Category: Commentary

My mother was a woman of great faith who had one of the most beautiful relationships with God that I have ever observed in another human. She had been raised as a Catholic and remained true to the beliefs of that religion until the moment that she died, but she also insisted that each person’s views of God are uniquely personal and worthy of respect. She thought that God had revealed Himself to people according to the ways of their cultures so that it was self righteous to think that one religion was somehow superior to another. Nonetheless she felt fortunate that God had come to her through the Catholic Church and in wanting to share this blessing with her children she took each of us to receive the sacrament of Baptism when we were infants. From that moment she regularly took us to Sunday mass and sacrificed money that she did not really have to send us to Catholic school where we would learn the foundations of our religion. 

The education in Catholicism took hold for me but had varying results with my brothers. The oldest of my two male siblings was born with an insatiable curiosity about the world. He was the kind of toddler who was always asking “why?” and wondering how things worked. He took objects apart and then attempted to put them back together again. He carried books about space travel under his arms and gazed at the photos in them before he was even able to read. The rationality of his entire being resulted in a questioning not so much of God, because he saw faith in a Supreme Being as a kind of theory, but of organized religious groups. He came to the conclusion that much of what they had to offer were inventions of humans, not God, and so he believes in the divine but not in the imperfect edifices of worship that humankind has attempted to erect. 

My younger brother struggled not at all with faith in God but he struggled to find the answers he sought within the Catholic religion. He ultimately found more comfort and community in other Protestant religions. To this day he spends more time at Bible studies, Sunday services, and community outreach than most people do. His faith is strong and it is bolstered by a group of people who share his deep and abiding love for God. It made my mother happy to see that he had found a way of worshipping God that worked for him.

My mother often contemplated the differences in the way her children celebrated their faith in God. She would have been quite comfortable if all three of us had become cradle to grave Catholics but when that did not happen she searched more for evidence that we had learned the goodness of God and the importance of relying on both his expectations of us and his blessings. As long as we were kind, honest, fair people she felt that her efforts to share her own faith and religion had been a success. She often said that God had many forms that were exhibited by the variety of religions in the world. She only worried about those who had eschewed God in any way shape or form. She wondered how it was possible to believe that our gritty existence on this earth is all that there is. 

My mother often spoke of St. Augustine, one of the greatest theologians of the Catholic Church. She used the entirety of his life to demonstrate that God in his beneficence is more ready to forgive than we humans are. St. Augustine had led a wild and often empty and vile life before he experienced a grand conversion into the light of Christianity. Mama pointed out that it would be wrong of us to judge others and that only God himself should do that at the end of a person’s days. I suspect that she converted more people with her unconditional love of them than any evangelical has ever done with unrelenting proselytizing.  

My mother was a wise and practical woman. When she grew older and more feeble she read her bible each day and found religious programming on the television rather than attending Sunday mass at a Catholic Church. She often said a rosary and had a profound devotion to the mother of Jesus with whom she felt a special kinship. God was part of her life every minute of every day. She saw beauty in all religions, Judaism or Islam, Buddhism or Hinduism. She was a Catholic who believed that Protestants had indeed found many of the flaws in her own form of Christianity. She often smiled and asserted that God loves all of his people even those who do not believe that he exists. 

On the day of her death my mother had an angelic glow about her. Everyone saw it, even the doctors and nurses who were caring for her in the ICU. It was humbling to be with her as she prepared for the moment in which she was certain that she would be united with her God. She received the final of the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church and she was ready for what she had long believed would be her ultimate fate. As the family crowded together in the tiny room I thought of the diversity of faith that had come from this very Catholic woman and how she had so lovingly accepted us all. We had grown to a group of many races and preferences and relationships with God but the one uniting factor was love which is what she had all along taught us to see as the most important aspect of faith. 

So when people ask me how important religion is to me I have a small caveat. My own Catholic faith is a foundation of all that I am as a person but it is in reality my very private and personal faith in God that is at the heart of every breath that I take. Religion is important to me but I do not for even one second believe that clinging to its tenets is all that I must do to be close to God. My mama taught me that God expects so much more from each of us and what he asks can be difficult. It requires us to look beyond our own philosophies and into the very hearts of each person that we encounter without prejudice. It requires love even when we only see hate. It’s a tough but ultimately rewarding way to live. 

