Category: Commentary

My maternal grandmother spent the last decades of her life in a rotation of simple routines. She never left her home save for a couple of times when she needed to go to the hospital. Her eight children made certain that she had whatever she needed, which was never very much. Each Christmas Eve her great big noisy extended family descended on her tiny house bearing all sorts of gifts for her which promptly disappeared into her attic. Her bedroom was sacred ground upon which we never intruded. To this day I wonder what was beyond the door that lead to the place where she slept each night. Some of my cousins snuck furtive peeks into her domain, but I always considered it a kind of sacrilege to invade her privacy. Nonetheless, I wondered what happened to the bountiful presents that she received year after year but never seemed to use. It was as though she was storing things away for some future moment that never came. 

I suppose that many of us have a bit of hoarder in us. All we need is a warning that a big storm is coming or that a pandemic is on its way to bring out our squirrel-like tendencies. I still have toilet paper and paper towels from almost two years ago, although I may finally have to purchase some more quite soon. If you need some hand sanitizer I have a bit of that as well. I love purchasing in bulk but often forget how long it takes only two people to use things up. I still operate as though I am running a household filled with children. 

I always enjoyed the stories from my grandfather about his boyhood preparations for winter in Virginia. He lived with his grandmother in a house that had no glass windows. They were protected from rain and the elements with sheets of oilcloth in the summer and wooden shutters when it was cold. He talked about how his grandmother smoked meat during the warm months and then stored it in a cellar. She canned fruit and vegetables as well. It was a full time job just preparing for the coming frigid temperatures. For him, it meant chopping lots of wood in anticipation of the many fires he and his grandmother would need for cooking and keeping warm. 

Growing up I knew many adults who had suffered greatly as children of the Great Depression. They recalled the intense hunger that emaciated their bodies. They never forgot how horrific that was, and so they always kept enormous stores of food in their pantries and freezers just in case such a thing ever happened again. I was always in awe of the victuals that they kept on hand.

A friend of mine had a lovely Mormon neighbor who told us about the food and supplies that she had stored away. She showed us huge bags of rice and beans and flour and sugar that she kept under the beds in roll out contraptions that her husband had built. She seemed to be ready for some kind of Armageddon that somehow made me wonder what she knew about the future that I did not. I have thought about her quite often and had a certain admiration for her preparations as the world is buffeted by natural disasters and strange illnesses more and more often. 

I suppose that I might be accused of having some of my grandmother’s hoarding instincts. I am always reluctant to throw things away or give them to someone who might better use them. I’ve worn the same size of clothing for decades and I tend to keep every item until it is so hopelessly out of style that it languishes in the back of my closet needlessly taking up room. I have somehow become the official keeper of family heirlooms photos that crowd every corner my cabinets, closets and bookshelves. I would be a much better curator if I were to take the time to label and catalog everything for posterity. Sadly, much like my mother-in-law before me, I have the best intentions but never quite get the job done. I will simply pass on the collection to whomever wants it one day without the stories and memories connected to what had once been treasures.

We humans are accumulators. Few of us get so out of control that we become like the characters on the television series that featured them unable to even walk inside their homes because there was so much stuff packed inside. We don’t have a sick compulsion to save every little thing, but we do have our little trinkets that mean so much to us personally, but not so much to anyone else. I still have medals that I won in high school tucked away with diplomas from my parents and even my husband’s grandfather. I suppose that such things might be of some interest to the younger generation but they are also the sorts who adhere to a more Spartan way of living. They like clean lines devoid of clutter. They fret about dust collectors and talk of consuming less for the good of the environment. I suspect that they would find themselves wondering what to do with all of the historical family artifacts that I have agreed to protect for posterity. 

We have among us survivalists, hoarders, and Boy Scouts who are always prepared. We have collectors and over consumers as well as those who are fearful of being caught without the most basic of human necessities. We each in our own ways keep things until, God forbid, something horrific reduces our treasure trove to little more than the clothes on our backs. Perhaps we might do well to consider a bit more of sharing of what we have long before we have ended our days. How much better it would be to delight someone right now with that extra coat or that treasure from Grandma? We have to ask ourselves, “How much do any of us actually need?” We might find that we can spread joy to those with less and still have just enough for ourselves.  

As a teacher and an administrator there were times when I faced the ire of a parent. Most of the time I understood that the anger being directed at me or the school was the product of overwrought emotions from individuals who cared deeply about their children. Only rarely did the discussions become so heated that they crossed a line in which threats were hurled and I felt concern for my safety. On those occasions I did my best to calm the waters or even excused myself for a moment to get help. 

