Building character – Page 42 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

Learning To Be A Woman

Published on February 3, 2017February 2, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We Are Our Own Narrators

Published on January 17, 2017January 16, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

come-with-me-7-2011_1-1024x671 There is a certain irony that my grandson Jack performed in his last musical with the varsity theater group at his school this past weekend and that the play was Into the Woods. The piece was wildly popular on Broadway in the nineteen eighties about the time that Jack’s mother was ending her own days in high school. It is a profound story of relationships and the consequences of the choices that we make. It is a study of the fine line between childhood and becoming a true adult. Nothing is as it really seems or as simple as we would like things to be.

Jack played both the narrator and the mysterious man, a rather fitting dual role whose significance for me he may not fully understand until I explain. I found myself enthralled by the brilliance of his performance and his ability to nuance the subtleties and complexities of the parts. All in all Jack and his co-actors ultimately moved me to both tears and reflection which is as the authors of the play no doubt intended.

Jack is named for a man that he never met, my father who would have been his great grandfather. The two Jacks are far more alike than almost anyone might suspect. My grandson like his long dead ancestor is a kind of renaissance man, someone who is as comfortable in a world of mathematics and science as in the domain of artistry. Like my father he is a sensitive soul who often finds himself questioning the ways of the world. He has so many talents and interests that he might follow a variety of paths in life just as was the case with his namesake. Both are known for looking at the world from many different angles. At the same time they might both be described as having a kind of innocent boyishness and joy of living that has made them attractive to others.

My father Jack loved to read and he passed that hobby down to me beginning when I was very young. He purchased two volumes of fairytales that he read faithfully to me. Those stories created a secret bond between the two of us and kept his memory alive long after he had died.

At first my thoughts of my father were romantic and childish much like the first act of Into the Woods and the stories that he read to me. I missed him terribly and often found myself having foolish dreams that he would one day return to guide and comfort me. Sadly reality never really works like that as is so profoundly revealed the second act of Into the Woods. There comes a moment when we all realize that we must cross over from the fantasies of our childhood into the world of reality. We learn that each of the choices that we make have consequences not only for ourselves but also for the people around us. We can only rely on our parents for so long and then we must face the fact that as we make our own ways we will undoubtedly make mistakes just as they did.

My grandfather was a kind of narrator, just like Jack was in his school play. Grandpa was the father of my father Jack. He often told stories of his own childhood and related history as he had lived it. He gave me great comfort any time that I was feeling down. He was a living link to my own father. His stories were not as lovely as the fairytales of my youth. He spoke to me with honesty because I was an adult and he understood that I must face even dark stories. He admitted to overcoming alcoholism and enduring profound depression and loneliness before encountering my grandmother and starting a family of his own. Like the songs in Into the Woods he found ways of bringing humor to situations that were actually quite tragic. He had developed a wisdom that allowed him to realize that sometimes we laugh and cry at the same time. Sometimes we are both frightened and curious. He had lived long enough to see that no person or situation is usually all good or all bad. He taught me that life is complex and we can neither run away from it nor tackle it alone. Like the mysterious man that grandson Jack also portrayed in his play, my grandfather had faced up to his own demons and conveyed to me the wisdom that he had learned from those battles.

I suspect that my grandson Jack has little idea how much his musical affected me. I thought of all of the times when I wanted to run away from the very adult responsibility of caring for my mother that was thrust upon me even before I had begun to explore the world. I had believed that she was supposed to be my rock and foundation but instead our roles were often reversed. I found myself making silly wishes with regard to our difficult relationship when she was very sick. Time again I had to rely on the kindness of others to help me through the most trying situations. I learned that I was much stronger than I had ever imagined and that I really didn’t need a narrator to tell me how my story should go.

I want to share my thoughts about his play and his role in it with my grandson Jack. I want to tell him the tale of his family thus far and how we all worked together and with an odd assortment of friends in reaching this day and time. I want him to know that we have seen triumph and tragedy, jubilation and bitter disappointment. Ours has been a very imperfect family but somehow we have managed to keeping traveling in and out of the woods, overcoming giants and wolves. We have been as human as the characters in the musical in which Jack had a starring role.

Hopefully my grandson will have learned more from his acting experience than just his lines and the melodies that he performed. If he reflects carefully he will see that there is an important message for each of us contained in the wittiness of the words and songs that he and his friends executed so very well. I wish for him to reach the depth of wisdom that is to be found in this musical that is not so much for children as for the child that lives inside all adults.