Do you ever wonder how many incredibly wonderful humans there have been whose names you will never know? Surely there was a tenor somewhere who rivaled Luciano Pavarotti but never gained fame for his talent. There may have been an amateur artist who created works worthy of an art museum whose name we will never hear. History and even the present is filled with outstanding individuals who quietly did remarkable things without receiving credit or notoriety, 

I recently told my grandchildren that the key to a happy life is found in doing what is right not for glory or recognition but simply because it is the moral thing to do. So often in these times of instant fame via smart phones that capture the good, the bad and the ugly of humans some ordinary soul becomes momentarily famous for acts of kindness. We might find ourselves suddenly feeling a bit irked because we know of someone who is quietly doing the same sort of things without anyone ever realizing the extent of their good works. We wonder how some get rewarded and others are not even noticed. We forget that the true value of giving is not found in adulation or even gratitude but in the feeling that comes from forgetting about oneself and focusing entirely on the needs of others.

There is a group of delightful little girls in my neighborhood who are always selling things. One day they may have a corner lemonade stand, another they may walk door to door offering their homemade works of art for sale. They are always enthusiastic and overjoyed whenever anyone makes a purchase but what most people do not know is that every single dime that they earn they later donate to the Make a Wish Foundation. They thought of doing this on their own and they hawk their hot chocolate and their mini garage sales with great enthusiasm all the while not mentioning their own generous hearts. I only found out their secret when one of their mothers told me the truth of why they had become the neighborhood vendors lest I grow weary of being tapped to contributed financially to their latest venture. 

These young ladies will never make the nightly news or get a phone call from a celebrity to thank them for their efforts and they don’t seem to mind that at all. It is the joy of giving that brings the iridescent smiles to their faces. The sounds of their grateful laughter each time someone contributes to their cause fills the neighborhood with a lovely kind of hope and joy that is its own reward. 

I see men and women faithfully toiling away at food pantries or routinely giving blood. Every neighborhood has that person who sees someone struggling and rushes over to help. Random and unsung acts of kindness happen all of the time. The world can sometimes feel cold and uncaring and then we see or even become the recipient of a sweet gesture that renews our own faith in the people around us. 

I had a cousin Jack who loved to laugh and joke whenever we gathered as a family. We all knew that he worked for the United States Postal Service and that he had three lovely daughters. We always enjoyed seeing him because of his wry sense of humor and ability to make us feel happy but we really had little idea of the depth of his goodness until he had died. It was only then that one person after another stepped forward to recount the amazing things that he had done for people. One by one, day after day he took the time to quietly spread cheer to those in need. He visited his aging mother on a regular basis, spending hours playing dominoes with her and her twin sister. He played Santa Claus at his church every Christmas. He managed food drives and sat with friends and acquaintances who were sick or suffering. The goodness of his heart spilled out in testimonial after testimonial about the sacrifices he had quietly made for others time and time again.

It’s easy to become disenchanted in times like the ones in which we presently find ourselves. It seems as though hate has crawled out of its dark hole. As people whine and complain about masks, immigrants, young people, old people, the poor, the rich it feels as though we have become a nation of selfish souls lacking in compassion and respect for one another. It is easy to become cynical and to feel a bit hopeless but I would stake all that I hold dear on the truth that there is so much good that we do not see. It is silently happening all around us in a million different ways. It’s the group of neighbors who spend a day on the phone and the Internet attempting to find an appointment for a vaccine for the older woman who lives on their street who has become frustrated and confused by the process. It is the friend who out of the blue sends a cheerful note to someone who is experiencing tragedy. It is the person who lives thousands of miles away who senses that someone needs a phone call to keep from falling apart. It is the teacher who takes the time to just listen to a student in crisis. 

The world is filled with people doing good things when no one is watching. Love outnumbers hate a thousand fold. The trolls and the agenda driven power seekers would like us to believe that ours is only a dog eat dog world of winners and losers and suckers. They would make us fearful of one another but they would be wrong. Goodness always always finds a way to triumph in unassuming ways, one kind act at a time. 

