Category: Commentary

The world is an amazing place that is filled with wonders, but in the business of our daily routines we all too often focus on the minutiae of minor irritations. We get upset about the small things that in reality are unimportant, a comment that offends us, arriving late to an appointment because of heavy traffic, a broken appliance in our homes, even a bad hair day. 

As a rookie teacher I used to only remember the one disappointing thing that happened in my classroom rather than the twenty-five wonderful things that should have made my day. I’d fret and fume and sometimes even lose sleep. More seasoned teachers would advise me to do things like write down the truly positive occurrences of each school day in a column next the the horrific moments. They assured me that my record would prove that there is always more good than bad in any given situation whether it be at work or home or across the globe. Over time, with my proof in hand, I became certain that they were right. 

The irony of our humanity is that on the one hand we are very small in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, each individual is a unique and glorious miracle. We sometimes take insignificant things too seriously, while failing to consider what is really important in life. Now and again we experience something so incredible that it puts things into perspective for us. I can think of no two examples that better encapsulate both our potential and our limits as the birth of a child and the death of someone we love. Each instance reminds us quite vividly of what is truly important, what should command our attention and our care. 

During the past two years I have witnessed a kind of beautiful balance in our world. Like virtually everyone I have grieved for many who have died. In my sorrow I have been reminded of how trivial my personal worries have been. I have been humbled in feeling that I might have spent more time reaching out to them, telling them how much I admired and loved them. I have felt long term grief in losing them. On the other hand, so many beautiful babies have been born or will soon be born. They are the products of love and optimism that our world will be okay in spite of its problems. Their innocent delight and their smiles reassure me and remind me of all that is good. 

There have certainly been cataclysmic events during my lifetime and that of all people during the long stretch of history. Humans have endured slavery, wars, restrictions on their freedom, poverty and want. Nonetheless humans have also freed people from their chains, defeated despots, made parts of the world more democratic, shared wealth to provide a decent life for everyone. We are at our best when we use our time and energy and talent to make the world a better place, not one that punishes and restricts. Even the smallest act of violence sets us back.  

During the pandemic I have been quite fortunate. I never got sick, I had everything I needed. I was able to travel in my trailer without exposing myself to contagion. I settled into a routine that was actually quite pleasant. I taught mathematics remotely to a number of children and kept them moving forward in the mastery of fundamentals and more advanced topics. I wrote my blogs and read my books. I enjoyed the loveliness of my backyard garden and listened to the singing of the birds and the laughter of the children in my neighborhood. I took classes at Rice University and watched Master Classes with various professionals. I registered for one day symposiums and Zoomed with members of my family. Mostly I was humbled by the millions upon millions of people across the globe who were working feverishly to keep things running as smoothly as possible. 

Sadly I also witnessed people growing angry, pitching fits, whining about the sacrifices that we were all making. I might have focused on the negative behaviors, but I had learned over the decades to look to the helpers, to see that the positive actions far outweighed the negative. I knew that we would all have to sacrifice and work our way slowly away from sorrow and back to normal. I understood that while it might be difficult, with the doers and the optimists we would all ultimately be okay, even as there is still much work to be done. I feel for those who have only seen fit to attack our doctors and nurses and teachers and the vast numbers of people whose only goal has been to keep as many of us as possible healthy. Those who ignored the negativity and continued doing the work that had to be done have inspired me and kept me going with the certainty that things will one day be just fine as long as we don’t turn on each other. Instead of constantly pointing out the inconveniences we have endured, we should be celebrating the innumerable efforts of people both great and seemingly ordinary who continue to bring us through, often at great personal cost.

I refuse to revert to my younger years when I was unable to see the forest for the trees. I have journeyed to a mountain top and from my vantage point I see so much good. I will not allow the negative voices to convince me that we humans only care about ourselves or that the trajectory of life is dark and hopeless. People have overcome worse things than we now face. The best in us and among us will undoubtedly come to the fore. They always do. My good versus bad lists tell me that this is so.  

