions that she has made along with a tendency to stretch the truth have caused me to question her ability to hold the highest office in the land. Sadly I have nowhere else to turn because in the grand scheme of things she appears to be the lesser of two evils. I find myself realizing that for the first time since I became eligible to vote I will have to swallow a bitter pill because I have sworn that I will never support Donald Trump but I have very serious questions about Hillary Clinton.

Let us go back in time a bit. I always felt uncomfortable when then First Lady Clinton defended her husband’s womanizing by detracting his accusers. When it became an indisputable fact that President Clinton had engaged in sexual activities with a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky, I was sickened by the parsing of words from both the President’s and the First Lady. Even worse were the attacks on Ms. Lewinsky character made by none other than Hillary Clinton. It was a disgusting situation and I so wanted Ms. Clinton to toss her husband out of her life in righteous indignation but that was not to be. Instead in a very public display of forgiveness Ms. Clinton indicated that she had prayed on the matter and decided not to end what had been a great partnership.

I was able to eventually overlook what I thought to be a horrible mistake by Ms. Clinton. My mother had wisely advised me that I did not know the full story of the Clintons’ relationship with one another. I read Hillary’s autobiography in which she explained her thinking on the matter and found that I was ready to accept her decision to keep the fires burning with Bill. I became a fan again and when she began her campaign for the nomination in 2008 I was one of her most fervent supporters. Thus it was incredibly disappointing when she lost the nomination to Barack Obama who I believed was terribly inexperienced compared to her.

I was happy for her when she became the Secretary of State. It seemed a just reward for a woman who had worked so hard only to be denied the one prize that she most coveted. I felt that she was more than ready for the task but that was before her reset with Russia, the fiasco in Benghazi and the terrible feeling that she was covering up mistakes with lies. She began to appear tone deaf and resembled a teenager sneaking around with a terrible secret. I started to question her talents and it was disappointing. The events in Benghazi were horrific but I still would have forgiven her had she not so blatantly attempted to use a nonexistent riot over a video as the reason for what happened. I hoped and prayed that she would eventually admit her transgressions but she instead seemed to pile one little white lie on top of another.

Next came the concern over her use of a private email server. I don’t believe that any of her activities were illegal but I certainly question her judgement. Even as a minor school administrator I understood the issues of privacy and confidentiality associated with documents and emails. I was a stickler for handling things properly. I would never have considered putting my business dealings in the hands of a private company housing a server in an unsecured location. I realized the need for security without being told. It was a matter of common sense.

It frightens me to think of how cavalierly Ms. Clinton has reacted to her role in putting our nation at risk. I wonder why and how she so underestimated the atmosphere in Benghazi that she allowed Americans to be under siege for thirteen hours before help finally arrived. I wonder how she dared to shift the blame to a video rather than accepting that maybe she had missed signals that she should have seen. I wonder what other secrets she may be hiding and my thoughts worry me.

Still the alternative to voting for Hillary Clinton would be to support Donald Trump and there is no way on earth I will ever be able to stomach such a decision. I’ve made it abundantly clear in previous posts why I believe that he is a dangerous man who would bring great harm to our country and its people. So here I am realizing that my worst fears have come to pass and I have to decide whether to vote for a woman who seems dishonest and a bit incompetent or to just sit out the election and run the risk of putting a real maniac in the White House. I wonder if the Founding Fathers ever thought that their dream would come to this?

If these were calmer times I wouldn’t be so worried. Instead the world is on fire and more than ever before we need to have a person of great integrity and wisdom at the helm, someone who will not encourage us to divide ourselves into battling tribes. I wonder what we will have to endure as a nation before we once again find an individual who will work for all of the people with honor and respect. I genuinely fret about our country and even dream of some miracle occurring that will save us from this horrible dilemma. In the end I expect that I will swallow the bitter pill and cast my lots with Hillary Clinton but I will not share the enthusiasm over the historic nature of my vote as so many others seem so anxious to do.