As a teacher and a mom I’ve had to dole out justice and hope for the wisdom of Solomon on many occasions. It’s perhaps the least pleasant aspect of either job but one that is impossible to avoid. Sooner or later a young person will cross a line that demands attention and decisions about how to make the moments teachable. Loving a person means having honest and instructive interactions with them when they have done wrong. Finding the appropriate reaction whether it be counseling or punishment or both is often a painful process for everyone, but as anyone who has worked with children knows simply ignoring blatant infractions is lethal. Finding the sweet spot that changes wayward behavior in a fair and consistent manner can be like navigating a field of land mines. Every teacher and parent has lain awake from time to time wondering how to make meaningful decisions regarding the rehabilitation of a youngster who has gone astray. 

I’ll never forget a documentary that I watched decades ago. It featured three men who were on death row for murder and asked the question of what had led them to that place. Each case was a bit different but the most glaring commonality of all three men was that their bad behavior had been enabled again and again from the time they began committing minor crimes as children until the fateful moments when they took other persons’ lives. 

One man in particular sobbed as he asked why nobody had made the effort to stop him before he had destroyed his own life. In a kind of twisted logic he described how his first offense had occurred when he stole the bicycle of a neighbor friend when he was only seven years old. He said that nothing happened to him as it should have. Instead the adults in his life laughed about it as though it was no big deal, leading him to believe it was something everyone does. At that moment he felt that he had been given the green light to become more daring and so he stole a car when he was only thirteen. This time he was punished by spending a few weeks in an alternative learning center but little else happened. His next foray was in robbing a convenience store for which he received a sentence of a couple of years which were commuted to less than a year. As he described his situation he kept asking why nobody really made an effort to help him understand that he should have stopped when he stole the bicycle. He wondered why nobody had cared enough to be certain that he understood how wrong his actions had been because the next time he thought he might get away with what he saw as a petty crime he carried a gun and shot a police officer. 

Most adults understand that bad actions from young people must be nipped in the bud but all too often there is a temptation to leave the moment before the process of understanding and true contrition has been resolved. Other times the punishment is so severe and abusive that it fails to address the learning outcome that should have happened and instead creates anger and rage inside the offender. It takes time, patience and genuine concern for the good of the person who has committed bad actions to result in positive changes that create a stronger and better human.

From the time of Adam and Eve and their sons Cain and Abel we humans have transgressed but we have also proven ourselves capable of positive transformation. In every case there has been a person who took the time to show an individual the error of his/her ways and then devise a process of meaningful restitution along with a dose of counseling and introspection. Holding people responsible for their actions can and should be a positive learning experience with just enough honesty and penance to ensure that they do not simply believe that they got away with something that was obviously wrong. 

History has proven that when we look the other way when someone’s behavior is problematic they almost always escalate their actions until we either have had enough or they have done something that is impossible to ignore. Before Eric Harris entered Columbine High School armed and intent on killing fellow students he had created many problems both at school and within his community. Because he was charming and a fast talker those tasked with punishing him tended to let him off lightly and underestimate the depth of his degradation. When one of his English teachers became frightened by the essays that he wrote she alerted school administrators who laughed and insisted that it was just the imaginative boasting of a typical teen. When he was caught with stolen items he received probation that was not even successfully completed because the counselor working with him felt that he had truly learned his lessons. At the same time he was recording in his journal that he had totally fooled her. When another student and his father went to the school to report concerns about Eric they were told that since Eric had not seemed to do anything wrong there was nothing they could do. Eric Harris slipped through the cracks with a ready smile and people’s reluctance to understand that by never really holding him accountable they were step by step enabling him to become the monster that he became. 

As a society we need to do our best to catch people at the very first moment when they do wrong and take all the necessary steps of both teaching and punishing to help them to change rather than to develop a habit of believing that they are untouchable. We should be wary of any adult who through money, power or adulation boasts of being free from the the guard rails that keep the rest of us in line. There is something very sick and disturbing about fearing either a child or another adult so much that we smile and continuously enable behavior that we know to be wrong. If we truly love someone we will stop them and take away their opportunities to break the laws and mores of a civil society. The sooner we do that, the more likely it is that they will become good and decent people. Sadly we have not been too good at doing that lately and the results are becoming more and more dangerous to our well being. It’s time we became more willing to do the difficult work of saving a life before it becomes too late

He grew up poor and had bouts of depression. On one occasion his mood grew so dark that friends worried that he would kill himself. He was a back woodsy kind of man sho always appeared to be a bit rumpled compared to his more polished peers. He was thought by some to be a homely fellow whose gangly appearance made him seem awkward. Few thought he had a chance against his better educated, more refined and admired competition but somehow he earned the nomination of his Republican party to run for President of the United States. In a greatly divided race he won by a razor thin margin in a time of great anxiety for the nation. 

