Category: Commentary

Travel is as much about meeting new people and hearing new points of view as seeing sights. It is about gaining a deeper understanding of the history of the world and learning how humans adjust and adapt to the challenges in their lives. We may speak many different languages and have many different beliefs about the best way to live but when all is said and done our hearts are much more alike than we often seem to notice. Visiting far away places provides a more generous outlook on life because it helps us to realize how wonderful all of us are as we strive to live in meaningful ways. 

I suppose that I have an affinity for Great Britain because so many of my ancestors came from there. Somehow I always feel comfortable among the citizens when I visit the locations where my people once lived. As I visit one place after another I get a better feel for the journey of individuals whose life choices led inexorably to my own. I feel a kinship with the people that I encounter because when I speak with them I realize that they are more like me than different from me in their hopes and dreams for themselves and their families. 

I think of a young barista and waitress who greeted me and my husband with a warm smile each morning when we enjoyed breakfast in the cafe where she worked. Her name is Maria and she brightened our mornings with her care and concern for our needs. At least for me her presence each day was more vital than the food and drink that she brought us, more wonderful than the castles that we visited.

I enjoyed the Uber drivers who chatted with us as they relieved my need for walking as much as I would have normally done given that my knees are more than ready for replacement. They were as delightful as the sites to which they delivered us. There was the young man from Ethiopia who was curious about the United States and its current situation. He knew more about the Constitution and our laws than many Americans. This humble driver was well schooled in history and political science, speaking with a command of English that was remarkable given that he has not been in London all that long. I was almost sad to leave the car upon reaching our destination because our discussion had been so interesting. 

There were the people on the streets, in the shops and on the tube who treated me like a queen. Even on the most crowded days they politely insisted that I take their seats. They called me “Mum” or “Madame” and smiled when I accepted their kindness. I did not ever feel alone or ignored the entire time that I was away from home. 

On a train to Edinburgh I sat across from a young man who was traveling to Glasgow to spend the weekend hiking with his girlfriend. He chatted all the way alerting us to the loveliest views from the train and telling us how best to enjoy our short trip to Scotland. He was a delightful tour guide and historian as he explained what we were seeing as the train barreled through the countryside. He was ever polite and enthusiastic about helping us, not disappointed that his seat was across from two old people.

On the same train we heard a young woman from mainland China speaking impeccable English and mentioning her love of learning many different languages. She patiently listened to a stranger who never stopped talking about the exploits of his life. The two of them could not have been more different and yet by the end of the trip the bond that they had created was ever so real. 

On our way to visit the Dickens Museum we enjoyed a driver who was from Nigeria. He broached the topic of world events of the moment and we happily took the bait. It felt as though we were in the presence of a brilliant professor. His knowledge was boundless and he had a knack for expressing his views and allowing us to differ from him that was glorious. That ride was as wonderful as the museum that we would later visit. 

There were two Palestinian protests in Trafalgar Square when we were in London. Since our hotel was only half a block away from the proceedings we saw the mothers and grandmothers and children who earnestly accompanied the men to the rally. There were ministers and people who have never themselves been to Palestine. All of them bore looks of worry and hardship. I could feel the pain that they were feeling even though none of them spoke to us. I felt humbled by them in an unexplainable way. 

We met a mother and son from New Zealand when we went to see The Phantom of the Opera. They invited us to visit their homeland, describing its beauty and its people with such pride and joy.

We saw the diversity of the world in the microcosm of London and it was glorious. We smiled when the people embraced us even as they seemed worried about all of us in America. They all expressed the hope that we will get over our divisions and become the exemplar of freedom that they so want us to be. It was remarkable to be able to discuss our views and who we are without the least bit of worry that we might somehow be misjudged or accused of being hateful. The people assumed that it was okay for each of us to be different in our languages, backgrounds and viewpoints. They told us that no nation or time has ever been perfect and no one way of doing things is a good fit for everyone. 

We too often create a mindset that puts us in competition with each other rather than acknowledging that people are people everywhere. They have goals and dreams. They live and love. Our trip reminded us that when all is said and done we humans are all in this together and always have been. When we celebrate our sameness we are much more likely to get along. 

When I was in high school I was captivated by the enlightenment that my English teacher provided our class. We not only parsed and diagramed sentences but we also explored literature and learned about music and art. Our teacher filled the classroom with newspaper articles and introduced us to periodicals like The Atlantic, The New York Times, and The New Yorker. He planned field trips to the theater and the local art museum. He made sure that we learned how to appreciate music and understood how to present ourselves in different settings. His goal was to make us citizens of the world. 