I believe that there are many women who might have been or would be great leaders. I am still disappointed that Barbara Jordan’s health problems took her from the political arena. I think that she would have been a remarkable President. Eleanor Roosevelt might have been even more inspirational than her husband had she been given the opportunity to be at the head of the United States. I greatly admire Condoleezza Rice and I’m a fan of Nikki Haley. For that matter why not run someone like Cokie Roberts or Donna Brazile?  Elizabeth Warren seems to have much more going for her than either of the candidates whose names will be on the ballot in November. I have to wonder what has led us to this disappointing end.

I actually stay awake at night worrying about the future, not so much for me but for my children and grandchildren. I have few personal or political needs anymore. I pray that my pension will stay solvent and I’d love to have dental insurance and a way to get glasses and hearing aides without breaking my bank account. Beyond that I worry that we fight too much rather than attempting to solve problems. Perhaps it is the media that has put us in this position. Perhaps we have done it to ourselves.

This week Paul Ryan and a large group of Congressmen from both the Republican and Democratic parties attempted to unveil a concrete plan designed to make inroads into the problems of poverty and economic uncertainty in this country. Instead of giving these individuals the opportunity to showcase their important work at a press conference, all of the questions centered on what Speaker Ryan thought of Donald Trump. In an interview with Mitch McConnell in which he was attempting to speak about his memoir again every single question was about Donald Trump. I believe that the obsession with this man is steering our attention away from important work that needs to be done regardless of who ends up in the White House. As citizens we need to demand better from the journalists who bring us our news. It’s time that we turn off the noise and learn how to think for ourselves once again. Until we do there will be many more years of having to choose between the lesser of two evils. Frankly I want more for our country than that.

Being What You Want Them To Be

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

babyfeetLanguage is a very funny thing. When we speak or write down our thoughts we generally have a purpose and a specific meaning in mind. Once our words move beyond our control, too far from us to explain them, they may take on a life of their own that we never intended. Just recently I wrote what was supposed to be a very complimentary essay but because of the focus that I chose and the ideas that I left out, my attempt at honoring someone became instead a means of slighting a person whom I hold in great esteem. It took some effort for me to unravel the gooey mess that I had inadvertently created. Thus it is and always will be whenever we attempt to convey ideas and thus is the reason that I will most likely anger some people with today’s blog.

The court of public opinion is awash with horror over the sentencing of Brock Turner for three felony convictions of sexual assault. Not only are people aghast that his punishment appears to be too lenient but they are even critical of comments that his father made in a letter to the judge pleading for a measure of sympathy for Brock. None of this might be such big news were it not for a touching and powerful letter from the victim of Brock’s assault that has captivated those who have taken the time to read it. She is a gifted writer who has managed with great clarity to convey the horror of living through such an attack and its life changing aftermath. Her eloquence brings her heartbreak to life, making her terror all the more real. Only a soul without a shred of sensitivity might read her account without experiencing a strong and sympathetic reaction.

I have been greatly saddened since hearing about this case and realizing that it is but one of thousands that occur on a regular basis. Long ago when I was about the same age as the victim in this instance, I lived in an apartment project that had a wonderful community spirit. Many of us gathered outside in the evenings to share stories of our days and to relax just a bit while we watched our children play. One of the women that I met in this way was returning from the laundry room one afternoon when she was followed by a stranger that she did not notice. Before she realized what was happening he was inside her home putting a knife to her throat. He threatened to kill her and her baby if she made even a sound. Then he violently raped her. She was never the same. The incident broke her once lively spirit. She couldn’t even stand to live in the rooms that reminded her of the attack so she went to her mother’s home while her husband prepared to move the family away permanently. The incident both frightened and saddened those who had known her and to make matters worse her attacker was never found.

