Category: Commentary

Long ago there were two wonderful nuns, Sister Justin and Sister Rita, who ran the religious education program at St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church. Everyone in the community loved and admired them for their dedication to teaching the children and their unwavering love of God. They convinced me to teach a kindergarten class on Wednesday afternoons and that little bit of volunteer work literally changed my life. 

I did not feel that I was particularly good at planning and executing the lessons but Justin and Rita assured me that I was doing a very fine job. I, on the other hand, can recount with laughter all of the mistakes that I made. There came a time when Justin asked me to allow a woman to join me each week as an aide, so even though I did not know her I reasoned that a little bit of assistance might bring a bit of order to the chaos of teaching twenty wiggly five year olds about Jesus. I soon learned that my new partner was named Pat Weimer, never suspecting that she would ultimately become one of my dearest friends. 

Before long Sister Justin and Sister Rita announced that they were going back home to live in the Beaumont area where they had spent their youth. All of us in the parish were devastated to learn that they would be leaving and wondered how anyone would possibly have the talent and joyful energy to replace them. When they called me and requested that I meet them at their home I assumed it would be to ask me to renew my commitment to teach the kindergartners in the coming school year. I was stunned when they urged me to accept a position as Director of Religious Education for students in preschool through grade five. It was such an unexpected development that I found myself stuttering my agreement to their offer even as I mentally began laughing at the absurdity of the idea that I should be the first layperson to ever hold that position in the parish.

Justin and Rita were masterful at selling an idea and before long they were introducing me to my intermediate and high school counterpart, Shirley Hines. I had not before met Shirley but I took an immediate liking to her and began to believe that with her at my side I might actually be capable of doing well with such an important job. She was funny and energetic but also organized and wise. I saw myself as her junior partner, someone who might learn from her and follow her example, so I tentatively began to believe that I might actually be able to do a good job for the children of the parish. 

The two of us began to call ourselves Laverne and Shirley. We literally laughed ourselves through the early days of our adventure. Of course the parishioners were not so sure that two lay people would ever be able to meet the high standards that had been set by Justin and Rita. Of course they were right in that assessment but it had become apparent throughout the Catholic world that the days of having a fleet of nuns ready to take on the jobs of educating children were long gone. Lay people would have to take on those roles whether or not the members of the church community liked it. 

Shirley and I were fortunate to have two lovely women who assisted us in carrying out our mission. Judy Maskel was our secretary and Girl Friday, always deftly caring for our every need. Judy Millin was our saving grace on the business end of things, keeping us within budget and managing the accounts associated with the program. The four of us built a friendship that would last for decades and that kept us sane as we carried out our day to day work. 

I eventually left to begin teaching full time once both of my girls were in school. I had learned a great deal in the school of hard knocks from my foray into being a Director of Religious Education. Shirley and I had been called “agents of the devil” for daring to replace Justin and Rita. The two of us blazed a trail from which our parish never turned back. At the time we made about five thousand dollars a year even though we worked more than forty hours a week. Going into a classroom as a full time teacher would quadruple my salary instantly and allow me to be at home with my family in the evenings instead of almost living at the church. While I knew I would miss my dear friends at the church I knew it was time for me to move on just as Justin and Rita had done. 

I recommended that my friend Pat take over as my replacement and she would prove to be a very worthy choice. She would spend decades refining, expanding and improving the program at the church while I made my way as a teacher and administrator in public schools. All the while Shirley, the two Judys and Pat and I continued the friendship that we had forged in those pioneering days of taking on jobs that had once been the domain of nuns. Year after year we met for lunch or at gatherings in our homes and kept the fires of friendship burning brightly. 

Pat died over twelve years ago. Judy Maskel followed her to heaven later. Shirley Hines and Judy Millan and I last met just before Christmas of 2019. We laughed and felt as close as ever. Not long into the new year of 2020 Shirley had a stroke. She now lives in a rehabilitation home and because of Covid-19 we only see her in the photos that her daughter posts. There is a sadness in knowing that she is not making the jams and bread that she always brought to us. Somehow the mischievous glimmer in her eyes that always brightened our days is missing. We long for a time when we might once again be allowed to just sit with her and recall our decades of friendship that began in such an unexpected way. 

