Category: Commentary

A wise friend posted a New Year’s Day message about self care that resounded with me. It went something like this:

Be willing to accept limits.

Use that heating pad when you need it.

Build your schedule around your actual energy level, not some demand that you believe you must endure.

Let your body be whatever it is telling you it needs to be.

Be truthful about your feelings and uncertainties instead of attempting to be a silent stoic.

Hibernate when you feel it is necessary.

Let January be slow and maybe a bit strange.

On most first days of the new year I find myself critiquing my flaws from the previous year and pledging to be my best self in the coming days. I almost always feel that I could have done more, been a better person, a more wonderful version of myself. I am loathe to admit that I am human until I get reminders like the one that my friend presented to urge each of us to allow our humanness to be okay. As another friend has suggested to me perhaps it is time for me to join the club dedicated to slowing down and still feeling good about myself. I keep getting messages from people who care about me that it is not just okay but preferable that I do what I feel like doing even if my only desire is to spend a quiet day ignoring the dust and the pile of laundry that will wait while I treat myself to just being myself. 

I spent New Year’s Eve with my brother and sister-in-law. We had a glorious time but also know the the coming year will be challenging for each of us. My brother has Parkinson’s Disease that is slowly but surely progressing. My sister-in-law was injured a few years back when she fell without any kind of warning and awoke to find that she had endured many life changing injuries. She and I are both scheduled for orthopedic surgeries this year that will hopefully allow us to move around without the ever present limps or pains that have plagued us all through the last year. On New Year’s Eve time stood still for a few hours while we simply delighted in just sharing a very quiet and low key evening in each other’s company. 

My sister-in-law is as brilliant in her assessment of how to live gracefully as my friend who left the post that I quoted above and the classmate from my past who welcomed me to the club of reality. All of them maintain that we don’t have to be always striving to be perfect versions of ourselves all of the time. It really is okay to admit that all we want to do is be honest in admitting to the slowing simmer of our lives. If truth be told none of us we want to impose unrealistic demands and restrictions on ourselves. We ponder the possibility that maybe it’s time to hire a gardener instead of spending hours creating a perfect landscape in our yards. Maybe someone else should clean our windows and haul the Christmas decorations into the attic. 

The fact is that my sister-in-law has been willing to sit back out of the limelight that she once navigated so well. She has a wall filled with evidence of her achievements and awards that she earned as an engineer at NASA. Now she is content to sit in her easy chair reading or enjoying the delight of watching her grandchildren at play. She has scaled back her life in ways that allow her to admit the she has entered yet another phase of living and she does not pretend to be someone that she is not. Her honesty shines through and makes her the smartest woman in the room. She is content to find happiness in the slow pace that she and my brother have taken. Her joys and her needs are now as simple as having a day without aches and pains and having a good book to read. 

I remember when both my mother and my mother-in-law decided that it was time to be real. They announced that they would no longer be able to host large galas and gatherings in their homes. They humbly admitted that they needed help from time to time. They honored their children by showing how much they trusted us to carry on as leaders in the world. They embraced their limitations with finesse just as my sister-in-law has now done. 

I recently had a luncheon date with friends who are my contemporaries. Each of them has changed the pace of their lives. They have transitioned to mostly doing what they want to do and not what they think that other people expect them to do. They are slowing down and loving life. They are eliminating annoyances and superfluous tasks they no longer believe are critical. They are finding happiness in the smallest of things whether it be finally making the quilts that they enjoy creating or taking short trips on a whim. 

I’m watching my father-in-law wither away in this moment. His downfall happened in the blink of an eye. Before that he forced himself into a daily routine that allowed no deviation. He tried to be the man in charge even as his daily habits became unsafe. He insisted with an iron fist that there was no reason for him to use a cane when his gait was shaky. He stubbornly drove his car when his reflexes were slow. Unlike my sister-in-law who is twenty years younger than he is, he insisted on being in charge, not trusting others to take on tasks that he should no longer have been doing. Now he is bedridden and must rely on people to take care of his most basic needs.