I should be a master of dealing with conflict. So much of it has been part and parcel of my life. Whenever my mother’s bipolar disorder overtook her beautiful mind I had to confront her to insist that she visit her doctor and take her medications. There was never anything easy about those encounters because she was a terribly noncompliant patient who so frustrated everyone that even her doctors would eventually refuse to keep her as a patient. They were consistently unable to convince her to to follow their directions and felt that they were therefore of no use to her. It always fell to me and my brothers to closely monitor her mental health and ultimately to check on her every single day to be certain that she swallowed her medication and made regular visits to whomever her latest doctor was. In the last years of her life she took turns living with me and one of my brothers. 

To say that caring for my mom resulted in conflicts with her would be an understatement, and no matter how often I thought that we had finally succeeded in getting her to a good place, I would find myself cajoling, begging, pleading and arguing with her to just take her pills and talk honestly with her doctors. I was not always the best or calmest negotiator. There were times when I felt as though I had become as dictatorial as she accused me of being. I disliked the whole situation and thoughts of just walking or running away often ran through my head whenever things got particularly confrontational. Somehow I always managed to steel myself for more combat by understanding that my mother was only difficult because the bipolar disorder had taken hold of her otherwise sweet and gentle brain. 

Ironically I found that my chosen occupation as a teacher was also fraught with conflict. Over the course of my time as an educator I encountered difficult students in my classroom, angry parents, disgruntled teachers, demanding principals, dissatisfied school boards. It seemed as though there was no escaping disagreements no matter where I went. Conflict seems to be an integral and inescapable part of our human destiny. Ironically we often get very little guidance regarding how to deal with it, other than our studies in the school of hard knocks. There are few mentors who show us how to properly deescalate the misunderstandings and challenges that we so often encounter.  

We certainly have self-help books that make suggestions about how to handle childcare, relationships, and work/life difficulties, but they are often so generic that we struggle to apply the ideas when we become involved in the heat and emotion of real life problems. Group dynamics tell us that it is quite normal for people with disparate backgrounds or beliefs to begin interactions by storming in sometimes fierce disagreements with one another. Such research also demonstrates that until we can come to some kind of consensus that allows us to work together the system, whether it be a one on one relationship or the running of a government, is doomed to failure. Things and people do fall apart when nobody is willing to give an inch. Force feeding ideas or policies works no better than my insistence that my mother take her medication whether she wanted it or not. 

It feels to me as though we are in one of the most dangerous epochs of my lifetime. It has become the norm for us to steadfastly stand rigidly for our beliefs without consideration of other people’s ideas. We seem to have at least temporarily lost the will to compromise and work together toward commonly created goals. Even friendships are dissolving over an insistence that we either think alike or go our separate ways. There is a kind of sick evangelical adherence to foisting our personal ideas on everyone, even if it is not something that they want. We seem to have lost the will and the tools for compromise. 

I suppose that in admitting how forceful my brothers and I had to be to keep our mother from descending into madness, I sound quite hypocritical in suggesting that we have to become less rigid in the enforcement of our pet beliefs on others. Instead I would suggest that we need to learn the difference between pushing personal philosophies and safeguarding the common good. Obviously we need laws and order in a functioning society, but we should not be force feeding religious or cultural beliefs on others. Nor should we make our laws so inequitable that swathes of people are hurt by them. There has to be a fine balance between progress and tradition. Our freedoms require many voices, not just one, in order to survive and thrive. We have to be able to sit down, air our differences in a peaceful and meaningful way knowing that the outcomes have not already been predetermined by allegiances. If there is no hope that we can respect each other, there is no hope for families or businesses or institutions. Being locked inside a bubble of thought has rarely ever been healthy anywhere. 

Conflict is indeed inevitable. How we are willing to deal with it determines how strong our relationships will be. Running away from a crisis is never the answer no matter how tempting it may be. We can’t just pretend that we are good and the other guys are bad. We have to develop dialog without animus and then show a willingness to compromise and adapt to a variety of ideas. Anyone who has ever had a successful relationship with another human being should understand this. A winning team is one that is not about an individual person or philosophy. It is always about a willingness to draw from the strengths of one another no matter how different they may be. Families dissolve, businesses fail, teams lose, governments collapse, civilizations disappear when we are not longer able to get past our storming and begin the work of norming.  

