Category: Commentary

I had the same teacher for both of my high school history classes. She was a very sweet woman who was quite good to me, but if it had been up to her I would have hated history forever. I did well in her class, even winning the medal for best student twice. Nonetheless it was literally a trial to sit in her classroom each day. She had a systematic routine that I remember with horror to this very moment. 

She gave us a reading assignment each evening and we had to return the next day ready to answer questions. She kept a deck of index cards on which our names were neatly printed. She bound the cards with a thick rubber band which she ceremoniously rolled up her arm as she prepared to quiz us on the required reading. I can still feel the silent tension in the classroom as she took the name cards out of her desk, removed the rubber band, shuffled the stack, selected a card and then named the “lucky” student who had to answer the first question. It felt as though we were engaged in a whole group game of Russian roulette.

I suppose it never really dawned on her that by calling the name of the victim before asking the question, the rest of us were let off the hook for at least the next few minutes while our classmate sat dazed and confused . We only regretted not getting the first call if the question ended up being easy. Otherwise we gleefully sat thinking “better you than me”as the sweating victim attempted to fake his or her way through a response. At least the terror was over once one had a turn because she never returned a card to the pile for a possible second question. I suppose most of us let our minds wander into our own little worlds whenever our interrogation was over. The intensity of the questioning usually lasted for the entire class for the unfortunate souls whose cards remained in the deck.

I may be wrong but I don’t ever recall hearing a lecture from that teacher. We might just as well have gathered at someone’s home with snacks and music playing in the background to teach each other the important events and people of history without her. Instead we were treated to an intimidating cross examination five days a week. It’s a miracle that any of us ever again thought of learning history as something wonderful. 

It was not until I entered college and came across a history professor whose teaching style was 20% acting, 30% storytelling and 50% providing us with truths that we had never before heard. He was so good that we groaned in unison whenever it was time for the class to end. He usually stopped each lecture with a cliffhanger pronouncement that prompted us to disregard spoiler alerts and research the topic before we would see him again. He was masterful at making history our story. Even kings and potentates became so real, so human under his cunning way of presenting information about them. We devoured his every word and then supplemented what we had heard from him by happily reading his assignments with an enthusiasm usually reserved for thriller.

From that moment forward I have been an enthusiastic fan of historical movies, texts and lectures. I have a tendency to become addicted to a particular era or individual before I move on to the next topic. I drown myself in every bit of information that I might find. So a while back I became fascinated with the Romanovs, a family whose ruling dynasty lasted for 300 years. While the early rulers were certainly interesting, it was the final Romanov, Czar Nicholas, who captured my imagination. 

I suppose that he thought that a three hundred year run would never end, even as he struggled to hold together the reins of power. He was a naive and privileged man who had few of the necessary qualities of a great leader. His flaws coupled with tragic world events led to the downfall of a once great and respected family hold on Russia. Ultimately it led to a revolution that would redefine the country for a century and end with the murderous killing of Nicholas and his entire family. 

I’m one of those history students who insists on attempting to understand the psychology and sociology of what separates great leaders from poor ones. I try to determine in hindsight what went wrong and what might have been right. It’s almost a forensic method of looking at history. So in reading about Nicholas I found myself wanting to warn him to be more honest and compassionate with his people. I would have insisted that he understand that forces were moving to take away his power. He was paying attention to all the wrong things and allowing terrible influences to determine his thinking. It was like being part of a horror scene in which I was the only one who knew the tragic ending, but was not able to speak even a tiny bit of advice. 

I’ll be learning even more about the last of the Romanovs in my latest continuing education course at the Glasscock School at Rice University. I am certain that Professor Boyd, a learned man whose way of teaching history is legendary, will pique my interest from the first moment. Perhaps I will understand Nicholas better than ever, but never be able to change the terrible ending. 

Learning history has become my favorite pastime. There is so much of it that I should be able to entertain myself for the rest of my days. Luckily there will be no quizzes or moments of stone cold terror ruining the joy of learning. Instead it will be pleasurable, informative and exciting just the way it always should be.  