I will never in any way condone what Brock Turner did on that January night in the aftermath of a fraternity party. There are no valid excuses. He may not have ever done anything similar in all of his days on earth but it only took that one time for him to forever ruin the life of the woman of whom he took advantage. He certainly trashed his own future as well which is what happens when one forgets to abide by the laws of common decency. He may be wishing everyday that he might go back in time and not do this despicable act or get drunk or even go to the frat party but what is done is done and he will pay the price of his actions forevermore. He will ever again be in contention for a spot on an Olympic swimming team. He will be lucky to get any kind of decent job given his record of three felony convictions. Everywhere that he attempts to go he will have to register as a sex offender. He is and will probably always be a pariah in our society because of his unthinking and offensive actions. He has not only harmed a woman who can’t quite move beyond what he did to her, but he has also dishonored his family and all of the people who once believed in him. He will have to live with his crime for the rest of his days and that is as it should be.

I have not been able to erase Brock Turner’s victim from my mind since I first read the vivid account of her continuing ordeal. I feel a level of sympathy for his parents as well for Brock has irreparably harmed them. Raising children is the most difficult and frightening job that there is. All of us who have attempted this know of the worries, sleepless nights and mistakes that we make. We hope and pray that we have said all that we need to say and that our children will truly understand the lessons we have taught them. When we first allow them freedom and independence we try to quell our fears but in truth we are always nervous because we understand that the who they will eventually become are not just a products of our making, but also of the many people who influence them along the way. The truth is that there comes a time when we as parents exert less and less control over them. We have to watch them from afar. Only when time and their actions demonstrate that they are indeed the good and honest citizens that we taught them to be do we begin to relax.

Brock Turner’s father wrote a letter to the judge asking for mercy for his son just as most of us might have done for one of our children. His persuasive ability and way with words is the polar opposite of the victim who so captivated our hearts with her inspiring essay. His remarks are so tone deaf and poorly expressed that it might have been better had he not written anything at all. That being said, defending our kids even when they have disappointed us beyond measure is what we parents do. I cannot fault him for his efforts. He loves his son and I suspect that the negative interpretations that people have placed on his thoughts are not what he meant at all. Now he is being castigated and blamed for his son’s actions as though he is somehow responsible. Without knowing anything about this man or what his household is like, the public has jumped to negative conclusions that may or may not have merit. We have convicted Brock’s father without a trial or evidence. Our judgement of him is based on hearsay and a badly crafted note and it is morally wrong to convict him without proof that his negligence or influence somehow created a criminal.

We might be better served if instead of gossiping on the Facebook wall and Twitter universe we were to talk with our children both male and female. Each of them has certain behavioral responsibilities and we must be certain that they learn how to keep their baser human instincts in check. The temptations that they will encounter are many and part of our job is to train them to recognize dangerous situations and to know what to do when we are no longer around to monitor them. It is incumbent on all parents to talk frequently and openly with their kids. Our young need to be taught how to respect themselves and in turn provide that same reverence to everyone with whom they interact. We can’t drum human decency into their minds often enough and it is never too early to start such conversations and to demonstrate what we mean by our own examples. We need to be what we want them to be.

One of my grandsons who was only in elementary school complained about a student who was discussing sexual ideas in a very crass and demeaning way at lunch each day. The teachers and counselors made little effort to stop the offending commentaries and instead implied that my grandson just needed to lighten up a bit. As long as our society encourages a “boys will be boys attitude” there will continue to be cases of abuse like Brock Turner’s. As a society have to consider the impact of our tendencies to avoid talking with our children about the uglier aspects of human behavior. Instead of wagging our self righteous fingers at Brock Turner’s father we need to be certain that we are doing all that we can to educate our kids and help them to understand the importance of honoring every human life in every circumstance.

A terrible tragedy has ruined the lives of many, many people. The victim will never again have the sense of trust that she once possessed. Her family and friends will feel her pain and worry about her forevermore. Brock’s parents will be wracked with guilt, shame and humiliation. Brock Turner will pay the price of his actions and it will be heavy whether he spends time in jail or has to find a place for himself in a world where many view him as a monster. Nobody wins and all because he did not stop himself from performing grotesque actions on a woman that he did not know. Let his story be a tale of warning for all of us and let it remind us of our own responsibilities.