My relationship with God, and in particular Jesus, is very personal, even unconventional. I feel closest to Jesus when I am alone, praying and just talking to him. I begin my mornings and end my days in prayer and during that time I find enormous strength in knowing that I can be fully myself with every one of my flaws and feel unconditionally loved. I’ve had a good life, but a challenging one. I have suffered like everyone else, but more often than not I have enjoyed glorious moments of great joy. I am a consummate worrier, mostly about everyone else. I don’t always share the concerns that I have because I don’t want to burden others with them. God is my confidante and my counselor. Even when I reach the depths of weariness he provides me with the comfort that I need to overcome my fears and my exhaustion with love. 

Because I am an introvert I prefer communicating with my God in quiet places when I am alone. I attend church services and am filled with wonder as I sit with my fellow humans, but it is not there that I feel the most spiritual moments. I am not one to proselytize or push my religious views unless someone asks about them. I have great respect for each person’s beliefs and understand that God takes many forms and is found in many religions. He is even present in ways that are not obvious in the hearts and souls of non-believers. 

Holy Week encapsulates the story of Jesus and what he wanted us to learn about how how we humans should live. He arrived in Jerusalem as a hero amid shouts of adulation from crowds of people who had come to see him. In that moment he was the rock star of his time and place and yet he would soon be subjected to betrayal, condemnation, humiliation and death. It would be one of his trusted friends who would turn on him for a few pieces of gold. He would be tried on trumped up charges, whipped until his flesh hung from his body, turned on by the fickle crowd who chose him to die over Barabas. He would be mocked with a crown of thorns and called the King of the Jews. He would bear a heavy cross on a stoney route up to the top of a hill. There he would die the most hideous kind of death, hanging from a cross on which he had been nailed, slowly becoming unable to support his body so that he might breathe. All the while he continued to utter his message of love, forgiveness and redemption. 

We humans sometimes forget the powerful message of Holy Week. We judge others self-righteously. We insist that one way of honoring God is better than another. We create caricatures of God in which he grants special favors to some and condemns others. We lose our faith when life gets tough. We do not understand that the suffering that we see around us is created by us, not God. We forget the example of Jesus who taught us over and over again how to love our neighbors without judgement or conditions. 

I’ll be the first to admit that I am often confounded by life and by people. I do not understand evil nor do I condone it. I wonder why innocent people have to suffer. I look at acts of war and I realize that God has no part in such things. War is our own human creation just as all forms of violence are. I watch myself make egregious mistakes and have to talk with God about how I have hurt someone’s feelings or even destroyed a relationship. I know he wants me to make amends but still be kind and forgiving of myself. I’ve often grieved for Judas because I think that Jesus would have forgiven him, but instead Judas gave up and killed himself. I tend to believe that Jesus still loved Judas in spite of all that happened. Jesus knew that only a very broken soul would resort to taking his own life. 

I’m hardly a theologian. There is much about God that confuses me. I talk about those things when I pray. I see very openly spiritual people and I admire them greatly because I have always been more reticent in declaring my views. I don’t think that God passes out favors just because we praise him, but I do believe that he sends souls to live among us who understand how we should all behave, hoping that we follow their examples. I think that often they are simple people who impress us with their unassuming goodness. My mother was certainly one of those people. Her life was a series of one difficulty after another and yet she epitomized love and kindness. She embraced people and even her suffering with joy and honored God by with quiet humility. 

My mother-in-law was another of those wonderful people who seemed to have understood the messages that God has sent us. She studied all of the religions of the world. She actively attempted to understand what our roles as people should be. She read from the great theologians and ultimately came to the same conclusions that that are mine that God takes many forms but ultimately simply wants us to be compassionate with each other. She loved people with every ounce of her being. God was her comfort and her joy and she saw her role as one of following the example of Jesus by living each day without judgement. 

So as Holy Week begins in earnest for the many thousandths of times I am pensive. I know that I will not be free from suffering only because I choose to believe, but I will be loved. My duty is not so much to go to church or be a member of a particular organized religion as it is to love my neighbor just as I love myself. Neither of those directives is always easy but with God’s help I will continue to try. I have faith that when the vast majority of humanity decides comes together in love great things happen and even in these uncertain times I see that goodness unfolding all around me from Catholics, Christians, Jews, Muslims, people of many religions and even those who do not believe. I feel God’s presence among us and I embrace the teaching that what we really need is to spread his love. That is the message and essence of Holy Week when Jesus was the greatest example of love.

