Category: Commentary

As a teacher I encountered some horrific incidents of parental abuse. My duty was to contact the principal, nurse, counselor or anyone who might have the capacity to help. Often the abuse was physical but most times it was in the form of hurtful words. It does not take bruises and broken bones to damage a young person and seeing the effects of an angry offensive parent always rattled me. 

I often think of a student whose father was a stealth abuser. For all intents and purposes everything about the young man’s home seemed wholesome and healthy but the fact that he almost always wore dark clothing, hung his head as though he was trying to disappear and hid his eyes with long hair made me suspicious that something was terribly wrong. I could tell that he was very bright because he did quite well in my mathematics class. It was one of the few times that I saw him engaged and enthusiastic about anything. Otherwise he was a kind of outlier, someone existing in the shadows. Most of his grades did not match what I knew to be his capabilities and he mostly appeared to be sad, perhaps even frightened. 

I scheduled an appointment with his parents hoping to find out if there was some trouble at home that might be impeding his academic and emotional progress. I wanted to know if there was something specific making him so unhappy. I hoped to make his parents part of a team that might work with all of us at the school to bring out the best in him. We were determined to get to the heart of what might be holding him back. We felt that the boy needed to be part of the discussion and so we gathered in an office and initially began conversing pleasantly in an effort to get to know one another. 

At one point we were all laughing when the father looked at his watch and announced that he needed to move forward because he did not have time for “BS.” He glared at his son and pronounced, “I don’t understand him at all. He just sits in his room moping all the time. His mom let’s him get by with living behind a closed door. He is nothing like me. I like people and they like me. I don’t think he has a friend in the world.”

As the abusive accusations from the dad spewed like an overflowing toilet the the student slouched down in his seat and buried his head in his chest as though he was attempting to become invisible. The mother was wringing her hands and meekly defending her son while her husband talked over her attempting to drown her words and mocking her as the reason that they had a defective son. I tried to get control of the situation by asking everyone to calm down and noting that I had found the young boy to be exceedingly bright with a great deal of potential. I cautiously pointed out that we each have different personalities and that like the student I too liked to spend time in the quiet of my bedroom after a long day at school. The mom nodded with a weak smile as though I had somehow found the heart of the matter. I explained that the goal of the meeting was to allow the boy to express what he needed from all of us. I wanted him to understand that we all saw great good in him and we wanted to help him develop his talents while still allowing him to have the kind of personality that felt the most comfortable to him.

At this point the father told us that we were all wasting his time and that he believed that his son was hopeless. He looked at his watch again and asked if we could just wrap things up. Then without warning he looked at his son with a sneer and said, “Oh I forget to tell you. I got rid of your damn dog today.” 

At that point the mother quietly sobbed and the student clenched his fists as though he was wanting to hit his dad. Instead he simply got up and left the room while everyone except for the father sat dumbfounded and feeling defeated. 

Abuse in the form presented by that man takes the air out a room. It destroys people and inflicts heartbreaking scars. It is foul and difficult to witness. What I saw that day has never left my mind. Luckily with the help of the young man’s mother and a dedicated group of educators we were able to provide the young man with a purpose and to restore his faith in himself. He came out of his shell, ran for a class office and won. He had a knack for planning and executing special events. He learned how to smile again. Ultimately he even found a way to escape the hell of his home and to travel around the country finding joy wherever he went. 

In many ways the first presidential debate reminded me of that situation. Our nation’s president showed himself to be more than just a schoolyard bully. He was like that abusive father and during that debate he exposed the full extent of his dark heart. It was terrifying to watch. Suddenly I could believe that he had once told his struggling older brother who was an airline pilot that flying a plane was like being a bus driver in the sky. I could believe that he had called military men and women losers just as he had done with John McCain. I saw that his disgusting “jokes” about women and disabled people were what he really believes. He is a man who wants to hurt, to get even for perceived slights. Like that father he intended to make disparaging remarks about Biden’s son. He wounds hearts with wicked glee. Somehow as with all abusers it makes him feel more powerful and power is all that really matters to him.

I have watched presidents come and go in my seventy plus years. I have liked some of them and felt that others were not up to the job. Never have I felt that we had a president who was so willing to be so purposely vile. He is our abuser in chief and it should frighten us all. Never should such behavior be excused nor should it be rewarded with our adulation or our votes. He himself may have a wounded heart that dates back to his childhood. I may wish him well in finding solace, but I will never agree that a person with such a defective mind should be in charge of my beloved country. 