I see now that my father-in-law and I are very much alike in our hard headed determination to keep a strong hand on our power even as I preach my personal belief that there is a time and a season for everyone. Perhaps I would do well in this first month of the year to practice letting my perfectionism go and giving the younger generations the honor of my confidence in them. The world will indeed keep turning without my involvement in everything. As a lifelong learner I need to be willing to evolve like my friends and my sister-in-law have done. It is the wise and generous thing to do. Perhaps therein lies the pathway of the coming months of this year.

I once worked in a school that had a rough tough reputation. It was a fact that some of our students were members of gangs even though they were only in the seventh and eighth grade. They mostly kept their affiliations with trouble out of the classrooms and did their not so nice deeds after school and off campus. Still, some of them could be a handful in terms of behavior. They were often facing unimaginable difficulties at home and now and again they would act out, mostly by talking back to teachers attempting to control their outbursts. The language that they used was not always appropriate for a classroom setting, but rather peppered with expletives and words that made us squirm. 

I had a few encounters with such situations that I was usually able to tone down by remaining calm rather than throwing gasoline on an already intense moment. I suppose that my soft voice and the fact that I truly loved and cared about even the most difficult students provided me with an uncanny ability to forestall the worst possible situations and get back to the job of teaching. Sadly I knew that not all educators had the kind of self control that I possessed so now and again a tense situation would arise. One such thing happened one day during the passing period when students were moving from one classroom to another. 

I was at my classroom door when I heard a student and a teacher yelling angrily at each other. The student did indeed throw around some foul language in his audacious retorts but then so did the teacher. I sensed that the moment was getting out of control so I made my way down the hallway to see if I might help to cool down the tension that was brewing. Before I reached the two who were getting more and more shrill chaos broke out. 

The teacher grabbed the student by the back of his collar and without hesitation slammed his head against one of the lockers with a bang that made the whole row rattle. It was a shocking thing to see because every teacher knows that we are supposed to keep our hands off of our students. The only justification for being physical would be to defend ourselves but this student had done nothing to indicate that he was going to hurt the teacher. Before I could rush over the teacher then threw the young man onto the floor face first and put his foot on the stunned student to keep him from popping back up. 

My reaction was to run to the office to tell the principal what was happening. By the time that we got back to the scene the boy was sitting up and crying while the teacher was directing all of the bystanders to go to their classrooms and get out of the hall. It was evident that the boy had been injured so the principal called for the nurse and then asked the teacher to accompany him to the office. 

Before an hour had passed other teachers and many students had gone to the office to report what they had seen. Every witness insisted that it had been the teacher who suddenly lost his cool and purposely inflicted physical pain on the student. In spite of whatever had started the foray, the teacher had been out of line. 

I expected the principal to ask the teacher to stay home for a couple of days and then accept a write up to be kept in his file indicating that he had not followed the protocols to which we had all agreed. Instead we never heard from the teacher again. It would be much later, when I became an administrator, that I would find out that the principal and the higher ups in the school district had decided to cancel the man’s contract fearing that he was a loose canon and a danger to his students.  

I have been thinking about that incident as I watch members of ICE forcing often brutish behavior on their victims. Sometimes they go after American citizens, sometimes their targets are actually illegals. Many times their actions are brutal and not justified as we have witnessed in real time. The truth is that they should be able in most situations to do their jobs without piling on individuals and physically harming them. They don’t seem to have the proper training for their jobs and their superiors don’t appear to be inclined to punish them when they step over the line of decency.

There was a time when ICE agents showed up wearing jackets with official identification and lettering emblazoned on them. They were not in military camo with boots and masks carrying an assortment of guns that seem more like something storm troopers would have. Their tactics tend to be brutal and often done without any kind of reasoning. They are taking people out of cars just because they look like they might be illegal. They are rushing into schools and terrorizing both the students and the teachers. They are going door to door looking for possible illegals. Their methods don’t align with how things should be done properly. 