It is so often that the serendipitous moments of life are the ones that change us the most. Stay open to unexpected changes. They may bring the very people that you need into your life. Miracles are not always spectacular but instead they often quietly lead us to the joy that we seek. I learned that truth long ago and I know how much better my life has been because two ladies named Justin and Rita convinced me to try something that changed me forever. 

I usually wait until the day after Thanksgiving to begin decorating my home for Christmas but this year I’m more anxious than ever to put up a tree and deck the halls. I already know that our big extended family Thanksgiving feast has been cancelled and I definitely won’t be hosting a Christmas day gala for over forty people. In fact it is most likely that nobody but my husband Mike and I will even see our Christmas decorations so it does not appear to matter when I bring them out. Heck, I could keep them up all year and who would know?

My mother-in-law is in her nineties and she no longer has the energy to take down her decorations and store them away for eleven months out of the year so she has another trick up her sleeve. She keeps her tree on a stand with wheels. She decorates it once and when Christmas is over she moves it to a discrete corner and covers it to keep the dust away. When December comes she removes the cover and relocates the tree to the center of the living room. Her ingenuity is remarkable because nobody ever notices the tree hiding in the corner of a room that only she visits when it is not Christmas. I think that she is actually rather clever.

I know people who set up their holiday decorations in December and leave them there until Valentine’s day. They do their Christmas shopping after the crowds have left the stores and everything is on sale. It’s a different way of doing things but certainly not without a certain amount of merit.

I have friends with whom I usually share gifts that I probably won’t be able to see this year, at least not in the traditional way. I was thinking that I will hand deliver their presents to their front porches much as Amazon does only mine will be nicely wrapped. I’ll ring the doorbell and stand in the yard with my mask firmly in place to give them Christmas greetings. I am determined not to allow a pandemic to become the real grinch that stole Christmas.

I always send out lots of Christmas cards. My list is sadly dwindling with each passing year because so many in the older generation are slowly dying. I found that the younger set are not as into the tradition of mailing greeting cards so while I use close to a hundred stamps each season I rarely get even half that many holiday greetings in return. Nonetheless I like the idea of reaching out to members of my friends and family hopefully to bring a little smile to their faces. 

I am so ready for a break from politics and Christmas seems to be just the panacea for which I have been searching but I suppose that first I need to celebrate my November birthday and deliver my annual October birthday gift to my dear friend Monica whom I have known since we were both in second grade more than sixty years ago. We usually meet for a long and leisurely lunch somewhere but I don’t go inside restaurants yet so perhaps we can sit together in her backyard with our masks and appropriate distances. I have a pretty great gift for her that I purchased long before the virus was a thing and I can’t wait to take it to her. 

I have other objectives to accomplish in November before diving totally into Christmas. I allow myself one slice of pumpkin cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory each year. I used to purchase an entire cake back when I was able to eat anything without gaining a pound. Now I only have to gaze longingly at something that is fattening and add several pounds to my girth. My weight gain has been daunting now that I am avoiding the gym because of the virus. No amount of walking on the treadmill or following exercise programs seems to help. No doubt it’s because I spoil myself with sweet treats to make up for the fact that I mostly stay home.

I have so many traditions that are going by the wayside this year. I suppose that is not totally a bad thing. Being flexible keeps me more creative and adventurous. Change is certain so perhaps it’s better that I go along with the flow. I need to try more serendipitous ways of doing things if for no other reason than to keep from turning into a stodgy old lady.

There will be no visits to Galveston’s Dickens on the Strand celebration this year. I won’t be able to walk merrily through the crowd at the Nutcracker Market. For that matter I don’t expect there to be a presentation of the Nutcracker ballet. We may have to meet the Scheffler family in a park to exchange the ornaments that I have already purchased for them. My brother will not host a Christmas Eve gala where we gather for an evening of laughter and exchange of gifts. Only one of my church lady members is still able to meet up for lunch. I guess I won’t have the annual gathering with my buddies from Revere Middle School either. My house will be rather empty on Christmas Day but I may try something that a friend once offered as a delightful holiday change. She spoke of staying home on Christmas Day and lounging in her pajamas while eating lasagna and watching movies and reading any new books she received as a gift. I’ve often wondered what a day like that might be like and this may be the year to find out.