I feel rather certain that if my grandmother and grandfather had stayed in Slovakia rather than coming to the United States, their lives would have been disastrous compared to the freedoms they enjoyed here. My grandmother had a bout with mental illness when she was in her early forties which would not have served her well once Germany invaded Czechoslovakia. The Nazis were prone to eliminating the mentally ill from the ranks of society, so my beloved grandmother may well have ended up in a concentration camp only to be exterminated. Additionally, my DNA profile on ancestry.com indicates that I have a somewhat large percentage of characteristics that indicate that I am a descendant  of Eastern European Jews. That alone might have sent my mother and all of her siblings to a camp as well. I’m thankful that my grandmother and grandfather had the foresight to leave their homeland when they did. 

I think of these kinds of things because I have always wondered when I should speak out against prejudice, injustice and other societal wrongs. I’d like to think that I am courageous enough to stand up and make my beliefs known when there are explicit and implicit evil practices being exhibited. Sadly, like so many, I prefer living quietly and peacefully rather than stirring up trouble. History, however, tells me that simply looking the other way can lead to horrendous acts that might have been prevented if enough people had spoken out against them. The consequences of failing to act have so often been dire. 

Today there is a misconceived notion that every single aspect of history must be given an equal hearing. While this is usually a fair way of including our collective voices, there are some ways of thinking and doing things that can only be thought of as evil. For example, there really is no argument that is capable of finding any form of good in the conception of concentration camps and murder of individuals for no other reason than the color of their skin or on the basis of their religion. Yet today we have people arguing that teachers must be willing to provide the alternative viewpoints of slaveholders and Nazis and members of the Ku Klux Klan. 

Somehow I can’t find any kind of reasonable way to justify hanging a man from a tree only because he was black or gassing a woman because she was a Jew. What differing points of view might I possibly use to make my discussions of the Jim Crow era or Nazi concentrations camps fair to all parties? Doing such a thing not only seems absurd, but also terribly wrong. Why would we want our children to think that there is anything worthy of even the smallest excuse for such violent and despicable acts? Somehow such a method of presenting the most horrendous episodes of history feels cringe worthy. 

So how do we know when it might be okay to talk about differing sides of a disagreement? Surely there may be some merit in noting that most of the British soldiers who fought the patriots in the American Revolution were simply doing their jobs. Many colonists tread a thin line in remaining loyal to the crown of England while their neighbors fought for freedom. That might indeed be an interesting and enlightening truth for young people to learn, but somehow gassing people to death is not in the same category. To move beyond the despicable nature of some historical events is to give young people the idea that there is nothing that is all bad. 

Knowing what happened in the Holocaust and realizing that it might well have affected members of my family has made me an advocate for justice. It did not make me feel  hatred for the German people in general, but rather disgust for those who committed the acts and for those who knowingly looked the other way. It made me aware of the importance of understanding when to protest. It helped me realize how silence can be as evil as murderous actions. Fear should never be an excuse for allowing horrors to take place. 

While my normal and preferred stance would be to quietly live unnoticed, I also believe that sometimes that is a selfish way to be. I had to speak up when our Black citizens were vying for their civil rights back when I was a high school and college student. I thought it to be morally wrong to be silent. Thus I have inserted myself into many controversial moments in the history of our nation during my lifetime. I feel a duty to support those who are being abused.I know that I would want good minded people to come to my aid if ever I were to become the victim of inequity or suppression. It is important that we teach our children the truth about horrendous events so that they will recognize despots when they misuse their power to hurt innocents. Each of us must know when to screw up our courage and do the right thing. That begins with learning some very difficult truths about those who have come before us. Such revelations are not harmful to our young, but they actually help them to become better thinkers and advocates for fair play. 

While there is an appropriate time and place for revealing the harsh aspects of history to our children, we need not censor all mention of the most horrific truths. It does no good to hide and pretend that everything about our ancestors and our country has always been about apple pie and unicorns. Admitting our mistakes is the best way of assuring that we will not make them again. Awareness that human nature sometimes leads to dark places keeps us watchful for trends that might result in suffering for ourselves or the people around us. It’s important that we slowly teach our children about such things as well as how they might prevent them from happening again. Suggesting that we have to also give excuses for evil acts is absurd. 

I am an advocate for children, teachers, the underserved, those who are shunned because of race, religion, sexual preference. I fight for my democracy and for equal justice for all. I will not be silent about the health and well being of my fellow humans. I want to be able to say that I will always do my best to face down the devils who would harm the people and the government of my beloved country or nations across the world. Admittedly there is still so much work to do.  I will look up. I will see. 