I am fascinated by old cemeteries. I see the tombstones and wonder who the people buried beneath them were and what they were like. Occasionally I encounter one with the name of a famous person and I get excited, but most of the time they are unknown souls. Often their gravesites are overgrown and neglected because the people who knew and cared about them are long gone as well. 

It is said that most people will be forgotten somewhere between eighty and one hundred years after death. A time comes when even the descendants of an individual can identify a relation only on the branches of a family tree, if one happens to exist. We are born, we live for a time and then we die. Those who loved us will mourn us and maybe even tell their children and grandchildren about us and then it is likely that we will fade away from memory. 

We do not often consider the reality of living and dying. We rush around in our daily lives just attempting to make a living and make a difference at the same time. Occasionally someone creates something that becomes a family heirloom or enters the realm of family stories. Mostly we never quite have enough hours in our days to make a permanent mark somewhere. 

I often think beyond my own parents and grandparents to my great grandparents. I only have concrete mementoes of my paternal great grandmother Christena Rowsie Smith. Once of my cousins sent me a photo of her and my grandmother, Minnie Bell, gave me a ceramic pitcher that belonged to her. I know that she had many children and lived the last days of her live in Scott County, Arkansas. I have even found her grave. Standing before it helped me to feel her spirit and make her more real. 

I’ve attempted to tell my children and grandchildren about her, but it is difficult for them to think of her as someone who actually existed and should mean something to them based only on a photo and an old pitcher. I worry that once I am gone, she will be forever forgotten unless someone else takes an interest in genealogy like I have. It is sad to think of how forgotten most of the people who once walked the earth become. 

I often hope that my writings will somehow be handed down from generation to generation making me more tangible, easier to know and understand because of my words. In today’s world even the most average and ordinary person has photos and videos of themselves. My father was heavily featured in old films that belonged to one of my aunts. They were the kind with no sound, but it was easy to glean a great deal about him by noting his smile and the easy way that he laughed. Sadly all of those memories were lost when my aunt’s home burned down. Since my children and grandchildren never met him he only stays alive through the stories that I tell them, stories that are based on the memories of an eight year old child. They call him great Grandpa Jack and wish that they might have met him, but in some ways he is only a name.

I suppose that it is a dreary thing to think about one day being dust. We’d like to think that we have contributed enough to the betterment of the world that we will somehow be remembered, but we know deep down that at some point we will be only a name on a long ago census. That’s why we each should do our best to live our lives well. 

I suppose that the idea of a good life will be somewhat different for everyone. For me it means using my talents to help others in some way. I think it is important to enjoy the small but special moments of life. I believe in doing my part to preserve and protect the environment so that future generations will have a world as lovely as the one I have found. I hope to spread love and be remembered for kindness. While I would like to achieve some level of success in my endeavors, fame and fortune have never been driving forces for me. 

I reach back into the past and I know that I have agrarian roots. My people worked the land in the United States, Ireland, Scotland, England and what is now Slovakia. My ancient ancestors had Viking names and they sailed across the North Sea from Norway to set down roots in England. They laid claim to political power in Normandy and then in England. They had funny monikers, some of the unpronounceable. Their stories can only be implied. I imagine them toiling from day to day, falling in love, creating families. Some like my great grandmother, Marion died giving birth to my grandfather. No records exist to even prove that she once walked on this earth. How many other souls are there who lived and breathed and had wishes and dreams but will forever remain unknown to us? Who loved them? Who celebrated when they were born? Who grieved when they died? We will never know. 

Embrace life while you can. Leave an imprint on someone’s heart. Be so good that you become a vividly pleasant memory for another person. Stand for something. Be respected for your honor. Life is short but we each have an opportunity to do something special with the talents and skills that we have. Get started writing a forget me not with your life.