Other presidents, and in particular President Obama, have managed to deport more illegals than the present group is doing without terrorizing the population. We are not a nation of lawlessness. We should not have citizens cowering in fear of being unjustly detained or even hurt by ICE and yet even a ninety seven year old man like my father-in-law is now living in fear that he will be mistaken for an illegal because he has a decidedly Spanish accent. In truth he was born and raised in Puerto Rico where he has been an American citizen from birth. He served in the Army and fought in Korea. He like far too many others are watching the tactics of ICE and worrying that somehow they might be mistaken and subjected to the ire of an untrained and irrational person who gets a high on hurting others. 

It’s time that we call out all of the members of ICE who have crossed the Rubicon into a lawless way of doing things. If a teacher unable to control his temper can be fired, then someone supposedly enforcing the law who turns to violence without aforethought should not be on the streets of America. I challenge our president to request the members of ICE to take off the military gear and the masks and report for proper training now!

There are times when it is so difficult to understand why some people seem to have to deal with tragedies for most of their lives while others appear to be living magical lives. I feel a kind of sadness at this time of year when I see those who are suffering while the rest of us are enjoying the love and the laughter of our good fortune. 

I have a dear friend who has seemingly been the victim of one tragedy after another in her lifetime. She not only had to watch her beautiful husband descend into the clutches of early onset Alzheimer’s, but also endured his untimely death. When she found new love in the most unexpected way I was thrilled for her because she is a gentle and generous soul who deserves all the best that life can offer. I delighted in the photos and stories that she shared with those of us who are her friends. I saw the glow of happiness light up her smile and bring her back to a state of joy. 

When she announced that her new husband was very sick I began to worry for her again. Since that moment she has struggled with the reality that he may not make it and that her world was tumbling around her once again. With her characteristic devotion to God and to the people around her she has dedicated her days to being at his side, selflessly giving her love and comfort to him and praying that somehow he will be saved and she will not be left alone once again. It has been difficult to watch what is happening to her. If ever there was someone who deserves a break from tragedy it is my friend and yet things do not seem to be going her way in spite of her great faith and compassion. 

Sometimes it feels as though life is unfair. The distribution of difficulties all too often falls on the same people over and over again while others appear to be dancing through life without any kind of realization of loss or want. This is when I become particularly angry at people who pronounce that God has chosen them for his favors simply because they believe in him and pray to him. I wonder if they realize how hurtful their proclamations might be for anyone like my friends who has the most beautiful kind of faith that I have ever witnessed in anyone. Surely she is one of God’s most favored individuals and yet she is challenged over and over again with difficulties that few of us would ever want to endure. The kind of thinking that some are blessed and others are not surely must confound her. It certainly confounds me. 

I have to believe that God is with us but he does not favor one person or group over another. Otherwise how would we be able to understand why so many good people suffer? It is truly audacious to suggest that innocents are somehow to blame for their own misfortunes. Belief in God is not a contest in which he grants special favors only to those who believe. If that were true my friend would be living a life of total comfort and bounty rather than enduring one horrific challenge after another. 

I suspect that many people lose their faith when they hear someone justifying suffering by insisting that it is part of a special plan that will lead to a better time if one only remains faithful. As a priest once told me, “God does not work like that.” 

Just as my friend is a paragon of loving God with all of her heart and soul, so too was my mother whose entire live was tinged with challenges that would have broken most people. Somehow she kept God at the center of her focus on life. She did not expect special favors nor did she believe that God was doling out goodies so randomly that she was somehow passed over again and again. Instead she simply saw God as a spiritual being who guided her life to goodness and love. She seemed to understand that her duty was to be as good as she might possibly be without expectations that she would be rewarded in the earthly realm. She found comfort in her prayers and in knowing that suffering has been a part of the human experience for all time. She felt neither unfairly targeted with challenges nor envious of other people’s good fortune. She simply lived her life as it unfolded. Such is the way of my friend who somehow finds courage and strength in the most difficult of times. 

I suppose that when we pray for the people that we love our focus should not so much be about providing them with miracles or special favors but mostly about helping them to rise to whatever occasion he or she is facing. Our prayers should convey the message that we are here to help them navigate the most horrific storms in their lives. The idea is that they are not alone no matter how horrific the circumstances are. 