His name was Abraham Lincoln and he decided to bring disparate forces together by assembling a cabinet composed of the brightest and best of his political rivals. It turned out to be a master stroke that contributed greatly to saving the union when the country split in two. He understood human nature and managerial skills like few who have ever held that office. Knowing that he would never be able to lead the country by himself he created a team of expertise that kept things running while he directed a war. 

Few would have thought of such a thing. They might have surrounded themselves by “yes” men who fawned over his every suggestion. Instead Lincoln often deferred to ideas that would never have crossed his mind when he realized how effective they would be. He also made sure that the person or persons responsible would get the credit and attaboys they deserved. His uncanny abilities and unflagging devotion to the country ensured that our union would hold. His inspirational speeches only cemented the deal. 

The story of Abraham Lincoln’s tenure as president is remarkable on every level. For a man with tendencies toward fragile darkness he maintained a national optimism and strength. Not only was he worn down by the loss of life and property from the war but also by personal tragedies that took a favorite son and drove his wife into a near state of madness. He understood that maintaining a determined course to free the nation of the stain of slavery while holding the government together made him a target for violence and even murder. Nonetheless the good of the people was more important to him than his personal issues. 

We have had many good presidents and some of them have even been beyond great, but none of them ever faced the total destruction and dissolution of our country. While initially appeared to be an odd choice for our Chief Executive it is clear in retrospect that he was exactly the man that we needed at the moment. It is uncertain that anyone else would have had the fortitude to do what was right while brooking no quarter to the idea of a permanent state of conflicting governments. He understand exactly what was at stake and held firm until victory was assured. 

Once the war was over he was open to reconciliation and healing but he also wanted a smooth transition of the former slaves into society. He hoped desperately to heal the wounds that had turned brother against brother and led to the greatest wartime loss of life the United States would ever see. Neither he nor those who supported him had any idea that he would not live to see the reconstruction of the nation because the hatred that had stalked the country was still very much alive in the hands of an assassin and his accomplices. 

I cannot even view the Lincoln memorial without becoming emotional. It is a monument to all that is best in humans. Lincoln was a very imperfect man who found extraordinary courage in a moment when our country most needed it. He was not bound by personal pride or gain or reputation but the purest of all motives. He was fighting to save a nation that he believed deserved to be better than it had been. He was determined to right the wrongs of a century of denial. He somehow held himself together and admitted and corrected his mistakes until he ultimately got it right. Few in our history have ever come close to exemplifying his greatness.

I sense that Abraham Lincoln would be disturbed by what he sees happening in the United States of today even as he would recognize the warning signs. I suppose it would bother him to witness the rise in overt racism and the violence that has burst forth on the streets of America. Surely he would wonder why our military bases are named after Confederate generals rather than the brave warriors for the Union army. He must likely be confused by the statues of treasonous secessionists lining the streets and government buildings of some parts of the country. I suspect that he would warn us to be wary of those who would incite divisions and violence and he would remember with great pain what it was like the last time our Capitol had to be protected from its own citizens. 

How I wish that we would all think back to the greatest of our country’s leaders and heed the lessons that we should have learned from his time in office. His words echo through the ages and are as relevant today as they were more than one hundred fifty years ago. Here are a few of my favorites from my all time favorite president:

You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.

Let every American, every lover of liberty, every well wisher to his posterity swear by the blood of the Revolution, never to violate in the least particular, the laws of the country; and never to tolerate their violation by others.   

As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy.

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the hours of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. 

I’ve been quite happily married for over fifty years so the thought of ever dating again rarely comes to mind for me. Still, I have friends in my age group who have become single again who are embarking on late life romances that appear to be quite successful. My Aunt Polly married again when she was in her seventies as did my father-in-law. Both found new love after their long time spouses had died. 

