Category: Commentary

I have had many students who foolishly engaged in bad behaviors that could not be overlooked. One of my favorite young men disappointed me greatly when I learned that he had been stealing from other students and from the school. The revelation of his crimes came just after Christmas one year when another student came to ask me for help in finding a phone that he had received as a gift during the holidays. It had been quite an expense for his parents so he was notably upset that he had lost it so soon. 

I addressed the other students about the issue and urged them to help find the missing phone. I tended to believe that the owner had simply left it somewhere. I was not quick to think that somebody had stolen it, but I would soon be proven wrong. The brother of the student whom I liked so very much, brought the phone to me asking that I not delve into determining where it had been. His nervous behavior made me suspicious, and as I pushed him to provide me with more details I learned that he had seen it in his sibling’s room. Further investigation revealed that the phone was only one item of many that had been stolen over time. I almost cried as I told the principal of the school what I had learned because I knew that the student in whom I had put so much faith had let us all down and would have to face the consequences. 

I vividly remember sitting with the student turned thief while we both waited for his mother to come to the school for an investigation into how deep his crimes had been. He was crying in fear of what was to come while I sat silently. Eventually he blurted out that he knew that I now hated him in a voice that sounded like a wounded animal. I was able to truthfully tell him that I would never hate him, but that I genuinely hated the actions he had chosen to take in stealing repeatedly. I was willing to forgive his transgressions, but not to excuse them. 

I fear that in our society we too often mix up the concepts of forgiveness versus making excuses for bad behaviors. We let people off the hook when they have been hurtful or dishonest by mouthing excuses for what they have done. If we love a sinner, we hold them responsible for their actions because of that love. 

For several years I worked in a school whose mantra was “No Excuses.” I learned that even that idea was somewhat flawed because the reality of life is that there are indeed situations that are not so clearly black and white. A student whose parent died certainly had a valid excuse for not being up to par. A teacher who had a wreck on the way to work needed to be excused for being late. In fact we have all had moments when we let someone down because of overwhelming circumstances in our daily lives. 

The idea of having no excuses actually applies to long term use of rationalizations of bad traits. An unwillingness to change or work hard or do penance simply because of bad breaks does not give someone a get out of jail free card. Sadly our society today sometimes gives the impression that with enough influence even egregious deeds are justified.

We have glorified bullying, violence, even treason and explained it away by twisting common sense in many, many cases. If we like someone we too often look away when they do wrong and explain away their misdeeds by insisting that everyone is doing such things or that the person was pushed into the situation by circumstances. We make too many weak excuses for behavior that everyone knows is bad. 

There is an unevenness in our sense of justice these days. Little wonder that young people are sometimes confused. They see a kind of hypocrisy in how we defend some and deride others. The inconsistency of our reactions to different people’s infractions makes it difficult to teach children the lessons of being responsible for their actions. They misinterpret our excuses for obviously egregious actions as permission to push the envelope of right and wrong. 

Our children are watching us support violence from one group of people but not another. They hear us excusing untrue or insulting comments as long as they align with our own desires. We seem to have tossed our metrics for accountability aside in favor of cult-like support regardless of the situation. No society can survive in such an environment. We have to be clear that there really are red lines that nobody should cross no matter how much we love them. 

I still love my student who stole from others. He paid a heavy price for his indiscretions. In the end he did not attempt to make excuses for what he had done. He learned the important lessons that he needed in order to find a place in the adult world. He is doing well today because the adults around him cared enough to insist that he understand the wrongness behavior. They crafted a fair punishment for him while also reminding him that forgiveness was part of the ultimate equation. We would all be better served if we quit making excuses and learned how to lovingly hold people accountable when they stumble and fall. It’s time that we demonstrate fairness rather than hypocrisy. Some actions and some people do not deserve our excuses. Some should have our honor and support because they are doing what is right. We must stop judging situations or people with our own prejudices. The children are watching what we do.

Every spring when the first buds appear on the trees and the doves return to my backyard I am filled with an overwhelming sense of joy. Winters are difficult for me when the days stay grey and dreary. I need sun to boost my mood. I don’t mind the cold at all. In fact I prefer it to heat, but I can’t take too many days filled with gloomy skies. The early spring where I live resurrects my optimism every single year. 

By the middle of March the roses that I pruned in February are sprouting with a profusion of new leaves and sometimes even a bud or two. My amaryllis bulbs begin to push flower filled shoots up from the ground. My azalea bushes fill with incredible blooms. Even the stray bluebonnet plants that I grew from seeds one year give promise of lovely blue flowers popping up in my garden. Then there is my Peggy Martin rose, a true survivor grafted from a plant in New Orleans that came back to life after standing in water for weeks after hurricane Katrina. Peggy wins the prize for demonstrating the promise of new beginnings every single year.