I think of my English teacher whenever I travel. I do things that I believe he would have done if he had accompanied me and my husband. I smile when I remember how he wove all of art and history together to help us to understand humanity and the world around us. So it was with his influence in the back of my mind that I set out on a return trip to London, England, a place where I always feel at home. 

The last time I traveled across the pond I found a great deal on an economy seat. Sadly the savings resulted in a torturous journey. The seats were small and cramped with so little legroom that I felt as though me knees were touching my chin. The two ladies behind us talked the whole night through so any idea of sleeping for a time became impossible. I just watched movie after movie hoping that they would eventually grow weary, turn off the lights and abandon their conversation but that was not to happen so I arrived in London exhausted before I had even begun my explorations

This time around we invested in premium economy seats and the upgrade in comfort was incredible. Our seats themselves were noticeably wider and we had enough leg room to stretch our legs. The food was excellent and actually served on real plates with napkins and silverware. The people in the area were quiet and respectful of each other. When the lights dimmed we all rested peacefully until the morning when a delicious breakfast was served. 

We arrived at Heathrow Airport in the early afternoon and I was bouncing with energy which was fortunate since much of our time was spent walking to reach the Heathrow Express that would take us to Paddington Station. My gimpy knees threatened to halt the trip then and there but I was determined to ignore them no matter how much they screamed at me. Before long we were on our way on a train so crowded that we had to stand much of the way holding tightly to our luggage that kept threatening to roll away. Before long a very polite young man insisted that I take his seat. I was reluctant but his wife motioned me over with a welcoming smile making the rest of the journey wonderful as I anticipated the fun that was to come. 

We had reservations at the Grand Hotel at Trafalgar Square which proved to be an exceptional location for launching our daily adventures. Our room was spacious and incredibly quiet at all times of day. We had a great view of Northumberland Street and were only half a block away from Trafalgar Square. It was a short walk to either Charring Cross or Embankment stations so transportation was not a problem. For our first foray we wanted to investigate the trains that might take us to Windsor Castle so we headed to Waterloo Station which was literally abuzz with passengers rushing here and there. We felt a bit lost in all of the hubbub mostly because we were still a bit jet lagged from our plane trip. We eased our anxieties with a bit to eat and went back to the hotel to rest up for our upcoming visit to the Royal Observatory and The National Naval Museum in Greenwich. 

After a great night’s sleep we were ready to begin our vacation in earnest but first it was time for breakfast so we wandered to the Caffe Concerto which was located next door to the hotel. It was a delightful place with a staff that exuded cheerfulness. Of course we agreed that we had to try the full English breakfast that included two fried eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, a stewed tomato, hash browns, mushrooms and toast. I topped my meal off with cranberry juice and English breakfast tea and immediately knew that this place would be our first stop each morning for the rest of the trip. 

The ride to Greenwich took a while. It is far south of the city of London along the Thames River. The Royal Observatory there is the site of the Prime Meridian, the reference line for longitude that divides the earth into the Eastern and Western hemispheres We placed our feet on either side of the line so that we might brag that we had been in two hemispheres at the same time, then we went inside to learn more about the work done by the many astronomers who had worked to understand the heavens. Among the men who resided there was Edmond Halley for whom a comet would be named.

Inside the museum was a section devoted to showing how important it had been to develop a seaworthy clock that would not be affected by the swaying of ships. Using the heavens and correct time sailors needed to be able to navigate correctly but it would literally be decades before a successful clock was invented by John Harrison. Each of his attempts to create a reliable marine chronometer is on display and his ingenuity was remarkable to see.

Our next stop was just down a pathway to the National Navel Museum, a delightful place filled with stories of sailors and their enormous impact on the economy and safety of the British Isles. It was literally a treasure trove of naval history including a huge map of the oceans and an entire section devoted to Horatio Nelson whose death in the Battle of Trafalgar would be memorialized with great honor. 

Our final Greenwich destination was the Cutty Sark, once the fastest ship in the world. It had been used by the East India Company to bring tea from China to Britain, a part of history tinged with greed and war and sometimes questionable tactics. The displays were open and honest about the good, bad and ugly of what happened on those trips to China. It was sobering imagining life aboard the ship whose sole purpose was to grab the tea and get back as quickly as possible. 