I suspect that Jack does indeed understand. He would not have been as convincing in his acting if he had not realized the power of the message that he was conveying through his expressions and the tenor of his voice. It is a good way for him to step out of the world of children and onto the pathway that will lead him into the adventure that he will one day call his life. I hope he knows now that he and only he is the teller of his story. How it proceeds and where it ultimately ends is up to him. It is an exciting journey that will not be without its misdirection and loss but will also bring him the realization of some of the most wonderful wishes that enter his head in the quiet of night. Along the way he will have unexpected encounters with people who will both help and hinder him. If he has truly learned his lessons well he will be ready for whatever comes. He will realize that all of us have a once upon a time that is only as lovely as we work to make it be. The magic is not in witches or beans or potions but within our own minds.

The Crossing

Published on January 9, 2017January 4, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

children_crossing I 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.

A Most Extraordinary Woman

Published on December 19, 2016December 14, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

14469587_10154575770011967_2241016345344877148_n-1 We worry as a society because there seems to be a noticeable lack of ethical behavior in today’s world. We’ve seen our fellow citizens gloss over lies when convenient and often make excuses for acts that might have been deemed unacceptable in the past. When individuals have the courage to speak up for their principles too often people chastise them for not going with the flow of modern day thinking. It is more and more difficult for someone to demonstrate moral courage because in doing so they may become the butt of insulting tweets or Facebook posts that demean them rather than celebrate them as the noble people that they are.

Joanna Rodriguez is my own personal hero. I watched this quiet and unassuming young woman become a warrior for justice at a moment in time when few of her peers were willing to step forward to do the right thing. There was an incident at the high school where I was the Dean of Faculty in which a group of students were caught attempting to make copies of an exam that had been stolen from one of the teachers. The principal gathered the members of the class together hoping that someone who had information on the culprits might acknowledge the truth. Instead there was a deadly conspiratorial silence in the room as the teacher emotionally urged his students to speak the truth.

Suddenly Joanna emerged from the back of the room and stood defiantly in front of her classmates. She spoke eloquently of the importance of providing information on anyone who may have been involved in the cheating. She was so moved in her search for the truth that her voice broke and she seemed to be on the verge of tears. Her classmates stared incredulously at her and for a time nobody spoke but they had indeed heard her words. Not long afterward several other highly respected members of the class secretly revealed who had been involved in the scandal.

I was in awe of Joanna Rodriguez for the depth of her character and for the bravery that she had exhibited. It was not in her nature to be the center of attention but it was very much like her to be a champion for what is right and just. I knew back then that our world was going to be a better place because it would have young people like her moving into positions of leadership in the future. Now Joanna is ready to assume the full mantle of adulthood as a graduate of the University of Houston Downtown with a degree in education.

Joanna has worked long and hard to reach this moment and she is more than prepared to become a teacher at KIPP Voyage Girls Academy this spring. She excelled in her classes and did an outstanding job as a student teacher. Little wonder that she was recruited by more than one school district. She has chosen to return to her roots in the KIPP Charter system to pay forward the lessons that she learned when she was young as well as those that she mastered in college.

Joanna will be an exceptional role model for the young ladies of KIPP Voyage. She carries herself with the kind of dignity and confidence that they need to see. She is bright and creative and most of all incredibly loving. I have little doubt that she will be successful at building lasting relationships with her students and that she will show them how to find their own paths to and through life. She is living proof that working hard and being nice pay huge dividends.

Joanna Rodriguez and young women like her represent the best of our future. She has become exactly the kind of person that we hoped she and her classmates would one day be. She is the culmination of efforts from many dedicated people and now she will accept the mantle of responsibility to continue those efforts in guiding a new generation of students. She is so real and so ready to embark on the most important work that anyone might ever do.

Joanna has had an exhilarating couple of months. In addition to completing her university requirements and practicing her craft as a student teacher, she became engaged to a very fine young man. I suspect that the two of them will eventually build a family as strong and loving as the one in which she grew in her own wisdom and grace. Her parents worked in tandem with those of us who were her educators and demonstrated their devotion to raising her well. She has enjoyed a very fine example of parenting that will serve her both in the classroom with her students and later if she decides to have children of her own.

I feel a certain sense of pride that Joanna has chosen to be a teacher. It is one of the most noble professions but it is also difficult. Sadly our society does not always celebrate the importance of educating the young. It sometimes takes true grit to expend the long hours and to endure the criticisms of a society that is willing to pay college football coaches millions while neglecting to honor the men and women who toil unsung in our schools. If there is anyone who has what it takes to rise above the clamor and realize the joy and importance of teaching, it is Joanna Rodriguez.

I hope that she finds as much fulfillment in her career as I did and that she has the pleasure of meeting many young people like herself. I wish for her to find the daily pleasure that is the reward of working with our young. I wish her well as she begins a journey that will be filled with many adventures and blessings. Most of all I thank her for including me in the climb to the top of her mountain. From where I stand the view is beautiful and I see a most wonderful future for her.