I think my friend knows this but she is also very human. There are indeed times when she is so weary that she needs a kind of promise that she will be able to pull herself up so that she might endure another day. She will falter but somehow she finds her strength over and over again. It comes to her in her prayers and in her interactions with good people who do not make her wonder if her bad luck has come through some fault of her own. 

God keeps her oriented even when she is so dizzy that she feels as though she has lost her way. We can help the most when we admit that miracles are not just goodies that some receive and others never see. Miracles can come in the form of just enough support to make it through another horrific day. Still, it would be nice if my friend somehow got a break from the sorrows that seem to follow her through life. For this one time it would be so right for her to be a favored one but I will only pray that she finds peace and harmony no matter what happens. 

I write blogs each day of the week unless some appointments or special events crowd the hours of my day. My essays are somewhat spontaneous, reflecting how I am feeling in the moment. The words generally flow from my mind into my hands that tap tap on the keys of my laptop. I marvel at how many ideas pop into my head and seem to demand to be recorded on paper. Sometimes though my emotions are in such an upheaval that that I cannot calm them enough to make my thoughts clear. The chaos in my mind is too disjointed and heavy to make sense of how I am feeling or what I truly want to say. 

January 8, 2026, the day after Renee Good was shot by an ICE officer in Minnesota was one of the days when I struggled to keep the depth of my emotions in check. I managed to spend four hours tutoring students in mathematics but that kind of task is second nature to this old teacher. I learned long ago how to curb my feelings when my duty is to care for my students. 

It was only after my sessions with earnest young people that I internally fell apart. I felt anger and grief for the loved ones of Renee Good and for the citizens of Minnesota and all of the United States for that matter. What happened to Renee on a cold Wednesday was horrific and triggering. It was something that was bound to happen sooner or later in the super charged atmosphere that Trump has so unnecessarily created. Sending hoards of ICE agents dressed like storm troopers to American cities that he does not like simply because he is angry with the leaders and the people in those places is a show rather than a solution.  

It is a true fact that my state of Texas has more immigrants than almost any other state in our union. I have no doubt that many of those immigrants are here illegally and yet there has been hardly a stir here compared to places like Los Angeles, Chicago and Minneapolis where the voters generally lean toward Democrats and the leaders often criticize Trump’s actions. It is obvious that he is punishing particular places while somewhat looking the other way in locales where his support is higher. It is as though he is purposely causing mischief and riling up populations to create a false impression that insures his grip on citizens who blindly believe his lies without checking the facts. 

The stage was set for tragedy and sadly it came to pass. Renee Good was protesting the door to door invasion of the homes of Minnesota immigrants, with a particular emphasis on those from Somalia. I thing that she believed that she was doing good work in observing what was happening and attempting to protect her community from what she saw as unfairness. She seemed to be not a radical but someone with a good heart and so on a cold day she tried to block the progress of the ICE agents in what she probably hoped would be a peaceful manner. She must have thought that she was doing her part to protest what she believed to be wrong just as I have participated in three marches in my city and written countless blogs criticizing what I see happening with the present administration. I doubt that she had any idea that she was going to be killed on that day.

I don’t know what I would have done in her situation. I suppose that having camo clad men bearing arms surrounding her car must have been terrifying. My guess is that her brain went into fright and flight mode just as it was designed to do. She might have stepped out of the car but maybe she was terrified about what would happen if she did so. I doubt that her thinking was clear at all in the fateful moment when she chose to drive away, not to attack one of the agents. 

The videos are quite clear that she had no intention of harming anyone. Her only mistake was attempting to get away from the situation. At that point it would have been quite easy for one of the agents to record her license plate information and track her down later if they wanted to press some kind of charges against her. In the heat of the moment drawing a weapon and shooting not once but three times into her car was a move even more egregious than her decision to flee. Lying that she was aiming her car at the ICE officer does not help any of us feel a sense of justification for her death. Shooting at someone should be an act of last resort as should invading a city with armed officers putting on a show of force. The unnecessary creation of tension made it almost inevitable that someone would be hurt. 