During that first debate we all wanted to tell Trump to shut up if truth be told, but most of us would have been afraid to do so. As a mother, an educator and a human being I know in my heart that we all have to speak out when we see someone behaving in that manner. We have to hold abusers accountable for their wickedness. Our White House is dishonored by his presence. It is time to vote him out.

I am a woman of faith. I was brought up in the Catholic Church and still practice that religion. My two brothers had the same upbringing but only one of them regularly attends church and it is not Catholic, but rather Baptist. The other brother is agnostic meaning that he is not ready to deny that there is a God but he is unsure that such a being exists. In my days of teaching I encountered colleagues and students of many different religions and even some who were atheists. 

I love my own religion and it has served me as a haven in times of great distress. I doubt that I would be as sane as I am were it not for my unfaltering dependence on the comfort of God. Nonetheless, I see religion as the most personal of human experiences and for that reason I have only the highest respect for the decisions that each person makes with regard to faith. It does not hurt me in the least if somebody differs with my religious philosophies as long as they do not force me to agree with theirs. I treasure the fact that there is a separation of church and state in the United States. I would have it no other way. 

So many came to the Americas before it was a nation because they were being persecuted in European countries. The pilgrims that we celebrate each Thanksgiving faced persecution and imprisonment for their beliefs. Coming to this land was a last resort. In the modern era we have witnessed the killing of Jews for no other reason than their faith. We witnessed extreme prejudice toward John F. Kennedy’s Catholicism. Religion is all too often used to bludgeon those who are different or misunderstood. Our Founding Fathers purposely chose to make the freedom to worship or not worship one of the foundations of our constitution. 

When I taught in a Catholic school I enjoyed being able to pray and speak of my religion during my daily work but I understood as a public school teacher that to do so would be wrong. I have had students of so many different religious persuasions. I had Seventh Day Adventists whose faith demanded that they stay silently seated silent during our daily recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance. I defended their right to do so. I had students of various Christian faiths who gathered privately each morning to pray. I had Muslim students who wore special garments and fasted during certain holy times. I thought it quite wonderful that so much diversity of thought was so vibrantly alive around me. 

Freedom of religion is just one more incredible aspect of living in this country. I would not want to threaten it by having a national God or having prayer in the schools. My first thought regarding that is, “Whose prayers would they be?” The way things are now done is far better because faith and prayer stay private and personal just as they should be. 

I always smile a bit at a memory of a woman with whom I worked who was Mormon. She invited me and some other teachers to a craft day at her temple. We had a ton of fun and everyone there called me Sister Sharron. We learned that they were not allowed to drink caffeine so we went to our car at lunch time to sip on our Cokes and Dr. Peppers. At the end of the day the worshippers began to pray and my friend worried that we would feel funny. I told her that I enjoyed just listening and learning more about her faith. 

My husband and I are in the process of learning about the world’s most dominant religions. So far we have studied Hinduism and Buddhism. They are quite fascinating and gaining more knowledge about them makes me much more appreciative of a very large percentage of the world’s population. Our next foray will be into Judaism which will be particularly interesting since Jesus was a Jew who became the founder of Christianity. 

I think we would do well to be very careful about mixing religion and politics. That should be the purview of the churches and temples and mosques. It feels icky when a leader shows extreme public preference to any one form of worship. It is fine to know that he or she attends services somewhere but it should never become a public show or way of judging Americans. I was quite disturbed when President Trump made such a big deal about walking past protesters to stand in front of a church that he has never attended to hold up a Bible. Of late he acts as though he is a champion of religion but in reality it is only certain religions and not all. That is a dangerous slippery slope that I do not wish to see. Our nation is a big enough tent for everyone whether they be snake charmers, Methodists, or non-believers. It is not up to any of us to judge or to be pushy in our proselytizing. 

I think back to a conversation I once had with my mother not long before she died. She asked me what a would do if a member of ISIS threatened to cut off my head if I refused to praise Allah. I thought for a moment and admitted that I would hope to have enough courage to be a martyr for my faith. She laughed and told me how foolish I was. She insisted that God would know my heart and he would not be upset at all if I faked my response to survive. That same mother of mine died a few weeks later clutching a statue of the Virgin Mary after having a day of prayer with family and a Catholic priest. 

We must be careful about anyone who would turn us against other Americans based on religion. We must be concerned with ideas of tying love of country with belief in a particular God. We must ask ourselves why anyone would use religion or a lack of it to drive us apart. Our self righteousness must not be so strong that we imply that our relationship with God is somehow better than that of someone who is different As my saintly mother said, only God knows what is in our hearts and only He should be our judge. We must protect the most sacred of all our freedoms.