A Determined and Beautiful Soul

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Angelo13335985_1334593716556631_590632749242879864_n (1)I graduated from Mt. Carmel High School fifty years ago. When I left I never really looked back. Like most teenagers my four years in secondary education had been both the best and the worst of times. I have warm memories of friendships and educational explorations but also painful thoughts of hurts and slights. Fortunately the good far outweighed the bad and the things that I learned there served me well in the years, then decades that followed.

I was always quite proud of my school because at the time that I was there it was an institution marked by academic rigor and excellence. Over time it began to lose its luster and enrollment dwindled. It remained in a location that was hardly conducive to attracting students whose parents were willing to pay large sums of money for their children’s edification. As a Catholic school with little or no support from the Diocese of Galveston Houston it struggled to keep up with even minimal repairs and to maintain a faculty willing to work for ridiculously low wages. The time came when the school was no longer able to sustain itself and it had to close its doors, reinventing itself as a charter school within the Houston Independent School District. It became a ghost of its former self known as Mt. Carmel Academy now located in an old church building a few blocks away.

The ediface where I had blossomed into a citizen of the world stood on Mt. Carmel Drive in ruins and there was talk of tearing it down until a visionary named Father T.J. Martinez envisioned a new life for the battered place. He realized that it would be a perfect home for a Cristo Rey High School along the lines of others that had been created in a network that spans all the United States. With a never ending imagination and an uncanny knack for fundraising Father Martinez transformed the place into a dazzling urban environment. In 2008 Cristo Rey Jesuit Preparatory High School of Houston opened its doors for the first time. It’s focus was on economically disadvantaged students who might not otherwise have the opportunity to receive a rigorous education coupled with a foundation of religious teaching and social justice.

I had heard about Cristo Rey and followed its progress with interest, particularly because its location was directly connected with my past. When I retired five years ago I found myself foundering a bit because I wasn’t quite ready to live a life of leisure. I still wanted to contribute something significant to society and so I found myself searching for some type of part time employment. When I mentioned my quest on Facebook a former colleague who was working at Cristo Rey told me that the school needed someone to tutor students in mathematics. I met with the principal and felt an immediate connection with the her and the organization’s mission. Before long I was driving back to my old digs three afternoons each week.

My first year was somewhat slow and I often waited in a classroom for an hour or so with no takers for my skills. By the second year, however, a group of students attended with regularity, sometimes bringing friends who were struggling with Algebra or Geometry. The numbers of young people that I was helping began to swell and among them was a young man named Angelo Vela.

Angelo is an affable young man with an infectious smile and a loyal group of friends. His freshman year at Cristo Rey had been highly successful for him but things had begun to go awry after the death of his grandmother who had lived with him and his mother. He had attempted to work to help ease some of his family’s financial burdens but found himself feeling chronically exhausted and eternally behind in meeting his obligations. He struggled to complete assignments and began to feel overwhelmed with academics, something that had never before happened to him. With a unflagging determination to recoup, he faithfully met with me whenever I was at the school and on many occasions worked late into the night. Before big tests or exams he often requested that I come more than just three days in a week and I generally deferred to his wishes because I was struck by his determination.

Over the next three years I got to know Angelo well. I realized that he possesses a keen intellect and a charisma that naturally draws people to him. Mostly though I saw that he has a genuine interest in people and in helping them to solve their problems and find their true identities. He is also a leader and someone who is unafraid to take risks. I became convinced over time that he is definitely going to be someone who will have a positive impact on the world because he literally never gives up.

Angelo once hunted me down when I was on a camping trip in west Texas during spring break. He had found an opportunity for summer learning and he needed to quickly procure a reference so that he might meet the application deadline. He had attempted to contact several people with no success until his texts reached me. I was more than happy to vouch for him because I had seen his earnest nature and grit up close. He ultimately became a finalist for the spot but lost to another student. Instead of brooding, Angelo learned from the experience and moved on to his next conquest.