Teaching is one of the most challenging careers that one might choose to follow. Studies have shown that by the five year mark only the most dedicated educators have decided to stay in the profession. The hours are much longer than the nine to three mark that so many assume is the work day for teachers. In most cases the job continues until well into the night, and the summer vacation time is filled with inservice programs, weeks long courses, and pre-planning for the coming school year. The myths about short days and three month vacations for teachers still persist even though they are far from the truth about the extended efforts that all teachers provide for their students and their schools. 

One would think that members of such an important profession would be some of the most highly paid and honored in the nation, but the reality is that teachers work for abysmally low salaries given their level of education and the number of hours that they labor each year. Those who stay past that five year mark are the ones who continue regardless of the lack of benefits and praise. They are the ones who altruistically simply want to lay the educational foundations for each generation. They are literally devoted to the idea that their work is the bulwark on which the future is born. 

So why would anyone with any special abilities be willing to sacrifice time and salary for a job that is all too often the subject of sneers and misunderstanding? I suppose that it is because teaching offers immeasurable rewards to those who are truly dedicated. It is not in salary or benefits or perks that educators find joy, but in the knowledge that what they have done keeps the engines of innovation and industry moving. There are no engineers without a fleet of teachers beginning when a child is small. There are no business magnates or doctors or scientists without the step by step processes that teachers provide in hopes of unlocking the brilliance and gifts of each child who sits in their classrooms. Teaching is one of the most purpose driven careers that anyone might follow. 

Many times a teacher receives the gift of gratitude from a former student who has achieved great things. Those tokens of appreciation have more value than gold. They convince teachers that their own sacrifices of money and prestige are more than worth it. There is no greater feeling for teachers than realizing that someone is a bit better because of their influence. Teachers literally save the cards, letters and texts that they receive, sometimes reading them over and over again. 

I suppose that I understood why someone becomes an educator when I thought of my own teachers and the enormous impact that some of them had on my life. I can still transport my mind back to their classrooms and realize what I learned from each of them. My first grade teacher opened the world to me by showing me how to read and write and she did so with such patience and love. My sixth grade teacher demonstrated how to be fair and just. My seventh grade teacher widened my vistas by making science fun and interesting. My high school English teacher made me a citizen of the world. One of my college professors showed me how to teach others. Even today I continue to unearth truths about history from a professor who teaches those of us who want to learn just for fun.

Step by small step I learned about the world around me. Most of my teachers were honest and fair. None of them became rich from their work, but I suspect that, like me, they reveled in the knowledge that what they gave to me and my fellow students was so important. My fellow classmates and I took their lessons to heart and have led successful and fulfilling lives because of them. So it has been for generations of students who enjoyed the tutelage of countless teachers whose names will never be known, but whose impact was huge. 

Most students do not know that teachers never forget them. We remember the sad little girl who struggled to learn and always seemed so isolated from her peers. We pray that she is okay. We think of the class troublemaker and smile in knowing that he turned out just fine. We marvel at the accomplishments of our students who outdistance us in their learning and their achievements. We smile when we learn that our students are happy, and cry when we find that they are somehow broken. We wish that there were some way for them to know that we will never stop caring for them. 

If only everyone knew what I know about teachers there would be a rush to honor them and shower them with the prestige they so deserve. For now, I suspect that like me they will simply be content to know that what they have done is truly important. That knowledge seems to have been enough for generations of educators to quietly do their work.

Managing a classroom is like a microcosm of running a city or a state or even a country. Every school has rules regarding behavior, grading policies, attendance, illness and so forth. Many of the mandates derive from the school district to which they belong or even from state level education agencies. Within the confines of a particular campus there may be additional directives regarding issues like walking in the hallways during passing periods or behavior in the cafeteria during lunch. At the most intimate level each teacher is able to create regulations outlining expectations for various objectives related directly to the delivery of lessons. 

All rules must be clearly stated and posted so that both students and parents are aware of the requirements. In most cases there are also listings of potential consequences for failure to follow the directives. The important thing to consider when designing such demands is to be as certain as possible that they are fair and enforceable. Once a rule is made public it has to apply to everyone, not just a select few. 