Life is all about choices. We make them all of the time. Hindsight has a way of either congratulating us on being right or demonstrating that we all make mistakes. Some of the things that we decide to do or not do matter little while others have enormous impacts on our happiness and security and maybe even whether we live or die. Most of the anxiety that we experience is drawn from a deep seated fear of being wrong in our choices. Most of the jealousy we feel comes from wondering why some people seem to draw the golden ticket while we pick losers. Our greatest happiness is sometimes based on little more than emotion but we know that overall how we view ourselves is the culmination of the thousands of choices we have made. 

Our personalities and experiences often contribute to our methods for choosing this or that. I have to admit to being a bit impulsive. I generally find the most joy in doing things on the spur of the moment. I am guided more by gut feelings and emotions than rational studies. I chose my college only because I sensed that it was a good fit for me, and it was. I fell in love with my husband because being around him always made me happy, and still does after 52 years. I picked my jobs and the places where I worked because they seemed to fit with who I am as a person, and it turned out well. I found my homes by looking around the neighborhood and listening for the laughter and kinship, an I was right. Getting “the feels” has more often than not been my guiding light.

I suppose I have been somewhat lucky because I linked myself with a lifetime partner who does the research and keeps the books. I suspect that I might have been a mess without his rational touch to keep me grounded. He and I are both generous people but where I would give someone in need my last dime he is more inclined to suggest a more reasonable proportion for helping. I’ve learned that we require all of the different ways of thinking and doing to keep our society moving along nicely. Too much of anything is never a good idea. 

Politics represent one of the most difficult choices that we make. Our freedom to vote is a lovely and awesome gift but if we do not have a balance or if we choose wrongly the impact does not just affect us personally but literally the entire world in one way or another. It is perhaps one of the few aspects of my life in which I combine both my emotions and a great deal of study of the issues. I care little for rallies or speeches or single incidents but instead look for the totality of the candidate’s essence. For me there is no one issue or party or belief that guides me in making my final choice.

I understand how individuals might feel so strongly about a certain issue that all others become moot in their minds. Many of my pro-life friends believe that only candidates who proven records against abortion are worthy of their consideration. I have known gay friends whose leanings centered on issues of fairness and recognition of their love. Women sometimes focus solely on issues impacting the battle for total equality. Minorities talk of justice. For me all of these things matter and so I often have to choose the candidate whose leanings include a preponderance of adherence to my views while never exactly matching every one of my unique beliefs. When my gut feeling is reviled by a candidate’s general behavior I listen to my instincts. Somehow I have always recognized toxicity and known when to run from it. Emotional acuity is sometimes more life saving than all of the rationality put together. 

History has shown us time and again that we humans sometimes make political choices that are devastating and others surprise us with how well they ultimately unfold. Often it takes decades to realize that things that upset us about a particular candidate actually turned out to be one of the best moments in history. We can actually use a study of history to help us unravel the knotty problem of deciding how to cast our votes. In my own case I attempt to find the person who understands that he or she is working for all of us, not just the loyal followers. Nor is the office to be used for personal gratification or glory. I should always be about the people, all of the people, even the ones that are not particularly likable or whose views are outliers. It’s a huge responsibility and we should be looking for someone with the skills to get as close to being able to do that as possible. 

Of course there is no perfect human being and so anyone that we select is bound to have flaws. The measure of character must be made over a lifetime, not a momentary gaffe. Character matters particularly in times of great upheaval. A good leader is willing to admit to imperfections and then work to overcome them. A good leader takes personal responsibility. 

My world is a microcosm of the bigger one in which all of humankind lives. I have worked for extraordinary leaders for whom I chose to ply my skills as a teacher because I sensed that they truly cared for the educators and the students for whom they were responsible. They were protective of those in their care, often shouldering criticisms and anger that otherwise might have been aimed at others. They were willing to hear concerns and enact plans to correct them. They worried about the school, not themselves. They were willing to admit when they were wrong and change course. They cared equally about those who supported them and those who disliked them. They taught me what makes a just and fair leader and I use that experience anytime that I go to vote.

We have less than three months to decide who will take the reins of our government. Ignore the soundbites. Avoid the propaganda. Read up on the Constitution and history. Listen to your heart not the bickering. Consider both character and platforms. Look beyond your personal needs to consider those of others. Then make your choice and pray that you have done the right thing. 