So all in all it sounds like a time in which anything goes. I can bring out my Santas from around the world anytime I please. There are no rules this year. My Christmas sweater will be just as ugly on November 25 as in December. I can bake cookies and wrap presents anytime I wish. This may be one of the most freeing times of my life.  

I was never able to talk with my grandmother, Mary Ulrich. She spoke only Slovak and I spoke only English. She called everyone either “pretty girl” or” pretty boy.” The rest of the time she simply padded around her home in her bare feet offering weak coffee loaded with sugar and milk to any visitors who came. Sometimes she set a loaf of dark rye bread on her dining room table as a snack to go with the coffee. Mostly she sat in her chair in the corner of the living room surveying her good fortune in having a huge family that loved her as much as she loved them. 

Mary Ulrich came to America from the Slovakian region of Austria Hungary around 1913. She traveled alone on a small steamboat and stepped onto American soil in Galveston, Texas where her husband, Paul, was waiting to meet her. They would both work a number of jobs until they had saved enough to purchase a plot of land near downtown Houston, Texas where they would build a tiny house, room by room. 

My Aunt Valeria who was Mary’s third child has told her children that my grandmother first worked as a cook on a farm where my grandfather labored. Later she found work as a cleaning lady in one of the downtown Houston buildings. Her boss sexually harassed her and when she told my grandfather he insisted that she quit. Later she worked in a bakery located near her home on North Adams Street in east Houston. 

The children kept coming for Mary. She birthed ten of them by 1926. Two of them died in infancy. Caring for the family became Mary’s full time job and if she had ever spoken any English she lost that ability as she became more and more isolated in her house. Her focus turned to caring for her family and that meant a daily routine of cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and tending her garden. It must have been quite a chore with four boys and four girls squeezed into a tiny house no bigger than about nine hundred square feet. 

My grandfather worked at a meat packing plant doing hard labor. He never once missed a day of work and he frugally managed to feed his family on a very low salary. His dream was to one day own a farm and by scrimping and saving he hoped to eventually achieve that goal but just shy of his sixty fifth birthday he died leaving my grandmother widowed and without the skills or resume to work to support herself. Luckily her children shouldered that responsibility without complaint and by then President Franklin Roosevelt had introduced the Social Security program. 

Mary lived in her home repeating her daily routines until she died in her eighties. I was married with young children of my own by then. I so wanted to talk with her but language was a barrier that neither of us were able to overcome. I only knew of her and I sensed the essence of her character. I do not know if she was able to read or write. I know nothing about her family back in Slovakia. I wonder to this very day what kind of thoughts she had. I only know how much I loved her gentleness and the simplicity of her unconditional love. 

I often see memes from people insisting that everyone in America should learn and use English or go back to the places from which they came. There is a commonly held belief that a person is not really a good citizen unless he or she adopts a particular American culture. I’m sometimes asked if I am willing to agree to forcing people who come here to adopt a certain standardized way of doing things. I think of my grandmother Mary whenever I hear such ridiculous ideas. I realize that if we had indeed insisted on compelling every person who ever came to our shores to become just like the so called majority of us in thought, customs and language my grandmother would have been considered destructive when she was just a sweet lady who never had the time or the inclination to learn English or assimilate into a national culture. 

Over time my grandmother’s children, grandchildren and great great grandchildren became indistinguishable from the rest of Americans. Our English is impeccable and most of us are highly educated. The women work as nurses, teachers, doctors, public health administrators, accountants and such. We have adapted rather nicely to American life just as the descendants of most immigrants do. That process begins from the moment that a citizen from a foreign land first steps into our country. It is an inevitable transformation but it need not be forced and it should not include erasing the culture of the past. We may not call ourselves Italian Americans or German Americans but we value the contributions and customs of our ancestors in making us who we are today. Why would we deny that to our newest immigrants who, like my grandmother, do their best to adapt to a whole new world? It is ridiculous for us to fear or disdain individuals or groups attempting to adjust to a way of life unlike the ones from which they have come. 

Our nation is built on the stories of millions of Marys who came here from all over the world to create new lives. Even the Puritans who arrived on the Mayflower were immigrants seeking refuge from religious persecution and laws that forced them to conform to a particular way of life or be exiled or even jailed. How ironic that today there are those among us who insist on imposing their wills on others. 