I recall a particular Open House when I was a Peer Facilitator, a mentor and advocate for the teachers. I heard yelling coming from a classroom and saw that a parent was hurling epithets and threats at one of the educators. I suggested that the irate individual follow me to my office where we might talk about the situation privately since there were other parents waiting to meet and greet their children’s teachers. 

As we walked down the hallway the parent continued to rant while I quietly and calmly tried to bring down her level of anger. Suddenly she stopped and turned her wrath directly on to me. She had no idea who I was or why I was defending the teacher but she assured me that she was going to come after me. She said that she would wait in the parking lot until I got into my car later that night and then she would follow me home. At that point she boasted that she would beat me until I was bloody when she got the chance. 

I was stunned by the turn of events because I had said nothing to her other than suggesting that her concerns would best be discussed in a private setting. Suddenly I felt that I was in peril and my own defense mechanisms kicked into gear. I told her that she might want to reconsider following me because it would be a long drive (which it was) and that I lived in a neighborhood filled with former students and long time friends who would instantly defend me if she dared to become violent. She was evidently shocked by my response and suddenly became quiet and began to cry. After that we had a very productive discussion about her child. I felt lucky that the confrontation had ended with a whimper, but I was shaken up by the thought of what might have happened if she had not calmed down.

Most parents who become enraged do so out of extreme emotions of concern. Usually there is more happening in their lives than particular issues at the school. Acknowledging their pain and their worries generally more often than not results in mutual satisfaction between the parent and the school. When things get out of hand it can be frightening for everyone. When erratic behavior is multiplied exponentially by an overwrought group, mob rule takes over and it becomes almost impossible to handle any problems in a rational and constructive way. 

Parents indeed have every right to attend school board meetings and to voice their opinions, but of late many of them have turned into unreasonable and frightening bullies. The reason we have rules about who can speak, how long they can speak and what kind of language they may use, is because nothing is ever accomplished when anger takes hold over reason. It is important for all parties to understand that no organization ever wants to make decisions based on the anecdotal comments of a small group. It takes time to sort out what the majority is actually thinking. The squeaky wheel should not automatically get the grease. Knee jerk reactions do little good. Everyone needs to have patience and a willingness to bring all the disparate ideas to the table.

While loud and often obnoxious protests have to be acknowledged, it is also likely that many more parents are sitting quietly at home with far different opinions about how things should be done in their children’s schools. It takes time and effort to determine what people really want and of course the individuals who work in the schools should have opportunity to voice their needs as well. What cannot happen is to allow violence and threats to overtake the peaceful administration of our schools. Nobody associated with schools should feel afraid to simply do their jobs, but more and more often that is becoming the reality.

As a retired educator I have watched in dismay as parents across the country are flexing their muscles and making a mockery of school board meetings. I understand that it is only the few who are engaging in hyperbolic behaviors but threats are threats no matter how few they are and they are always frightening. It should not require campus police or other forms of security for those charged with educating our youth to feel safe, but sometimes situations get so out of hand that it is the only way. I’ve been rescued a couple of times by police officers who saw that a parent’s irrational anger was growing dangerous. It is a horrible feeling to be in that position when one’s only intent is to have an honest discussion about issues. 

I am appalled by the growing anger in our society. Those of us who are of a quiet nature must work together to determine how we might get a grip on the almost psychotic overreactions of far too many otherwise normal individuals to every little problem that they encounter. We can’t have people storming the Capitol every time their chosen candidate loses, nor should we have parents invading school board meetings with their gripes and threats of violence. No system will long stand without protocols and at least a modicum of decency and respect. 

I have worked in schools filled with students who belonged to gangs. They generally behaved during the day, but we knew that after hours they donned their colors and divided into tribes intent only on defeating one another. Theirs was a fruitless effort for dominion, for power, that always ended in violence and a waste of human resources. Right now we have far too many, most especially among our supposed representatives in government, who are behaving like gang members intent on bullying us into granting them power over us. It’s long past time for us to let such people know that we will no longer silently accept their ways. Sometimes we have to deal with conflict even when it is against our natures and we have to join together to get it done. 

When I was a youngster in school a couple of bullies were sowing discontent in my class. One day things came to a head with the tormentors openly taunting a very shy girl so badly that she dissolved into tears. Our teacher instantly pushed back on the abusers with a volley of words that left them defeated. She seized their power over us and quashed it in one fell swoop. They never again hurt any of us with words or actions or threats. I’m hoping we have heroes like her among us who will courageously speak out against those who would make a mockery of our institutions with their taunts and anger. Let’s put them on notice that we will not allow bullies to make our important decisions.