If I had written a fictional story with a plot identical to what has actually happened in 2020 I suspect that people would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the tale. It might have ended up sounding a bit too much like a bad version of Outbreak. What seemed to be a promising new year in January has morphed into a living nightmare from which we don’t seem to have either the will or the capability of escaping. There are days and weeks that seem overwhelming and yet we somehow manage to keep drag ourselves out of bed each morning to face who knows what. 

I keep seeing memes on Facebook that ask why this or that is not the most important story of the week and I have to laugh at the ridiculousness of that question because on any given day there seem to be so many historically significant stories that we go into overload just attempting to keep up with them. We are now having to decide what matters most to us or we would end up feeling anxious all the time.  Sadly we have people who spend a great deal of time attempting to frighten us either because it makes for a great story or because they think it will help them gain power. We would do better to spend time trying to really understand how each of us is being affected by events. A big dose of mutual empathy would be a positive cure for our problems.

Last week served as a perfect example of how we are enduring more challenges than it seems possible to handle at once. Those of us living along the coast of Texas and Louisiana spent most of our days preparing for the possible landfall of both a tropical storm and a hurricane. Sadly Louisiana bore the brunt of nature’s fury sustaining incredible damage. Because we have almost become numb to tragedy the horror of what happened along the hurricane’s path was almost a footnote in the nightly news. We want to go help but worry that we might get sick if we do. We send money or supplies when what we really want to do is lend a helping hand with our labor. 

In California and Colorado wildfires continue to ravage forests and homes. We watch in horror for a few seconds and then move on to the next big thing forgetting that those most personally connected to that tragedy are dealing with the two horrors at the same time. California has been at the epicenter of the virus for months and now the citizens are literally watching lifetimes of hard work burn to the ground. Meanwhile critics lay blame rather than providing constructive support simply because it is politically expedient. We sound petulant and selfish when we spend more time criticizing than do good.

There is still unrest as our nation’s Black Americans plead with all citizens to care about the injustices that they continue to endure.. They ask us to hear their pleas for justice even as they  know that their message has been distorted by misunderstanding and purposeful indifference. Their plight is being wrongly used as political fodder and to promulgate unwarranted fear. In truth they are not against all police officers but against a system that allows rogue or racist law officers to harass and murder them. Hundreds of thousands of citizens have protested peacefully only to have their efforts grossly misinterpreted. Their peaceful marches are too often hijacked by the actions of a small percent of individuals who are criminals or outside agitators from right and left extremist organizations. Black Americans want to live peacefully and without fear. The point of kneeling and boycotting, is not to dishonor the flag or veterans but to exercise a right guaranteed to us by our Founding Fathers. Sadly even when the protests are entirely without violence there are those who hate them. Our nation has yet to take the time to really hear and understand what our Black citizens have to say.

People continue to die from the virus, from murder, and from natural causes. Each of us is grieving for someone that we love who has not made it through this most horrific year. Our rituals for saying our final farewells have been paused. We send condolences from afar. We watch funerals on the screens of our computers. We can’t even embrace the sorrowing with a hug. It all feels so very wrong.

Our teachers and our students are attempting to begin a new school year. That annual tradition is proving to be more difficult than ever before. Nothing about it is routine or normal. Some flaunt safety measures as though they care more about individual rights than they do about the good of community. Teachers and students  are ridiculed for expressing concern and sorrow for those who have been sick or have died from the virus. People sarcastically continue to call Covid 19 the “China” flu even as Asian parents and students ask them not to be so tone deaf. 

We are in the middle of a national election that has become so divisive that we seem unable to deal with any of the issues that we face without devolving into ugly pointless debates. The noise of anger and division is not just unbearable, it is preventing us from finding calm rational solutions to our multitude of problems. We seem only capable of wagging our fingers and our tongues at one another as we sling mud and accomplish nothing.  

As we drag our weary hearts from one day to the next we sometimes miss the quiet people who rarely make the headlines, the protestors who are making “good trouble” with earnest hearts, the medical community that carries on even as we doubt and ignore their advice,  the teachers who listen to their students with compassion, the police officers who want to rid their ranks of the bad actors among them, the firefighters who are tamping out blazes and carrying the sick and injured to safety, the workers who rush to repair the destruction of a hurricane, the everyday people who attempt to bring kindness into each of their interactions with the world. There is indeed a silent majority that continually rises up to spread the goodness of love and peace rather than anger and fear. They are why I know that we will be fine. They are why I have hope. They are why I rise to greet another day. Theirs are the stories I want to hear.