The day had been full and enlightening and we were rather tired once we were back at the hotel but we had not eaten since breakfast so it was time for a small repast. For dinner we settled on Italian food mostly because there was a restaurant just across the street. The food was great and the wine helped us to chill just a bit before a strolling down Whitehall Street to a shop where I purchased some tea which seemed fitting given the history we had learned on our first full day in London. So much more was to come and I found myself wondering what book my English teacher might suggest that I read to learn more about the British adventures at sea. I’m sure he would have had some ideas and might even suggest that we pair it with a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan and HMS Pinafore. I smiled as a realized that I had indeed become a citizen of the world all due to his enormous influence.

If I had to think of a time in my life when I felt very comfortable it would have to be the nineteen nineties. By then my children had both graduated from college, married and were doing well. I had many incredible friendships with individuals and couples who enriched my life with their very presence. I had earned a Master’s degree by then and was very comfortable in my career. I liked the movies and the music and the wonderful vacations that we took. My mother was retired and enjoying life and doing better with her mental illness than ever before. It felt as though all of the hard work that my husband and I had done had fallen into place. We totally lived with the mantra that life is good. 

I went into the new century filled with so many hopes and dreams little knowing the toll that ensuing events would take on our family. I suppose we all have the bad habit of thinking that our lives will continue to rock along without any difficulties when times are good. I had lived through so many chaotic moments and I somehow felt entitled to a quiet time when roses seemed to be blooming all around me. Then came 9/11 and its horror. I can still call up the intense emotions and fear that I felt on that day. I worried that life as I presently knew it was going to drastically change, but somehow as Americans we found the fortitude to work together in honor of those who had lost their lives. Our democracy held and it felt as though we had defeated a grave danger. 

I worried about the wars that came from that moment in Afghanistan and Iraq. I felt uncertain about how all of that would eventually play out. A kind of national anxiety that I had not felt since the nineteen sixties began to create worries for me as well. Nonetheless, I had a strong family and so many wonderful friends with whom to walk through those difficult times and so life went on without world events affecting me too much.

About the time of the fall of Iraq the world began to shift under my feet. My mother-in-law had a stroke and died after days in a coma. My father-in-law became tied up in knots and was soon in the hospital having emergency surgery from which it seemed that he would be unable to survive. Somehow he made it, but my mother began to have some of the worst symptoms of her bipolar disorder that she had ever experienced. I was back in the saddle of caring for people in crisis once again but still enjoying that births of my grandchildren. They became my saviors with their innocence and joy. Being with them kept me from becoming too wrapped up in my troubles. 

It seemed as though one horrific event after another came to rock the world. Hurricane Katrina destroyed the city of New Orleans and my school took in more students from there than any other in the United States. Our classrooms were crowded and not all of the parents liked that we had taken in the suffering students. For me it was a sign that prejudices were growing again in my country. I had already seen much of that for Muslims, but now it was people from a neighboring state who were viewed with fear.

At the same time my dear friend, Pat, was diagnosed with cancer and would spend the better part of a year being treated at M.D. Anderson Hospital. My center was holding even as things began to fall apart. I was and still am a control freak and I was unable to repair all of the damage that I witnessed around me. 

Pat recovered and my mother found a wonderful doctor who seemed to help her in miraculous ways, but my friends Egon and Marita were not doing well. If it was not one thing it was another. Nothing seemed certain and there was a kind of chill in America that I had only seen during the Vietnam War. 

Life swirled around me. Egon died and his wife ended up in the hospital with her destiny uncertain. My grandchildren were still at the center of my world and my happiness as I embarked on a new job at KIPP Houston High School. There I would encounter “my people” in both my fellow employees and my students. I had never before felt so strongly that I was in the right place at the right time. It was good that work had become an anchor because my friend, Pat, would die and I would never quite get over losing her.

Work and my grandchildren became the steadying forces in my life. I enjoyed the years of Barack Obama’s presidency. Somehow I began to feel that everything was going to turn out all right even as I had to become accustomed to losing more and more important people who had kept me steady. First came Marita, then our friend Bill and, tragically, my mother. Then I retired and felt ready for a quiet life that seemed rather certain, Sometimes though the world has a strange sense of humor and the craziness only got worse. 