I have become a devoted fan of continuing education courses at Rice University. Since my husband and I both register for the various offerings each fall and spring it can become rather pricey to take as many classes as I would like, so I’ve had to carefully pick and choose. I’ve generally settled on historical topics because I’m fascinated by the parallels of human behavior from one time or place to another. While we are definitely evolving to better versions of our human selves it is a somewhat slow process that is often marked by backsliding from time to time. It is as though we are engaged in a grand and never ending experiment in social science that always seems to involve attempts to determine where power should lie and how goods should be shared. In spite of centuries of evidence regarding the errors and triumphs of our behavior, we always tend to focus on the present moment with a kind of tunnel vision that prevents us from seeing parallels with the past that might help us to build a better future. 

This fall I have been learning about the Victorian era which is far more interesting in its scope than just the long reigning Queen for whom the time is named. This was a moment of great change within the British Empire during which the colonial period would reach a peak and then slowly begin to fade. It was also a period when democracy would become more and more of a reality for the common white males of Britain. It would take until 1928, for the women to be included in the series of reforms that were enacted with respect to giving a real voice to ordinary souls in the government. The time of powerful and wealthy Lords vetoing reforms intended to provide decent lives to all of the people came abruptly to an end in the early years of twentieth century Britain. 

How we hand off power to the people is always complicated by economics and political ideals. Our systems often favor one group over another. Sometimes they even deny access to certain individuals. If only we were to actually spend more time honestly studying the ebb and flow of justice throughout history we might be more inclined to work together to create systems that are more fair and just for everyone. Instead we tend to be incredibly ignorant of the realities of not just our past, but also our present state. We take sides and vote mostly on emotion and personal beliefs that may or may not be valid. Learning history, when presented in an honest fashion using primary sources, becomes a stunningly eye opening experience. 

Suddenly there are efforts all over our country to prohibit the flow of certain kinds of information and theories. There is a kind of fear that neither we nor our young children should be exposed to ideas that make us feel uncomfortable. It is as though the idea of censoring truth is better for our psyches, when just the opposite is the more comforting proposition. 

It’s difficult to hear that Cecil Rhodes, the well known and often revered philanthropist, was not as upright as we want to believe. He explored Africa and claimed to have discovered land that he named Rhodesia after himself. Then he exported diamonds from his self proclaimed country and became one of the richest people in the world. Never mind that there were already native Africans living in the place that he basically invaded and stole. We don’t want to think ill of a man whose foundation has so generously given Oxford educations to students from around the world, but the evidence is very clear that what he did was wrong. 

If we are to truly bring justice to the world we have to be willing to look at the past and learn from it. There really is no alternative justification for slavery or for the Holocaust or any other misuse of power that resulted in brutal abuse to any group of people. We don’t need to remove books from school libraries that recall the horrors of the Jim Crow era. Instead we need more information on what really happened from the time of slavery to the present day so that we might avoid the egregious errors of the past as well as those that continue in the present.

We humans have never lived in Disneyland. Life has often been brutish and short for those on the bottom of the societal ladder. Instead of ignoring their cries as they strive to lift themselves up, it’s time we listened with open minds. The civil rights movement is not yet over and we might begin to improve on the reforms that we have often reluctantly enacted by being honest about the horrors of our past. While we don’t want to get stuck in finger pointing and anger, we can use hard truths to craft better more just ways of living together in a spirit of understanding. Instead of harping on a few individuals who destroy property or some confusing thoughts about redesigning our police forces, we should be actively determining how we can intelligently remove barriers to voting. We can honor the voices of those brave enough to tell us their stories of pain and despair. 

History shows us that our greatest moments come when we face our demons and work together to create a better world for everyone. We have to emerge from our bubbles of self preservation long enough to see the realities of others who do not yet enjoy the sense of safety and security that we often take for granted. We should be working together to provide more representation for the underserved, not less. Our efforts should encourage people to vote, not limit their ability to do so. We should all be against any efforts to gerrymander certain groups to power. The dream of democracy should be bold enough to include everyone. History tells us that truth is the road to better lives for us all. We may have to see some heroes in a more human light to get there, but that’s okay. Facing our past and our present with unmitigated honesty is the beginning of being free. We all need more history in the raw, not less.