Angelo Vela graduated from Cristo Rey High School this past Saturday. He sent me a unique invitation that he had created from his heart. He included photos and through texts expressed a sincere desire that I share his triumphant moment with him. Of course I was thrilled to go. I understood the hours of grueling effort that Angelo had put into achieving the first of the many goals that he has for himself. I was as proud of him as I have ever been. It made my heart sing to watch him walking across the stage. He had shown his strength of character and had proven his doubters wrong.

Angelo plans to attend the University of Houston in the fall. I suspect that he and I will continue to stay in contact. I have a vested interest in his future success. Those of us who know him best realize that he has yet to reveal the true extent of his many talents but they will surely become more and more apparent in the coming years.

I have a deep respect for Angelo Vela and I am particularly grateful that he gave me such wonderful purpose at a time in my life when I had thought that my days of influence were long gone. I wish him all the best at he enters college along with his friends who also attended my tutoring sessions on so many afternoons.

Congratulations Angelo, Angel, Lauren, Yolanda, and Taylor, my very favorite tutees. You have all demonstrated your willingness to work hard, ask questions and put forth whatever extra effort is needed to meet your goals. I look forward to watching you in the exciting days ahead.

Beloved of God

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ali1My early years at the University of Houston were marked by a highly charged political atmosphere. I was there during the height of the Vietnam War when young men the same age as I was had to register for the draft. Attending college gave them a temporary deferment as long as they were full time students, and made passing grades that allowed them to continue to progress toward a degree within a reasonable timeline. Back then the intensity and stress normally associated with the college experience was exacerbated by the threat of losing that deferment and being called to serve in the army. For many avoiding the draft was simply a matter of not wanting to be forced to serve. For others it was a matter of principle, namely that they did not want to participate in a war that they thought to be unwarranted and unjust. Others were strict pacifists who would not have wanted to fight under any circumstances.

The university was the site of protests and political speakers on a regular basis and for those of us who were against the war there was ample opportunity to meet with like-minded individuals to voice our concerns. I had analyzed the situation and found little reason for the United States to be involved in the conflict unfolding in Vietnam. It had begun as a civil war between opposing political factions and ideologies and the United States had originally only intended to provide support to the democratic government of the south. By 1968, however, our nation had become hopelessly mired in the fighting with our youth being sent a world away to a war whose purpose few really understood. By the time that I was a college student the country was hopelessly divided over the issue of whether or not we should be sending troops to Vietnam. The divisions would ultimately destroy the reputation of President Lyndon B. Johnson and show its ugliest side in riots at the 1968 Democrat convention in Chicago. 

While my concerns about the political atmosphere of our country often outweighed my interest in my studies, I was only peripherally involved in the student efforts to voice our point of view. I knew many of the key players in the anti-war movement at school but mostly just attended meetings and went to hear speakers who came to our campus. I was particularly excited when I learned that members of the student government had secured a visit from Muhammed Ali and that he would speak at an informal gathering inside the Cougar Den. I knew that I had to be there.

Back then the Cougar Den was little more than a wooden shack nestled under a grove of trees to the left of the Ezekiel Cullen building. It was a dark, noisy, smoke-filled and always crowded room under the best of circumstances. On the day of Muhammad Ali’s visit it was a madhouse as students eagerly jammed inside hoping to get a glance of the greatest boxer in history. When a good friend and I arrived we realized that we would be lucky if we were even able to hear him speak much less actually see him. Fortunately fate intervened on our behalf. My friend was an incredibly beautiful and popular coed and as we were jockeying for a decent place to stand we encountered an officer of the Young Republican Club who had a huge crush on her. He offered to take us both upstairs to the organization’s headquarters where we might stand along the railing and watch the proceedings from a bird’s eye view. We eagerly followed him and the location proved to be perfect.

When Muhammad Ali entered the room a respectful hush fell over all of us. The mere sight of him was mesmerizing. Here was a man who had risked everything by refusing to be inducted into the army. With the famous words, “I got nothing against no Viet Cong” he had refused to step forward when his name was called to be drafted. His actions had resulted in the loss of his boxing title and the inability to fight in many places. He was threatened with five years in prison and had to pay a stiff fine. He would be involved in an appeal for the next many years, citing his Muslim religion as the reason for his pacifism. For some he was seen as a traitor but to those of us who believed that the war was wrong, he was a hero of the highest stature. On the day that I heard him speak he appeared to be godlike and was truly the greatest in my mind.