The first blush of spring is cool in the early mornings. I don a light sweater as I sip on my tea and relish the fact that I no longer have to rush off to work the way I did for most of my life. I like that I can take walks and pull weeds without getting hot. The weather here is perfect for me and I spend as much time outside as I am able. I know that soon summer will encroach on my comfort with a sun that burns my skin and heat that saps my energy and enthusiasm. I embrace spring with every ounce of joy that I possess because it will be lovely but brief. 

It won’t be until the fall that I feel such unadulterated joy again. The crispness of cool days returns just in time for me to prepare my beloved garden and my potted plants for the winter. Everything begins its hibernation and moves from lush to almost barren. The great sleep of nature is heralded by falling leaves, changing colors and grass that is alive, but not growing. Fall is harvest time when oranges and pumpkins are plentiful. Nature gives us one more chance to really enjoy its glories before the frosty mornings take command. 

I love the fall almost as much as I do the spring, especially when I get to travel to places where the colors of October burst forth in shades of red, yellow, orange and gold. I like donning my boots and making pumpkin bread and apple pie. It is a time for celebrating the birthdays of my two sets of twin grandchildren and for becoming another year older on my own birthday. Fall is about Halloween and the Houston Bulb Mart where I purchase new plants that will take root and then burst forth in glory in the spring. Autumn is a slower time when I pause to give thanks, gathering with my family around a table of plenty.

It’s difficult for me to choose one season over the other. I get excited with each spring and each fall. It is summer and winter that leave me longing. Summers here are so hot that they sap my energy. I can only spend so much time outside in the heat before I need to take refuge. The only thing that I have ever loved about summer was having a long vacation from the school year when I had the time to read books chosen by me rather than my teachers or bosses and I had the luxury of sleeping in and taking naps. 

Now that I am retired, summer holds nothing special for me. I can vacation any time that I wish. I am the master of my own schedule. Summer taxes my plants that whither as much under the heat as I do. My time outside is limited by the temperatures that race toward triple digits. Not even the children in my neighborhood venture outside, choosing instead to meet and play in air conditioned rooms. Summer feels stifling to me.

The winters here are mild compared to other places. There are days when we are able to venture outside in shirtsleeves. Freezes and snow are rare, but we cheerfully don our boots and act as though we need heavier clothing that never seems to wear out from lack of use. For a time the Christmas season keeps me filled with joy, but then January and February steal the pleasure with their shortened days and their scarcity of sun. I often feel that we humans might be happier if we simply surrendered to being dormant like the rest of nature is. A long hibernation seems the natural thing to do.

So spring and fall are the winning seasons for me. I have noticed that most people choose spring and summer as their favorites, so I suppose I’m an outlier in my tastes. I know what makes me happy and luckily the earth’s revolution around the sun perks me up just when I have grown weary of summer and winter. For now I will enjoy the spring with every bit of time and enthusiasm that I have. Nature is calling me and I must go.  

As a child I loved watching magicians perform on the old variety shows that were so popular on television. Some of the truly great acts were featured on the Ed Sullivan Show and now again they would pop up on other programs as well. Back then the tricks were mostly sleight of hand, with a few disappearing assistants, and sometimes the horror of sawing a box in half with a person inside. I was fascinated by the doves that would seem to come from nowhere and the card tricks that made the performers seem like mind readers. 

There was a Christmas when one of my brothers got a box of magic tricks from Santa. He practiced so well that he was able to fool us for a time, but eventually we caught on to how he was tricking us. There was also a kid from the neighborhood who worked part time as a magician at parties. He had a black suit, a top hat and a cape that his mother made for him. He was actually pretty good for someone so young. 

It seems like one has to travel to Las Vegas to see a magician these days. I haven’t noticed one on television for years. A nephew usually invites a magician to his parties and that is alway fun as well. Mostly, though, the big time magicians have expensive props and tons of smoke and mirrors that somehow make their tricks less exciting than the more simple ones.

Not long ago my husband and I watched a master class on magic featuring Penn and Teller. It was fun to see them revealing how to perform some fairly simple tricks. It took me back to the days when my brother practiced his feats on us. I found that the big secret is in having long and flexible fingers and knowing how to switch the audiences’ focus from what is really happening, talents that are not exactly my forte. 

Of course there is no real magic, at least not in the purest sense of the word. Everything is an illusion, a trick perfected by hours and hours of practice. it takes a special person the be dedicated to doing something that in a sense usually ends up being little more than a hobby. The possibility of actually becoming famous and making a career out of being a magician is undoubtedly small. 