As a beginning teacher I had to learn the importance of creating rules for my classroom that would be understandable and truly important for the smooth operation of my efforts to teach and the students’ ability to learn. My initial descriptions of crimes and punishments in the early days of being an educator ended up being too complex. As a result I was expending more time as a “cop” than an educator. Fortunately my principal was a gifted administrator who helped me to understand that simplicity was a better way to keep my students in tow without alienating them and their parents while also making my job easier. 

In the ensuing years I came to believe that a measure of a rule’s worth could be found in my own willingness to consistently enforce it. For example, I once demanded that students raise their hands and wait to be called on before speaking in every situation. Before long I saw that there were indeed times when it was better to tap into the enthusiasm of their responses rather than discouraging them with a directive that I often failed to follow. 

I remember an incident in which I wrote up a student for disrupting one of my lessons. Even after warning him to get quiet and pay attention he continued his bad behavior. I finally gave him a detention slip and sent a copy to the assistant principal. Later that evening the young man’s mother called me crying and insisting that she needed her son to come home each afternoon to watch his siblings while she worked. She begged me to reconsider the punishment while assuring me that she would instruct her son to apologize and change his ways. I felt for her situation and sent a note to the assistant principal asking him to rescind the detention ruling. Instead the wise administrator called me to his office.

When I arrived he explained that the student’s mother had a reputation of begging for clemency for her son. He also noted that it was not a good idea to go back on punishment because it would send a message to all of my students that I was inconsistent and might be manipulated to let some off the hook while coming down on others. He told me to think before making demands or setting punishments. He showed me how important it was for the students to know that everyone was equal in my sphere of classroom management. 

Which gets me to all of the rules floating around the world regarding the pandemic. If a country has strict rules for its citizens regarding vaccines and masks, then there should be no question that an unvaccinated tennis player from another nation should be banned from playing in a tournament there. A rule may not be deemed appropriate by everyone, but if it is in place then it must be enforced in the same way for every single person or it must be changed or eliminated for all. There has been a tendency to look the other way for athletes in particular during the pandemic simply because they attract fans and fill coffers. Meanwhile the average person has to follow rules or possibly find themselves being fired. Whenever we begin making exceptions and bending the regulations we created confusion and anger. 

Frankly, I understand how difficult it is to know what to do in the face of Covid. I would hate to be the person in charge of anything. This virus has mutated and changed how we react to it for two years and counting. In our quest to just be normal again we want clear answers when they probably do not even exist. All we can do is work with the tools and knowledge that we have and hope that we can make our communities as safe as possible. We know that vaccines are not a preventive but they are most surely a mitigator of the worst aspects of the virus. Of course every individual reacts differently to both the vaccine and Covid so the best bet is to be honest that there are no ironclad guarantees, but there is indeed evidence that vaccines, masks and other measures generally result in less severe sickness. 

We are battling a coronavirus that is a force of nature. It may evolve into an almost benign disease or it may get worse. Meanwhile those tasked with our safety will attempt to set up regulations that they believe to be in our best interests. We may find ourselves disagreeing such as I do with those who suggest that there should never be any kind of mandates to vaccinate or wear masks. I am one who has learned that we should never say never. Instead we have to be ready to quickly adjust to the realities of the ever changing situation and we must be certain that everyone understands what the rules are. 

It’s time we stopped quibbling and bending, but we must also know that we have to react to change as quickly as the virus. If the rule works to prevent the worst case scenarios then keep it and enforce it. If it seems to have little or no effect, get rid of it. As long as we are arguing amongst ourselves Covid 19 will stalk us. It’s time that we figured that out and quit wagging our fingers at each other. Let’s set some rules that provide us with a semblance of normalcy while also mitigating the worst aspects of the virus. That might require some sacrifices, but if we all share the responsibility we may finally defeat the plague.

It is the rare individual who sails through life without traumatic experiences. Each of us has had to endure tragedies, losses, illnesses that make it difficult to keep moving forward with a sunny outlook on life. As a society we tend to prefer those among us who somehow appear to manage the low points of their biographies with unbounded optimism and faith. We congratulate the souls who never publicly complain about their woes. At the same time we cringe a bit when someone displays their anger, cynicism or sorrow. We expect the people around us to grieve for a time when thing so awry and then “get over”whatever is bothering them.  