Muhammad Ali’s appeal would go all the way to the Supreme Court where his conviction would eventually be overturned. He was cleared to resume his boxing career and he went on to have a legendary career that is spoken of with reverence to this very day. His presence, his confidence and his style was unlike anything that the public had ever before seen. Even his detractors had to admit that he was an incredible man. 

I was never a fan of boxing so I can’t say that I followed Muhammad Ali’s career very closely. I had uncles who loved to watch the matches that were broadcast on television but I was never interested. One of those uncles had gone to see George Foreman train here in Houston. I remember his unmitigated excitement when Foreman was slated to fight Ali in Manilla. He was convinced that it would be one of the best contests ever and it indeed became one of those sporting moments that boxing fans would never forget. In the searing heat Muhammad Ali pushed George Foreman to a state of exhaustion and then knocked the giant off of his feet to secure a victory that stunned the world.

I suppose that what I admired most about Muhammad Ali was his integrity. He was a man who lived the principles that were the foundation of his beliefs. He was unafraid to speak even when the truth was difficult. He was a warrior for social justice and a peaceful man. When Parkinson’s disease began to ravage his body he demonstrated courage and grace. I’ll never forget the moment when he carried the torch to light the Olympic flame at the games in Utah. He was already frail but he bravely ran up the ramp as though he were holding the light of the world for all of us. He was as beautiful as he had been when I saw him as a young lion those many years ago.

Muhammad Ali became an example and spokesman for those of us who are nameless. He never varied from his determination to make the world a more tolerant and peaceful place. From his days as Cassius Clay in Louisville, Kentucky to his most triumphant moments the public knew that he was indeed a remarkable man. At a time when a black man dared not speak out lest he be punished, Muhammad Ali refused to still his voice. He held his head high and reminded us that he was beautiful and great. He would proudly boast, “I am Muhammad Ali, a free name – it means beloved of God, and I insist people use it when people speak to me.”

Muhammad Ali was beloved, not just by God but by people the world over. He taught us the importance of faith, family and conviction. Now he may rest in peace. His battered body will hurt him no more. He is with God and moving like a butterfly in his heavenly home.

Rain Potholes and Dreams

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Floods920x920Normally I am a pluviophilia, someone who loves rain. I enjoy the mornings when the house is dark and all is quiet outside. With little fear that a random visitor will come knocking on my door I lounge in my pajamas and leisurely eat my breakfast while watching the precipitation fall on my garden. I feel safe and warm and think of how often my mother reminded us to be thankful for the roof over our heads whenever the weather turned frightful. Now that I no longer have to travel to work on inclement days I especially enjoy the roll of the distant thunder and the pitter pat of the raindrops on my roof.

Unfortunately today is not a normal day. My city and my state has been pounded with punishing storms for weeks now. Our waterways are full. The situation is dire in some quarters where rivers are cresting and reaching historically high levels. The price of human pain has been high. People have died, including a group of soldiers whose vehicle was swept away by raging waters. Homes in some areas are being inundated for the second and third times in only weeks. While the view from my window is still lovely I can’t help but feel for the good people in the path of nature’s destructive force. I think once again of my own blessings but somehow feel that but for the vagaries of nature I might be the one seeking refuge with a relative. I long for the sun, not so much for myself but for my Houston neighbors who have had enough.

Mother Nature appears to be on a rampage right now. Even as my city braces itself for the possibility of more flooding throughout today and tomorrow, the streets of Paris are filling from its own storms. The Louvre is closed so that workers might move priceless pieces of art to higher ground. Parts of Germany and Austria are also reeling from the punishing rains. Our precious planet seems to be in a state of feast or famine as some of us drown and others experience crushing drought. I have to wonder what we as people might have done or not done to prevent the unfolding tragedies.