If there really were such a thing as real magic, I would want to make war and hate disappear from the earth forever. Given that not even Jesus was able to do that I understand that such evil is here to stay, but I just do not understand how it breeds in so many hearts. Are people born that way or is it created in them through abuse and trauma? Why do humans have a violent streak? We don’t seem to start out that way as infants, but somewhere along the way it begins to creep into some souls. 

I’m taking a class on the last of the Russian Czars. Ironically I signed up for it before Christmas but it has been fascinating to learn the history of that country that very much plays into what is happening there today. Russia has always been a vast land that somehow was unable to decide if it was more European or Asian. The Czars were the head of the Christian Orthodox Church and they were believed to have been chosen by God to watch over the country. While Russia has a vast coastline along its northern border the freezing temperatures of long winters made them landlocked for many months of the year. It became important for them to command areas along the Black Sea which did not freeze in the winter. Dominating real estate there made it possible to engage in trade all year long. To the Russian people it was their right to conquer and move farther and farther west. Thus Czar Alexander I was heralded as a hero because of his military victories that made Russia an important nation in Europe. 

Sadly the land in the present day countries like Ukraine, Poland, Slovakia, the Czech Republic have been fought over for centuries. They have been claimed as pawns over and over again with Russians in particular believing that those places rightfully belong to them. Many a battle has left blood in those places and a wounded population longing to be free. 

Perhaps more than magic I long for miracles. Somehow I would like to see humans transformed into the very best versions of themselves. That often happens indeed in the people that we call heroes. Why it can’t change everyone is one of the saddest things to me and the reason that I enjoyed teaching so very much. I was able to watch young men and women becoming very good people who are contributing magnificently to the betterment of the world. Perhaps that is the magic trick that will ultimately save us all.

I often wonder what might have happened if the worst villains in the history of the world had been influenced to be good rather than despotic and bloodthirsty. I know that such things have surely happened without sleight of hand or trickery. The real wizardry in this world is in guiding our young to be fair, compassionate and kind. There is magic in making that happen.

Some questions are silly and impossible to answer. Not long ago someone wanted to know what the happiest event of my life was. Initially I ran through all of the glorious moments attempting to tabulate their value and then I realized that there is no possible way to choose just one. How do you rank getting married to a wonderful man with the births of two beautiful daughters? Who is able to place a number on earning a college degree versus landing a first job? Life is filled with many exhilarating times that bring smiles to our faces and become memories that we cherish forever afterward. 

As a child I loved Friday nights visiting with my cousins at my grandmother’s house and Sunday afternoons eating dinner with my other grandparents. Summers spent exploring the woods near my home and riding my bicycle along tree shaded streets was delightful. Vacations on my grandparent’s farm were the highlight of many years. Christmas morning when I still believed in Santa Claus was magical. 

The first time my future husband told me that he loved me made me want to dance and sing. His proposal under the lights of a Christmas tree made me giddy. Walking into our first home was the most wonderful feeling. Sharing tea with my mother-in-law and listening to her wisdom was priceless. Hearing my mother tooting her car horn when she dropped in unexpectedly still made me smile. Watching my children grow into bright and brilliant and beautiful young women filled my heart with joy. Holding my grandchildren in my arms was miraculous. Knowing that I made a difference in the lives of my students filled me with pride. 

Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve parties at my brother’s home never failed to bring me joy. Celebrating birthdays with family and spending time with friends has always made my heart soar. Hearing a really good song or reading a wonderful book has enchanted me. Listening to the doves cooing in my backyard is a delight. Watching the children play on my street lifts my spirits. Getting a miraculous vaccine against a deadly virus brings unbounded relief. Singing in church on Sunday morning soothes my heart. 

I know that I am a fortunate woman because I am barely able to list the thousands of moments that made me happy. Some were huge and others were quite ordinary, but always They made me realize that my world has been filled with love, kindness, opportunity. Happy times far outstrip the challenges and tragedies that have come my way. Because of the glorious events, the difficult ones were easier to navigate. I always felt that there would be a bright tomorrow. Like springtime when nature awakes from its slumber, darkness in my world has always been followed by sunshine and hope. 

My mother taught me how to find great pleasure in ordinary things. A cup of my grandmother’s sugary coffee became a memory that reminds me just how far the reach of kindness stretched toward me. I have always live in a village of good people helping each other and looking out after me. Only a few times has someone purposely hurt me, and even then someone new came along to wipe my tears. 