Lessons From The Gang

Published on December 15, 2016December 12, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ourgang4_xlarge Back when I was a child most of the local television stations filled the programming hours in the afternoon with old black and white movies usually of the B variety. I never saw many A listers in those films but some of them were surprisingly good and memorable. I grew to have a particular affection for the short Our Gang flicks featuring an adorably talented group of children known as The Little Rascals. I didn’t realize back then that the beloved characters and stories that I watched so eagerly were filmed back in the 1920’s and 30’s. Those kids were long grown up by the time that I was laughing at their antics. They represented life during very hard times for the world and overriding all of their mischief there was always a moral for how to live life to the fullest. Their tales and the lessons they taught were universal enough to the human experience that I still think about how much they influenced me.

For some reason one of the episodes of that long ago time has stuck in my mind throughout my lifetime. It featured a family of children trying desperately to find an extraordinary gift for their mother. The little ones did odd jobs to earn money but even when they put all of their savings together they were still shy of having enough to purchase the kinds of presents that they so desperately wanted to give her. Their prayers appeared to be answered when they encountered a big sale at their local department store. Even though there were limited styles and sizes being offered at the low prices they managed to find an entire outfit of clothing for their mom, including a hat and shoes. It was with great fanfare and joy that they presented their gift of love to her.

The final scene shows the elated mother walking proudly down the street ignoring the gaping stares and whispers as she greets her friends and neighbors with her head held high. The dress from her little ones is quite obviously several sizes too large and hangs dangerously from her shoulders ready to drop to the ground if she does not walk very carefully. The shoes are little better and the hat is quite ridiculous. Still the pride with which she carries herself and the smile on her face insures her children that she is enchanted by the outfit that they worked so hard to buy her. Her selflessness and gratitude radiates and the smiles on the kids’ faces tell a story all its own.

In this season of giving we have at times become all too expectant in our wants and desires. Madison Avenue has somehow convinced us that this should be a time for receiving a new car or very expensive jewelry or electronics. The spaces underneath our Christmas trees are often crammed with gifts that may or may not satisfy us or those to whom we give our offerings. Most of us would be unlikely to demonstrate the kind of appreciation for a misfit gift that the mom in that old production showed to her children. Instead of simply enjoying the thoughts behind the many gifts that we receive we all too often obsess over whatever may have been lacking.

My mother loved visiting friends and family at Christmastime. It was quite fun going from one house to another and viewing the Christmas decorations and presents under the trees. One lady that Mama knew always received professionally wrapped gifts from her husband. They were so lovely that I would have had a difficult time tearing the paper and bows apart to find out what was inside. There always seemed to be mountains of boxes just for her. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be if my widowed mom had someone to be so extravagant and thoughtful to her. She had to be satisfied with the small homemade things that my brothers and I gave her but her friend seemed to be feted like a queen. Ironically instead of being happy she complained every single year about how she would no doubt have to take everything back because her man had such poor taste. She insisted that it was a trial for her to even think of opening the presents because she was convinced that she would dislike them all. Somehow it never occurred to her how hard he was trying to please her. The attitude that she proclaimed seemed so wrong to me and I wanted to fuss at her but I was just a child and such lectures would have been wrong. Instead I told myself that I would never ever be so selfish.

A gift is far more than just the item inside a package. It is an outward sign that someone cares and has taken the time and the resources to show love. Regardless of how small, a present should never be taken for granted. Instead we should treasure the idea behind the offering. Someone in the busyness of the day has thought to make us happy. If we consider how powerful such an act is then we realize that it really is the thought that counts.

My father read so many fairytales to me but the one that seemed to resonate the most was about a fisherman who caught a magic flounder. He was granted a wish if he agreed to throw the hapless fish back into the water. Knowing that his wife was saddened by the deplorable condition of the shanty in which they lived he asked that he receive a nice little home. When he returned from work that evening his wife was beaming as she emerged from a small but tidy cabin. When he told her how the miracle had come to pass she frowned and upbraided him for making such a small request. Instead of being satisfied by her improved condition she longed for more.

As luck would have it the fisherman once again caught the magical creature who offered yet another wish. This time he was more specific in requesting a mansion with lots of money to match the splendor of the house. By this time his wife was on to the game and she met him at the door railing that he still had not requested enough. She fretted that he might have done so much better and became ever more unhappy even in the midst of splendor. Of course as the tale proceeds the fisherman catches the fish again and again asking for more and more audacious gifts with each new opportunity. In the end the flounder decides to give the man what he needs rather than what he thinks he should have. The hapless fisherman returns home to find his wife standing in front of the shanty that had originally been their home.

In this season we would all do well to keep our desires within reason and teach our children to do the same. Learning how to appreciate the blessings that we have is crucial to finding the happiness that we all seek. The baby for whom the holiday was named was not a king or a man of power but a humble soul. We would all do well to follow His example and to remember the moral of the story of mankind that is repeated over and over again. It is in giving that we truly receive. It is in loving that we find the greatest joy.