I suppose that I am somewhat of an enigma to most people. I tend to be quiet and unassuming, the kind of person who prefers to blend in with the crowd rather than steal the limelight. I am mostly easy going and easy to please. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. I generally follow rules without complaint. My favorite way of behaving is like a fly on the wall. I want to observe the world and the people in it without too much notice so that I might mull over what I have seen and heard. Nonetheless, there are moments when events or situations fire up my rebellious streak. In those times I become fearless, able to take on a raging bear with a fierceness that seems to come from nowhere. I say and do whatever I think needs to happen without caring what people may think of my sudden shift in demeanor. Most of the time this sort of thing occurs when I believe that someone is in need of help or justice. I can’t seem to stop myself from becoming involved.

I suppose that I first realized this aspect of my personality when I was twenty years old and my mother became seriously ill with depression, mania and psychosis. At first I felt totally helpless and attempted to garner the assistance of one of my aunts or uncles. Sadly they were as confused about what to do as I was. They backed away from actively becoming participants in a process of getting her the medical care that she so obviously needed and instead seemed to just hope that her condition would pass and all would be well. I realized that if my mother was going to get better I would have to be the one to step up and be assertive. Somehow I found the courage that I needed and the voice that had been meek and silent until that moment roared to life. 

That was a turning point for me. I learned how to speak for my mom and that led me to devote most of the rest of my life to being an advocate for the many children and teens that I taught. Eventually my fervor evolved into representing the teachers on my campus. Time and again I have stood against opposition in efforts to make things right for individuals and groups who needed someone to help them overcome challenges and inequities. I became the bold version of myself because I truly believe that the one and only bit of advice that we need in this world is to love our neighbors just as we love ourselves. To do that we must be willing to sacrifice and be unafraid.

I’ve crossed swords with ignorance, neglect, illogical thinking, bigotry, suffering, abuse and other negative traits of humanity many many times. I sometimes feel like Batman changing into a suit that is so unlike the person that I generally am. I somehow find superpowers within me to fight for causes that sometimes make me an outcast, but that I feel are too important to ignore. I’ve lost friends or had to leave jobs after taking a stance for the benefit of what I believed to be right and just. 

Most of the time I don’t worry much about things like the cost of gasoline or supply chain issues that make it difficult to find cream cheese. I concentrate on the health and well-being of people, injustices that crop up more often than they should. That’s when I can’t seem to control my instinct to speak out loudly, to do something to help. I suppose that behavior that began with my mother only became stronger when I worked with vulnerable children and saw the many horrific things that they had to endure. 

There really is such a thing as privilege and I know I have much of it for no reason other than being born under just the right circumstances. First was my birth in a free democratic republic, then came my white skin that shielded me from most instances of bigotry. While my childhood was tinged with trauma from my father’s death I was fortunate to have a very wise and loving mother who devoted herself to me and my brothers. Eventually I would translate her lessons into caring for her when she became ill. I had opportunities for enriching my life with education. I met and married a very good man who was an equal partner and supporter in everything I attempted to do. My seemingly ideal life was fairly close to being as perfect as such a thing might be, and while I did work hard to get where I am I understand that I began my adult journey with advantages that so many others do not have. I learned this all too well from the thousands of students that I encountered over a span of forty plus years. 

I suppose that I first learned from my mother and from my father before he died. Eventually my teachers would have a profound impact on who I am as a person. I have had magnificent friends who furthered my education. Finally, my students may have taught me more than I ever taught them. They widened my horizons and made me aware of the struggles that so many silently bear. I did not need a history course to realize that we have a long way to go before everyone is treated with the same level of respect that came to me without much effort. I saw suffering of a kind that is too terrible too describe. It still pains my heart.

So it is true that I sometimes get animated and preachy when it comes to certain causes. I can’t seem to help myself. I cannot look the other way or just hope for the best when I see someone hurting and without anyone to help. I have to step up and attempt to make things happen. It’s the person I have become for better or worse. I’d like to believe that somehow my small kindnesses have made a difference for the people I have encountered. I know that they have humbled me and helped me to see the world with more clarity and hopefulness. I hope that knowing that someone cared enough to fight for them helped them to a better place. I just wanted them to know that someone really loved them.