America has not always welcomed immigrants of any sort. We have often been especially suspicious of those who look different from ourselves. If history has taught us anything it should be that we grow stronger and more vibrant from the mix of cultures that make up our population. We should celebrate our differences, not attempt to eliminate them. 

Perhaps Mary’s life would have been easier if her neighbors had sought to welcome and help her rather than shunning her and whispering about how she and her children had somehow devalued the neighborhood. I much prefer the environment of my own cul-de-sac where whites, Vietnamese, Blacks and even lesbian families live in harmony and cooperation. Everyone should try it. It is a beautiful thing.

This has been a singular moment in American history. Never before has a presidential winner received so many popular votes. Never before has the defeated candidate received so many votes. The race was tight but fairly won. The American people have spoken in the most awesome tradition of how our system of government works. 

I celebrate because my candidate was victorious, but also because I believe in the deepest part of my soul that the United States of America won. I voted for character and decency because I am a mother and an educator. I know that our children are always watching and Donald Trump has been the worst role model that has ever before been supported by a considerable portion of the electorate. I do not care about my 401K or my personal finances as much as I worry about the messages that this vile man has been sending our young. He has incited divisions and fear in our society that threaten the very foundations of our country. He does not appear to actually care about our nation as much as he cares about himself. 

I have witnessed my Black friends fearing for their children under Trump’s presidency. I have watched the horrors endured by immigrants that even included separation from their children. I have heard the fear of my gay and lesbian friends as they worried that their hard gained rights might be pushed back into the darkness and misunderstanding of the past. I have seen how much more difficult the lives of Muslims have become during this administration. I have cringed at the number of times that Trump has called women with whom he disagrees with words like nasty, monsters, liars, and a host of other epithets that I do not wish to repeat. I have become angry at the ways in which Trump has manipulated the good and profound beliefs of Christians for his own benefits, pretending to be a man of God when every shred of evidence proves otherwise. I have shuddered at the lies, ignorance and fear tactics that he used to convince his followers that without him they will be doomed. 

The task ahead is very difficult. While Joe Biden insists that he will be a president for all Americans I sense that there will be many who reject his efforts to bind our wounds and bring us closer together. President Trump will no doubt spend the next many years spreading his gospel of fear and hate. It does not appear that he will go quietly as all other former presidents have done. It is unlikely that he will spend his post presidential years doing good works like Jimmy Carter. Those who know him well tell us that he is a one trick pony who is too old to change. 

It is important that we all strive to bring decency, decorum, cooperation, compassion back into our national life. We must demonstrate to our young that winning should be less of a goal than living a good and purposeful life. It is time that we once again embrace our differences as a strength of our nation, not something to be spurned. Our common goal should be to promote justice in every corner of the country. We can protect individual freedoms without smashing those of others. 

This is not a time for gloating. That is something that Donald Trump likes to do and we need to stop that. The people have spoken, but clearly the winning majority was slim. Joe Biden knows that and hopes to invite those who are disappointed into the huge tent that he sees as representing America. Those of us whose votes led to victory must demonstrate the character that we have wanted to see in our highest leaders. It would be a terrible thing if we descended into a war of maliciousness even as we claim to want to return to decorum and respect.

I deeply love this country, not just my version of it, but the whole glorious messy thing. We are a millions strong family. The world has mostly viewed us as people with good hearts, but of late that has been less obvious in some among us. It’s time we resoundingly reject hate and instead celebrate the remarkable diversity that brings so much vibrance and inventiveness into our lives. It’s time we honored one another by doing whatever it takes to defeat Covid-19 regardless of the sacrifices that we must make. It’s time we learned to actually listen to one another rather than rehearsing our debating points while someone is speaking. It’s time we ask ourselves how we want our children to see us.

As a woman I am thrilled that we will have the first female Vice President, a woman of Black and Asian heritage. This is historic and great and no doubt exactly what some of our Founding Fathers hoped would one day happen. I can almost see John Adams giving Abigail and little wink and saying, “See, they remembered the ladies.” I imagine John Lewis doing a little dance in heaven and enjoying that his freedom fighting days have led to this moment. This is a very good time. Our system has worked exactly as it was designed to do. 