My preference would be to have my Mike around until I’m so old that my own heavenly reward is looming and the idea of dating someone and falling in love again would not be worth the time and effort. If something were to happen to my beloved while I am still somewhat young and active I’m still not so sure that I would be up to the task of dating again. I always found dating even when I was young to be a rather stressful endeavor, at least until I found persons who were a good fit with my own quirky personality.

I’ve always been an exceedingly independent woman, liberated long before that term was used by the media. I suppose my personality evolved from living in a home with a single mom. I saw the challenges that she faced but also the freedom that she enjoyed. She got to be exactly the kind of person that she wanted to be and to live her life the way she wished. Her decisions became her own and she liked being able to make them. Nothing held her back but her own imagination except for a brief period of time when she was dating a man who became very jealous and abusive toward her. She literally unravelled before escaping from his grip.

Don’t get me wrong. I see the happiness of my father-in-law with his second bride, a woman quite different from his first love, but a sweet and caring woman who snatched the loneliness away from his hours. They have fun together and share their golden years with a quiet routine of understanding. I see their relationship as a beautiful thing so I know it is quite possible to find a new kind of love after the first one is gone. 

My problem is my own personality and the fact that I have settled into a quiet agreement with my Mike in which he allows all of my foibles to exist and flourish. I need my quiet time in the morning for gathering my thoughts and enjoying my writing. He makes his own breakfast and does his own thing while I slowly greet the day in my own way. We are both comfortable and understanding in our routines. He encourages me to continue my teaching on a part time basis because he knows how much it means to me. In fact he has always been that way, supporting me through continuing education that often took me away from time with him while I attended classes and studied. Ours is an equal partnership built on mutual respect and admiration. He does his thing and I do mine. We are so in tune with one another that we can complete each other’s sentences and we often have exactly the same thought at the same time. We can laugh at a joke that has not even been uttered just by observing a situation. Life is fun together while still feeling so free.

I see couples in my age group that are so traditional that the woman mostly defers to the thinking and demands of the man. They are not abusive but there is a kind of tediousness about them. In other cases I observe women who so dominate the men that the word “henpecked” comes to mind. I find myself thinking that if something were to happen to Mike I would not be willing to risk being caught up in a relationship that would feel constricting and uncomfortable. Perhaps I might be willing to have a gentleman companion now and again but even that kind of arrangement can come with far too many complications. That’s why I find myself leaning more toward a Golden Girls kind of existence if I one day found myself alone. 

I’ve watched friends get together with other women, either their sisters or daughters or friends and forge a fabulous life. My former neighbor Betty went to live in a house next door to her daughter. For a time her roommate was her sister. The house was designed to give each of them a private wing with a central area of cooking, eating and entertaining. Betty was so happy with the arrangement and eventually ended up sharing it with one of her daughters. It seemed liked a perfect situation to me. 

I have another long time friend who recently purchased a house with a woman that she has known since they were teens. Both of them had lived in different cities during their working years building wonderful careers. When they retired they decided that it would be nice to have someone in the house with whom to enjoy the hours no longer determined by work. Like Betty they found a home that allows them to each have a private area but also a central location for coming together. They have distributed the household duties based on their particular likes and skills. 

My daughters and their friend Lisa, who is like a third daughter to me, often dream of building a family compound in which each of us have a small home where we can do our own things but close enough to watch over each other. They have shared photos of tiny houses and immense estates. They’ve considered islands and cabins in the mountains. We all constantly joke about such an arrangement and attempt to decide who is who in this Golden Girls dream that I actually find the concept quite appealing.

Then there was my grandfather who was the founder of the Three’s Company idea. When he was ninety years old he rented a room from a recent widow of age sixty five. For the next eighteen years he lived in her tiny home along with her sister. They had great fun together and he ultimately considered the two women to be like daughters. Since he was actually the healthiest member of the group he often took care of them. It was a great way to spend his final years in comfort and without the anxieties of living along. 

At my age the possibility of losing my husband is real. I shudder at the very thought but wonder in the back of my mind how I would deal with such a thing. Certainly the idea of dating again is difficult to even imagine. On the other hand I do like the sound of a different way of living. Maybe I can find some women who would like to create a late life dorm in my home or perhaps that imagined compound will become a reality. All I know is that it’s way too late to ask me to change my ways and adapt to a new man.