I’ve always had an aversion to being in a crowd. There have been too many times when I felt a total loss of control over my situation as I was literally moving in tandem with the people around me with no other possibility. I’ve left college football games with the feeling that I was being herded like a calf. I just kept moving forward step by step hoping that I would not fall and be trampled by the surge of bodies pressing against me. As I grew older and less confident in my ability to stay on my feet, I learned to wait in my seat until the initial flow of humanity had left the premises. 

Most of the time I’ve laughed at myself for being a bit too claustrophobic and admitted to feeling silly for becoming so anxious in a moving mass of humanity. I have generally been strong enough to hold my own in any situation. Decades ago when the Houston Rockets won the National Championship I attended a parade in honor of their victory in downtown Houston with a friend and one of my daughters. We arrived early for the event and landed a curbside spot that was guaranteed to give us a fabulous view of the players as they passed. We had to wait for quite some time but we didn’t mind at all. We had come prepared with water and snacks and an upbeat attitude. 

Everything was fine until just before the event started. Suddenly people from behind us began to push forward in an effort to get a better view. My daughter immediately showed us how to lock arms so that we would be able to keep our footing without being pushed aside. Her strategy worked and the efforts to move us stopped. I felt victorious in standing our ground, but also had a bit of concern as I thought of what might have happened to us if anyone had fallen with the pressure from behind.

I’ve had countless similar encounters and I have found that as I have grown older and less able to withstand pushing and shoving. I worry more about being hurt in a crowd these days. I’ve had terrifying experiences getting on and off of trains during rush hour in New York City and London. I solved such dilemmas by timing my travel during off hours rather than sparring with my fellow humans when the throngs were at their peak. 

When we visited Buckingham Palace a couple of years ago I was enveloped in a sea of people. I was just beyond the fence behind very large men who never thought to notice that if they had let me stand in front of them we all would have still had a wonderful view. It was a young girl who realized how anxious I was becoming from being encased in the sea of tourists. She sweetly pulled me to the front where I had room both to see and to breathe. 

By far the worst situation I have ever endured was at Epcot in DisneyWorld on New Year’s Eve about fifteen years ago. We had spent the day there with our children and grandchildren and decided to stay for the fireworks display in the evening. The crowd had grown and grown as the hours passed and it had become difficult to walk from one place to another. Nonetheless we found a spot for gazing into the sky where we parked our little ones who were resting in strollers. The two bigger boys were helping to watch over them and entertain them until the pyrotechnics lit up the sky.

Just as with that Rockets parade latecomers began to push their way into our area, seemingly oblivious of the little children who were with us. One woman almost knocked over the stroller where my youngest grandson sat in her attempt to get a good view of the proceedings. We were surrounded by people before we totally understood the danger of the situation. My husband and sons-in-law each hoisted a little one high above their heads and me and my daughters held or lifted the older children. The crowd was raucous and a few heated comments were exchanged but we all managed to delight in the dazzling display, thinking that the danger was behind us.

When it was time to leave a violent and convulsive pushing of bodies began. My eldest daughter had to get aggressive with a woman who thoughtlessly almost stepped on one of the children. A war of words ensued as my daughter made it clear that thoughtless adults were endangering children all around them. When the other people in the crowd realized the seriousness of the dilemma they joined together to create a corridor through which we might pass unscathed. While I appreciated the group effort, I did not catch a normal breath until we were once more out in the open. I pledged that I would do my best to never again be in such a dangerous situation.

We all like to have fun times, to attend events that attract crowds. We go to rock concerts and parades. We visit the rodeo or watch our favorite sporting teams play. It’s almost impossible to totally avoid crowded situations without foregoing some of the most memorable moments. We rarely think of the inherent dangers in being in such places, and yet there is always an element of potential harm when people are pushing together.

Sadly, we have endured a terrible tragedy in Houston this past weekend, one that was supposed to be fun and provide a sense of normalcy after so much heartache from COVID-19. A festival of music in the complex that once was home to AstroWorld attracted thousands of people to gather just to have a good time. There were folks of all ages in the crowd, including young children, when something went terribly wrong. For some reason there was a collective surge forward. Those standing closest to the stage were compressed and crushed. There was no place for them to go, no way to escape. Before the hysteria stopped eight people had been injured so badly that they died. Hundreds more were hurt. It was a devastating situation for those impacted by the tragedy as well as for our entire city. A collective sense of grief and wonderment that such a thing could happened hovers over us like a shroud. For me it is particularly stunning because I know how quickly a moment can turn from delightful to dangerous.