Our nation has endured so many tests and somehow we have always emerged from them but the present time seems more dire than ever. We managed to come out of the worldwide pandemic mostly intact but too many had died and our confidence was in tatters. Somehow we had become a divided nation. Our national tone has become uglier than anything I have ever seen in all of my almost seventy seven years on this planet. I don’t think I have ever worried this much about my beautiful United States of America. I can’t even seem to explain to those who think differently from me how horrific our current situation is. I long for the people that I have lost. I want allies who will talk to me and reassure me. I know that they are around but we have grown so wary of each other that many of them are afraid to express how they feel. Even families are being torn apart. 

My children and grandchildren remain at the center of my tiny universe along with God. I hope that we will be able to endure the current crisis and come out better than before. I still have great faith in my nation but I worry that I won’t see its reconstruction before my time to leave has come. I want the best of what we have the potential to be for every person who lives in America. I wants us to understand that together we truly become the shining city on the hill. Apart we will gain less than half of the glory that we might find together. I am keeping the faith that the goodness in us will triumph before it becomes too late. I’ll be at the No Kings protest tomorrow in the hopes that my feeble efforts to save my beloved United States of America will be echoed a million times over across the globe. I see that this is no time to hide away and rest. I will limp on my gimpy knees to demonstrate my love for country and for all people for however long it takes to set things right once again.

When my youngest daughter, Catherine, was a little girl she received a Le Mutt stuffed dog. She had many stuffed animals and dolls but somehow it was Le Mutt who stole her heart and literally went everywhere with her. She had clothes for Le Mutt and even encouraged her best friend, Traci, to allow her Fifi stuffed animal to marry Le Mutt. It was a marriage made in heaven. The two girls and two little pups were inseparable. 

Catherine brought Le Mutt on vacations, ceremoniously dressing him for camping and hiking. Of course she was not going to leave him behind in our tent when we went trudging up mountain trails. He was family after all and would not have missed the outing for anything. Le Mutt ate dinner with us and watched over Catherine when we all went to bed at night. He was as faithful as any little dog might be.

On one occasion we were driving in the middle of nowhere on our way to new adventures at a new campsite. We had stopped at one point to take some photos of a lovely scene and did not notice that Le Mutt had fallen out of the car. After we had driven for many miles Catherine became inconsolable when she discovered that he was no longer with us. She was not able to recall the last time that she had seen him so he might have been anywhere along the hundreds of miles that we had already driven but her Pop instantly knew that he had to retrace our steps. 

He turned our truck around and we all craned our necks hoping to see Le Mutt somewhere along the way. he drove as slowly as he could on a highway with speeds in excess of sixty miles per hour. It seemed like we had driven forever without any sign of the pup when suddenly we all remembered the spot where we had taken pictures and we were now very close to being back there. 

As soon as it felt as though we had reached the place where Le Mutt might be we slowed down to a snails pace. We had to look across the road because we had been traveling in the opposite direction before we realized that Le Mutt was missing. I said a silent prayer that we would soon find him because I knew how heartbroken Catherine would be if he was never discovered again. Not even purchasing a new Le Mutt would do. She loved the worn one that my mother had sewn back together many times when his seams came undone. 

As if the heavens had opened to perform a special miracle we all suddenly saw Le Mutt lying on the side of the road. Pop carefully made a U turn and parked on the shoulder. Le Mutt was a bit dusty but none the worse for wear and of course Catherine was ecstatic. 

There is no end to the story. Catherine is now in her fifties and she still has Le Mutt. Because she lives in an area where wildfires often break out she has a “go bag” ready to grab in the event that flames threaten her home. Always near the bag sits Le Mutt, who is still a member of her family. Her children have all heard the stories of their mother’s adventures with the sweet pup and they treasure him as much as she does. Even her husband seems to understand how special Le Mutt is. 

We each have memories from our childhood that are so wonderful that we never forget them. We draw on them for bit of happiness whenever times get tough. We recall those family picnics at the beach, the Friday nights at Grandma’s house, the neighborhood antics and the bicycle rides with Linda and Susan singing Jesus Love The Little Children with voices so loud that everyone in the neighborhood must have heard us. Sometimes there is that one special object that earned our fancy that we cherish forever or maybe it is the memory of something wonderful that one of our parents did for us like my husband patiently driving many miles in the wrong direction to retrieve a missing stuffed animal. We know that what really happened in those times was the definition of love. 