Meanwhile back in Houston we will ask ourselves if the city’s romance with real estate may have gone too far. We now blithely build on plots of land that our ancestors would have avoided. Huge subdivisions spring up on river bottoms or former rice fields. We erect retention ponds, levees and pumping stations believing that we will be protected. Our city is beribboned with miles and miles of concrete, not just on our roads but in massive parking lots and even along the banks of our system of bayous. In our hubris we build and build and build with little regard for the consequences.

I’m a native of Houston and so is my husband. His mother and mine were both born here. We have watched our city change dramatically in our lifetimes. Ironically the places where our mothers lived as children rarely experience problems with floods. Their 1920s era homes are always safe, even in hurricanes. They were built at a time before the city was looped with highways that lured the populace far from downtown. Both of our parents often spoke of playing in wooded areas near their neighborhoods. The city was small and had a more rural feel. My mother’s family even owned livestock. While there were sometimes terrible storms that flooded the streets inside the business district, there was plenty of open land where the runoff might meander without doing harm to people or homes.

When I was growing up our family moved to a neighborhood in the suburbs. It was located just outside of Loop 610 and at the time seemed to be at the far end of city. Our subdivision was built near Simms Bayou, a mostly quiet and meandering ribbon of water that was once home to birds and fish and other creatures. Back then only a few people were willing to tempt fate by building along its banks. For the most part the land adjacent to the waterway was left in its natural state and I fondly recall spending hours inside the woods that graced the area. Eventually the beautiful forest was eliminated as first one and then another home was erected where nature once reigned. Today there are few signs of the serenity that once marked the edge of my neighborhood. It is instead one vast intersection of concrete roads that scar the beauty of Simms Bayou. Now when seasonal rains bear down on that area the streets become impassible and the waters of the bayou encroach on the properties that have tempted fate.

It doesn’t always rain in Houston. We are not Seattle. There have been years when the ground was parched and dry, times when a single cigarette thrown from a car window might set a field on fire. Our lakes and rivers have often faded to low levels that are as frightening as the moments when they crest. With regard to weather Houston has never been an easy place to live. Many of the early settlers died from yellow fever and other diseases caused by the swampy breeding grounds. The area known as The Heights was created on land that towered over the rest of the city. I suspect that if truth be told nobody ever dreamed that Houston would one day be home to the fourth largest population in the country.

We have done our best to create living spaces for the people who have flocked to our city. It has always been a place of opportunity and promise. For the most part the people are friendly and even someone whose entire family history is one of struggle and poverty can make it big here. There was a time when our city was led by visionaries, men who created Rice University and the Texas Medical Center. They actually took the time to carefully plan expansion projects. Now, in many ways Houston is experiencing the fruits of neglect. We worry about potholes in the streets while the movers and shakers of old built dreams. I fear that our city will go the way of other urban centers until and unless we once again envision more than just knee jerk reactions to problems. Building more roads and leaving fewer and fewer open spaces will only complicate the situation.

My son-in-law’s Uncle Don grew up in the same Houston that I did. He loved this city, especially its bayous. He was devoted to showing our citizens the majesty of the waterways that drew people here in the first place. He advocated for returning them to their natural state, the way my mother and mother-in-law remember them. He was not just a quaint dreamer but someone who had navigated and studied the many outlets and the effect that concrete and construction was having on them. He firmly believed that in saving the bayous we would also save our city. He died before realizing many of his ideas but he is remembered to this day for his efforts to redesign the places that he so loved. I suspect that if he were still around he would see the massive problems that we are experiencing this week as more evidence of our tampering. He would urge us to respect the laws of nature believing that in doing so we would actually help ourselves.

I can only pray that the worst is over for our city. I’d like to think that we might learn from what we have seen during the past few weeks but I doubt that this is so. We are a hard headed lot and we tend to just patch things up and move on. There are more potholes to fill and dreams don’t appear to be in fashion right now. I just hope that one day we will finally realize the error of our ways.