I don’t know how to make large gatherings safer, but I do believe that we have to find ways to try to do so. I suppose that if we were all to use our own common sense as well as a genuine respect for each other such disasters would never happen. Sadly there will always be those who don’t seem to notice the needs of those around them. They push and shove and start a chain reaction with devastating potential. Fun turns to horror when we don’t help each other. I feel fortunate that when I most needed others to help keep me safe there were heroes who stepped forth. I am grieving for those who were not as lucky. 

One day shortly after I came home with my newborn second child I found my eldest daughter hiding in a corner of her room crying. She was only three years old and I knew that she was having a somewhat difficult time adjusting to having a baby sister in the house. When I went to comfort her she quickly turned her face away from me as if she were hiding some terrible secret. I hugged her and told her that whatever was happening would be alright. That’s when she blurted out that she had “killed the baby.” 

I was stunned by her admission but I knew that her confession was not true because I had just checked on the infant who was sleeping peacefully in her crib. When I asked my little toddler why she thought she had harmed her sister she confessed that she had tried to trim her sibling’s fingernails with the little pair of safety scissors that she had seen me use. She cried that she was only trying to help but that somehow she had cut one of the baby’s fingers causing her to bleed. There was so much heartfelt sorrow in her voice that I took her with me to see for herself that she had not accidentally harmed her sister fatally. We both saw that she had only knicked one of the fingers, but otherwise all was well. 

I thanked my little girl for being honest and admitting her mistake. I told her that it was good and brave of her to do so. We talked about caring for one another and being truthful. I knew that she was sincerely regretful about her actions but also frightened. I admitted that I should not have left the scissors where she could find and use them. That was my mistake. We spoke of how everyone messes up now and then and that the important thing is never to hide our wrongdoing. I told her that I was proud of her for wanting to help with her sister and even more happy that she had been truthful about what she had done. 

We humans are imperfect. I doubt there has been a single person who ever lived on this earth who made it through a lifetime without making many mistakes. We mess up again and again which is actually quite natural. We make wrong decisions, bad choices that affect us and others. The mature individual does not hide in a corner crying over such things. A sign of a truly ethical adult is the willingness to accept blame for wrongdoing. It takes tremendous courage to admit to messing things up, and when someone is willing to do so it is an admirable thing. 

I often think that the final message that Jesus left us was about confession and reconciliation. When the thief on the cross next to His begged for forgiveness, Jesus did not hesitate to absolve the man for his crimes and then assured him that he would be rewarded for his honesty and contrition. Sadly we seem to either ignore or forget about that touching scene in our tendencies to cover up misdeeds. We are all too often uncomfortable with someone who speaks the truth and begs for atonement. Thus we witness a great deal of prevarication in society that breeds more and more distrust.

History demonstrates clearly how we all too often behave like children hiding our misdeeds or miscalculations. It is the rare hero who is willing to admit to being wrong. Instead we make excuses for the messes that we make. We want to believe that those who bought and sold humans and then held them in bondage did not actually understand that what they were doing was wrong. We pretend that neighbors who saw their Jewish friends being taken away in boxcars probably had no idea what was actually happening. We find flimsy excuses for our own misdeeds. When we see that rare person who actually stands up and publicly admits to making a mistake we all too often view their actions as weakness rather than courage. 

There has been a great deal of discussion about the tarnished reputation for Colin Powell because of his part in urging the world to invade Iraq to oust Saddam Hussein. He was convinced that the Iraqis had weapons of mass destruction that posed a clear and present danger to us all. To this day no evidence has been found to support his contention. He appears to have been wrong and he has admitted just that time and again. He did not hide nor lay blame on anyone but himself. He did not even ask us to forgive him. He simply stated that he had made a horrible mistake for which he was deeply sorry. 

We should have taught her children and ourselves about courage and nobility of character from Colin Powell’s example. Instead we continue to harp on his error. He might have whined that he was given false information or that he was only attempting to be loyal to the people for whom he worked, but instead he accepted full responsibility for his own actions, something we have seen so little of in recent times, and throughout history for that matter. 

We all know how difficult it is to be honest about our flaws and the things that we have done wrong. We want to gloss them over when we should lay them bare. Perhaps it is because the act of confession and repentance should be a two way street. We have sadly learned that sometimes even the genuinely contrite soul is not able to move the hearts of those from whom he/she is seeking forgiveness. Those who have been hurt must also be willing to accept genuine contrition. We cannot heal wounds if we build walls of silence and lies around us. We have to learn how to have some very difficult conversations that honor truth and restore trust. It is time for courage.