My own story is a bit more simple. I was supposed to have a Big Chief writing tablet for school the following day. I did not remember until just before I was supposed to go to bed. Back then no stores were open past five in the afternoon. The odds that my parents would find one were slim to none. My mother tried to soothe me but insisted that I would have to go to school without my required tablet. 

When I awoke the next morning not one but two Big Chief tablets were sitting on my dresser. My mother told me that my father had driven all over town until late in the night hoping to find what i needed. It took him hours but he finally got lucky and came home triumphant. 

I can’t even begin to describe how much I loved my father in that moment or how much Catherine love her Pop for helping her find Le Mutt. My father died just a little over a year from the day that he saved me from the certain wrath of my teacher. When I think of him I always remember how much he loved me. Parents need to know that when they do something wonderful we never forget. 

I have written about empathy before. It is something that I have experienced for all of my life. I suspect that I inherited the trait from my mother. I have learned over time that not everyone has the kind of deep feelings that arise from empathy and so it is quite understandable to me that some people might see the concept as some kind of new age woke idea that is silly at best. I would like to describe what it is for me but first I need to tell my readers once again how I finally knew what was causing the intense emotions that sometimes overtook me when I witnessed someone who was suffering. 

I was a great fan of the original Star Trek series. I don’t think that I have missed seeing any of the episodes and I have viewed most of them many times over. The one that struck me the most was about an individual from another planet who was an empath. In the episode this character almost died from feeling the pain of another person so intensely. At that moment I finally had a name for my own experience of becoming physically and mentally debilitated in the presence of suffering. 

I already knew that my mother reacted in a similar manner. I had seen her end up in bed for a day or two when tragedies struck her loved ones. She would eventually be revived and ready to perform her duties but she was still feeling a deep sense of oneness with whichever person was in a state of grief. People would come to her with their problems and she would listen attentively and then dwell on them until she literally felt sick. 

Some might describe what happened to her as a form of mental illness but it was so much more than just feeling down. It was as though she had taken on the woes of another person and carried them until she knew what she needed to do to nurture them and help them through their own devastation. She never claimed to feel exactly like they did. She understood that we can never totally know how someone else is feeling. She just saw their sorrow and instead of only offering tokens of sympathy, she felt some of the force of what was dragging them down. 

I am not as gifted with empathy as mother or the character on Star Trek were but I have had my share of moments when I became overwhelmed with painful understanding of how certain people around me were feeling. It was both a special ability and a kind of curse at one and the same time. As a teacher I encountered students with so much tragedy forced on them at very young ages that I would have to take a mental health day to heal myself of the physical and mental reactions that I was having for them. It did me no good to be so in tune with their feelings that I was unable to do my job. I had to learn how to moderate the intensity of what I was experiencing so that I might use my gift productively. 

I suppose that someone might read my thoughts and come to the conclusion that I am nutty as a fruitcake and need some help. Luckily I got the guidance that I needed from my dear friend, Pat, who was like a big sister to me. She saw and understood my empathetic nature and she is the one who helped me to learn how to use my gift without hurting so much for the person whose pain I was sharing that I would become ineffective. She was a savior for me who encouraged me to use my empathy as a wonderful way to understand people’s difficulties, something that she assured me not everyone understands. 

To this very day I fall in sync with individuals who are dealing with unbelievable life situations. I will never say that I feel exactly the same as they do. That would be impossible but my own emotions are very strong whenever I pick up on the difficulties that they are experiencing. It is simply just who I am just as my mother was. 

I sometimes feel confused when other people are not noticing that someone is silently crying out for help. I tended to be the go to teacher who first noticed a child in distress. Somehow I pick up on the body language, the eyes, the anxious stares, the changes in behavior and begin to deeply feel how the person is troubled. 

On a personal level I have friends who seem to read me with their own empathetic abilities. They will call me at the very moments when I am experiencing the most sorrow. Sometimes they live thousands of miles away but still have the sense that I need their comfort. Not even the people nearest me may be as observant and understanding. 

It is alright when people say that they do not have empathy. I suspect that not everyone truly understands what that word means to those of us who do. It is not to imply that we someone realize exactly how another person is feeling but we have a deep sense of the turmoil in their minds. Perhaps empathy is the reason that sometimes loving someone hurts. We carry their sorrows along with them and do our best to let them know how much we really care. Everyone needs an empathetic person in their lives. I have been lucky to have more than my fair share and they know who they are. I hope that I have shared my empathy generously as well.