Anyone who has known me for some time has probably been shocked by my outspoken commentaries during the most recent election. I was always an exceedingly timid girl who liked the idea of hiding in the shadows during my youth. I was not someone who dared to rock the boat or take risks. Then one day something happened in one of my classes that forever changed me. Most people who were there probably do not even remember the incident but it had an enormous impact on me. 

I took German as one of my foreign languages. The teacher was loading us down with an inordinate amount of homework, but as was my habit I got it done each evening even if it meant staying up until two or three in the morning and then subsisting on only a few hours of sleep. On one particular day the teacher asked us to place our completed assignments on our desks so that he might collect them. As he walked down the aisle one student after another admitted that he/she had not done the work. The teacher was growing increasingly angry but I had already realized that I was in the midst of a kind of rebellion against the work overload under which we were being crushed. I looked around and saw that mine was the only paper on the desk just as the teacher noticed the same thing. With a triumphant grin he hurriedly walked to where I was sitting. As he stopped next to me I quietly removed the assignment and hid it inside the desk while saying, “I did not do it either.”

The teacher blew a gasket at this point. He literally went to the front of the classroom and announced that we obviously did not want to learn and so he was leaving. We sat for the whole period in silence waiting for him to return, which he never did. For several days we sat without a word, waiting for the teacher to begin a lesson. Sometimes he simply sat at his desk pretending that we were invisible and sometimes he just did not come. Eventually our lessons resumed without a word about what had happened but I felt a tinge of excitement in knowing that I indeed had the courage to stand up for what I believed to be right. I would resurrect that bravery from time to time but mostly I remained a quiet presence in the world.

In college I participated in peaceful civil rights marches but always blended into the crowd without voicing my feelings. I also protested the war in Vietnam and that seemed to be so senselessly taking the lives of young men that I knew. I was never particularly vocal about my forays into civil disobedience and I always left if there were signs of trouble.

Eventually my focus would be on more personal issues. I literally had to fight for my mother’s sanity over and over again. Our society does not take mental illness seriously and I was often alone in my efforts while my brothers were still in the process of becoming adults. It is difficult to find doctors and to get the support that those with diseases of the mind require. I had to learn to be assertive and to refuse to take no for an answer. 

Later I would become an advocate for my students. There was no child unworthy of my efforts no matter how damaged he or she appeared to be. I always believed in my husband’s credo that nobody can be a failure at the age of twenty. I pulled many a young person out of the trash heap of negative assumptions. I searched for the best in people who sometimes appeared to have only minimal merit. 

When I became a Dean of Faculty I worked hard to support the teachers. Many times they were unaware of the battles that I fought for them. I continued with my quiet approach to things. I saw no reason to make a public spectacle of my efforts. I did not want to detract from the wonderful work that the teachers were doing by shining a light on myself. 

So I grew old with a reputation of being rather meek and mostly willing to go with the flow. People liked me for that characteristic. Our society shies away from aggressive people, especially when they are women. I wrote my blogs mostly sticking to topics that made people feel happy. I tried to stay away from sensitive ideas, but then came the pandemic in the midst of an election year. The Black Lives Matter movement erupted again with the death of George Floyd. Our world seemed to be searching for a voice and I knew that I had to be that for my daughters, my grandchildren, the teachers with whom I had worked and both my former and present students. There were things that needed to be said publicly.

It was not easy. People questioned me and some even abandoned me. I suppose they were dismayed by what they saw as a dramatic change in my personality. They challenged my views and made attempts to convince me that I was wrong. I weathered the debates but stuck with my beliefs because I really felt that I was thinking of my country, preparing for a future which will no doubt be challenging. In the process I gained the respect of some and lost it from others. 

Recently my eldest daughter gave me the compliment of a lifetime by telling me that she was proud to call me her Mom. She said that I have stood on the right side of history in her mind. She was happy that I was willing to be vocal and persist in stating my views even when I was attacked, even when I knew that I was not really changing any minds. I am overjoyed in knowing that she understood why I was doing what I have done. 

There will be more battles before I one day die. Of that I am certain. I know that I have the grit that I need to be a warrior for what I think is just. While I respect those whose philosophies are different from mine I am happy in knowing that I have the strength to stand for something beyond myself. I have truly come of age.