My life has not been a cakewalk but there have always been helpers in it, wonderful souls who showed up just when I needed them most. There always seems to be that random phone call that arrives when I am feeling down or I find myself in just the right place to soothe someone who is hurting. I have been blessed with empathy and enough intelligence to learn something exciting every single day. My life is ever changing, gloriously filled with a newness that is exciting. 

I do not need artificial things to make me happy. Thoughtfulness is the greatest treasure in my mind. I’d rather spend an afternoon quietly talking with a truly good friend than partying in Las Vegas. I prefer a walk in the woods to a night on the town. My best memories are simple and very personal. 

I have had a happy life that has sustained me in the darkest times. I know that I am quite lucky in that regard. I am thankful for the quirk of fate that landed me in this place at this time. I know that there is great suffering both near and far away. Because of the happiness that I have already experienced over and over again, I have the strength to survive if my own world is beset with darkness. The people who have made me happy have also made me resilient. Perhaps that might be what makes me happiest of all.  

I remember listening to the Beatles song When I’m Sixty-Four when I was in my early twenties and teasing my husband that I would still be fabulous at that age. Of course the very thought of being that old was unimaginable to me back then. Somehow I felt as though being old was something my grandmothers did, but certainly not me. My first brush with reality came when my lovely mother’s hair began to turn grey and she walked with hesitation because her knees were not quite working right. She gave up sewing by hand when her fingers became deformed by arthritis. and her usual energy was replaced with numerous naps during the day. Of course she was in her eighties by then, but I began to realize that I was following a pattern that she and every other human eventually must endure, the process of growing old. 

I have to humbly admit that when I finally reached the grand old age of sixty-four I was not that far off from my prediction that I would still be fabulous. My doctor declared that I was as healthy as a horse and I was still working twelve hour days at full tilt. I didn’t look so bad either, given my age. Sadly, from that magical point forward I came to resemble an old car that develops one problem after another and spends a great deal of time in the shop.

My knees were the first to go. A bit of surgery on one of them forestalled the need to replace either of them, but when rain or cold is on the horizon I walk more slowly and with a slight bend. Arthritis has found a home in all of my joints sending me to physical therapy sessions for arms, back, knees and feet. It never occurred to me that it would be my skeleton that would fail me and give me that first glimpse of being an old lady. 

I had nary a grey hair until about a year ago, but when the first one came the others followed in rapid succession. About the same time wrinkles began to show up here and there. Young people began to defer to me by opening doors and offering me seats on public transportation. They would ask me if I needed to have help carrying my groceries as though I had suddenly become an invalid. I had to remind myself that they were actually being polite and kind rather that trying to insult me. I learned to accept their offers with gratitude even though I am still perfectly fine standing in a moving train and lugging my own packages. 

I don’t recall my grandmothers ever worrying about getting older. They just went with the flow unlike my generation that seems to want to drink from the fountain of youth to prove that they can do anything a youngster is able to do. I am perhaps more guilty of such tendencies than most. I still move gingerly up and down the steps leading to my attic handling heavy boxes. I stand on high ladders to reach corners of my home. My daughters chide me and remind me that I should not still be doing such things, but I seem to have inherited by grandfather’s hardheadedness. When he was eighty-eight, he was still climbing high into the air to install light fixtures at NASA. He worked happily until a supervisor realized how old he was and sent him home for good. 

Without divulging my age I will just say that I am past the iconic age from the Beatles song. My doctor actually marvels at how well I am doing. He often tells me that I do not look or act my age. I know that I make an effort to stay active in both mind and body, but I have also witnessed some of my peers losing battles against the degeneration that is inevitable as their years on this earth accumulate. I grow weary of receiving learning that yet another dear friend has passed from this earth. I understand that my fate is entangled with the natural order of things. I can only stave off the march of time for so long before I too become more and more limited by a waning body and mind. 

For now I am somehow fortunate to still maintain a small sliver of my youthful energy. I have the strength to do most of the things I have always done, but not quite as quickly as in the past. I find great joy in each moment and appreciate things that I may have overlooked at one time. I hear to cooing of the doves that flock to my backyard each spring and it is glorious. I watch the children laughing and playing on my street and my heart bursts with optimism and hope. My youthfulness lies in my heart and my willingness to hand over the future to the hopes of dreams of the younger generation. I have every faith that they will do a remarkable job. 

To everything there is a season. My mother always told me that there comes a time to simply sit back and enjoy each moment, trusting in the wisdom of those who will follow me. My children and students and grandchildren are seizing each day in continuing the work that my generation and other generations so earnestly tried to do. The world keeps moving, and my part in it these days seems to be to simply to love and encourage optimism for the future. I stay young at heart because I look back with wisdom and gaze forward with hope. I age with grace.