I do not believe that Renee Good was a domestic terrorist anymore than I am when I voice my opposition and concerns to what I see happening in my beloved country. She was simply asserting the freedoms granted to all of us by the bravery of the individuals who fought for a new kind of government of the people and by the people two hundred fifty years ago. I grieve for Renee Good and those who loved her just as I grieve for America. This is not who we should be. 

When I was a young woman attempting to find my purpose in life I entered college hoping to encounter the foundations of a possible career. I changed my majors so many times that I finally settled on unspecified arts and sciences for a time while I enrolled in one differing course after another hoping that a spark of interest would lead me to the career that I would follow. 

My first experiences in the Department of Education were far from inspiring. A general music class convinced me that I was way out of my league if I was ever asked to head a class in the basics of singing and playing instruments. An introductory class in the science of education lead by a brilliant professor piqued my interest enough that I made my major official and embarked on a series of courses where I learned how complex excellent teaching would actually be. Along the way I finally decided to take a required course called ‘Multiculturalism in the Classroom.” I would lie if I did not admit that this sounded like a fluff piece that would give me an easy A without much effort. Boy, was I wrong!

The professor was a young Black man, the first nonwhite teacher I had ever had. Before college was a student in the mid- nineteen fifties until nineteen sixty six. Living in the segregated south my only interaction with the Black people in my city was in passing until my senior year of high school when a talented Black student came to our campus. Since I had no classes with him I generally only knew of him. I knew immediately when I saw a Black man leading the multicultural class that it would be much more interesting that I had imagined, and it was.

Our professor was a gifted speaker and he made every topic enchanting. He challenged us and showed us a world that we had never known. He even poked fun at himself by telling a story of his own innocence about the people of the world. He recounted a time when he did enough research to determine what part of Africa had been his ancestral home. With great excitement he even learned what the historic garb was for that region. He purchased clothing that he believed would put him in good standing with the people that he would meet in the land where his ancestors once lived. Dressed in what he hoped would instantly impress the people he would encounter he stepped off of the plane to the amusement of those who were meeting him. They were decked out in western clothing and he instantly realized that he had insulted them by stereotyping who they were. 

This same man required us to choose an older part of the city of Houston to learn the history and evolution of the area. Because my grandparents had settled in the east end when they arrived from the Slovakian area of Austria Hungary I chose that part of town to study. The paper that I wrote was massive in its analysis of the demographics and economic aspects of how things came to be. I learned that Harrisburg was initially the capital of the Republic of Texas and that most of the land was dedicated to farming. After the devastating hurricane of 1900 in Galveston enterprising entrepreneurs decided to dig a waterway from the Gulf of Mexico to the east end of Houston. That big ditch eventually became one of the busiest ports in the United States. It was no doubt one of the reasons that my grandfather decided to move to Houston just before World War I broke out.

I found out that the movers and shakers of Houston aggressively advertised, sometimes falsely, to draw immigrants from around the world. There was a need for workers to build the infrastructure that would one day make Houston the fourth largest city with the most diverse population in the United States.

I treasured everything that I learned in the multicultural class long before DEI was even a thing. The professor opened my eyes and my mind so that I would forevermore meet my students and their parents with great respect. What I learned there was a key to my success as a teacher. It made me incredibly aware of the dangers of stereotyping and prejudice. I learned how to meet my students and their families just as they were. I realized how all of us have the same hopes and dreams for ourselves and our children. I saw that we each celebrate our backgrounds and our cultures and that there is much beauty in allowing each person to have the freedom to live as they wish rather than according to some dictate that forces them to change. Embracing multiculturalism not only helped me grow in the classroom but it became the strength of our great city. 

We are many nations, many cultures in Houston, Texas. We know many languages and take pride in our respective histories. Each individual has something special to offer the world and teaching became a way for me to help each of my students to find themselves just as I had done in the long ago. 

I will forever be grateful to the incredible man who lifted the scales from my eyes. He did not use propaganda to get me there nor did he pit one race or culture with another. He simply showed me how to value everyone that I would meet in the adventure called my life. He was perhaps one of the most consequential people in my life who helped me to fully understand that diversity, equity and inclusion do not hurt anyone but instead they help everyone.