Surely deep in our hearts we know that it is not possible to be happy and uplifting all of the time. Things make us angry. Events bring us sorrow and pain. Our darker emotions are just as much a part of who we are as the brighter ones and yet somehow we tend to believe that we should hide our negative feelings lest we be judged as selfish or weak. Like ticking time bombs we all too often stifle the hurt and anxieties that plague our minds, all in the name of appearing to be the person others want us to be rather than honestly working to heal ourselves.

I suppose that I was the queen of stoicism at one time. I walked through each day hiding the real thoughts that tortured me as I went about my days. I channeled my sadness into hard work, cheerful smiles, kindness. There was nothing innately wrong about doing that, but inside I knew that I had never been honest about how broken I felt from losing my father as a very young child and then losing my mother to recurring mental illness as a young woman. I felt resentful that I had to endure so much. My prayers to God were more like conversations in which I questioned why I had been chosen to bear so much pain while my friends appeared to be enjoying the normal milestones of life. I held an internal pity party for myself even as I appeared to be one of the happiest women on the planet in my social interactions. I only shared the full extent of my grief with my husband, my best friend. 

It was not until an annual checkup with a new doctor that my internal struggles spilled into the open. He was supposed to provide me with a ten minute overview of his findings regarding my health as part of the wellness visit. Because he had found nothing but good news from all of my tests he asked if there was anything more that I wanted to share. For some reason I chose that moment to open my heart to him. As I recited the story of my life and my continuing concerns for my mother I began to cry and allow every feeling I had to spill forth. He gently listened until I seemed as though he had somehow lanced an invisible boil inside my heart. The years of carrying burdensome feelings drained out and I sat in front of him feeling free from all pain. 

Our ten minute interview turned into a one hour therapy session as the good doctor told me that all of the emotions that I had shrouded from view were natural and normal and just as good as the happy ones that I presented to the world. He encouraged me to embrace those feelings as a part of who I am. He told me to write about them, talk about them, be real about them. He insisted that I had a story to share that would help people even more than pretending to be a perfectly put together person. He and I cried together as he insisted that I never again feel shame in being human. 

I set forth from that visit feeling as though I had been set free from chains that had been dragging me down. I began to slowly tell my story, not so much to acquire pity, but to help others to understand that our struggles do not define us and that we don’t have to be happy about them all of the time. I now longer believe that that there is some spiritual reason for our human suffering. I simply think it is just a part of living. My relationship with God is one of comfort and refuge when things go awry and my soul is on the verge of breaking. I have also learned who my most loving friends are, the people who will just sit with me when I cry or complain. It’s okay if I remove my rose colored glasses now again. I won’t be abandoned for falling prey to negativity. I will just be understood and loved.

My relationships with the people around me are deeper now than they once were. I have learned that when I am honest it encourages my friends and family members to also be open and truthful. We engage in a mutual pact of love and respect. I am able to be a refuge for those seeking help from their worries and concerns. I become like that wonderful doctor who cured me. I am able to simply listen to the anxieties of my friends and to allow them to be the beautiful individuals that they are without fear of being judged. Sometimes I just embrace my own suffering and theirs. Other times I encourage or even give advice when they ask for it. Mostly I am just present in their lives. 

As I gaze across the globe I see so much trouble and I know that much of it comes from  broken hearts, damaged spirits. If only we might all take the the time to sit for an hour with those who confound us we might learn why their ideas diverge so dramatically from ours. Instead we are too often quick to judge or to squelch their feelings with platitudes or punishing remarks. Next time we encounter such a situation we might try something else. 

I was recently attacked on Twitter by an angry person whose philosophies appeared to differ from mine. He attacked me with the vilest possible words. Instead of frighting back I told him that I heard conviction in his words. I reminded him that he did not really know me and thus should not draw conclusions about the entirety of my life any more than I should do so with him. After a few more back and forth replies we were wishing each other well, even as we went our ways with differing points of view. We understood that each was only attempting to navigate through life in the ways that felt most comfortable. 

During this new year we would do well to begin by being honest about ourselves and then opening our minds to the real feelings of others without prejudice. Peace on earth begins in our own hearts and goodwill flows out only when we face the truths of our feelings and then hear those from others. That is how we can help to heal the world.