Category: Commentary

I should have written a final tribute to Pope Francis before now, but I have been grieving. My heart has been heavy and my sorrow has clouded my mind. All I have been able to express are feelings, emotions so strong that the part of my brain able to string together the words that clearly define my admiration and love for him are missing. I seem only to be able to feel and cry that our world has lost such a wonderful man who understood and truly cared about every single one of us. 

I did not know what to think when Pope Francis was first selected as the pontiff of the church that I have known since the day I was born. My mother had taken me to be baptized at All Saints Catholic Church in the Houston Heights when I was a baby. From that moment forward she shared her faith with me and religiously followed the teachings that she herself had learned as a child. She sent me to Catholic school for twelve years where I formed the beliefs that would guide me for the rest of my life. 

I came of age when Pope John XXIII was pope and the rebellious spirit of the nineteen sixties seemed to guide the beautiful changes in how the church was finally leaning. Many of the old rules that had seemed silly to me were overturned. The mass was finally offered in the many languages of the people around the world. The priests faced forward when saying the mass and we finally saw their faces instead of their backs. It was a modernization that seemed more in keeping with the lessons of Jesus than the mysterious Latin rituals that I witnessed as a child. 

My mother received a papal blessing from John XXIII for her work at the church where I grew in wisdom and age and grace. It was one of her most cherished possessions and it now hangs in the room in my home where she spent the last year and a half of her life faithfully praying and reading her Bible. She would have been happy to know that John XXIII is now officially a saint, something she knew about him long before a proclamation was made. She died before Pope Francis was selected, but I know she would have loved him as much as I do. He represented all of the values that guided her life. 

My mother was the child of immigrants. She became an American citizen by birth. Eventually her father became a citizen as well but her mother was too busy having babies and raising eight children to learn about the United States and take a test to prove her knowledge and loyalty. Instead her progeny would become ideal citizens and Catholics until the days when they died. 

I come from a legacy of patriotism and strong faith, but admittedly I had struggled a bit with my feelings about the Catholic church during the years before Pope Francis became our pope. It felt as though the church had become too impersonal at times. Then came this beautiful man who was a champion for the poor, the suffering, those forced to migrate from their homelands. He demonstrated how to love even those whose lives seemed strange to us, like the sex workers who lunched with him and were profoundly changed by his loving acceptance of them. 

In a world filled with ever-changing rules and laws that seemed to be designed to punish rather than to inspire and support it was refreshing to have a pope who focused on helping others rather than shunning them. He was like a kind father who guided us and encouraged us to always share what we have with those in need. He showed us how to love the people that we did not understand. His example taught us to be open to differences rather than judgmental. His generosity of spiriot radiated from his face and his words, even to the very end of his life. 

I have shed many tears since the passing of Pope Francis. My heart has been heavy watching his funeral and sensing the great loss that our world has experienced. I know that what he would want from me and all good people everywhere is to follow his example. He would ask us to see the beauty and worth in our fellow humans. He would remind us to always follow the simple but daunting rule from Jesus that we love our neighbors as we love ourselves without restrictions based on our prejudices. 

Terrible things are happening in the world at large. Here in the United States people are being treated without consideration of their humanity that is so much like our own. We seem not to want to know why they are here. Our country only wants to rid itself of them as quickly as possible. They are rounded up based on the superficialities that we all too often use to determine the worth of others. We would do well to instead heed the example and words of Pope Francis to provide love and comfort to everyone among us. 

I hope that I have the strength to follow the moral code that Pope Francis has left us. I hope that I can “be” Pope Francis in all that I do and say. He was a blessed man and I will miss him, but I am certain that he is now enjoying his heavenly reward. May he rest in peace and may we all remember what he most wanted to see from us.

I love my friends. They are truly good people. I have known some of them from the time that I was seven years old. I met others in high school. I have friendships from the neighborhoods where I have lived and from the jobs where I worked. There are also friends from church. It’s amazing how much alike we are and how each person has impacted me in my life’s journey. 

I have known many people. Some were close for a time but distance and the years that passed separated us. I have fond memories of them but do not even know where they are or what they may be doing. They had a deep influence on me at one time that I will always appreciate. They were part of my life for a reason and I in theirs and then we both moved on.

The really fun friendships are the ones that were unexpected. There is Rosie who was the quintessential “good ole gal” who taught me about life in the raw. She took my naive self and showed me what the world is really like and how to handle almost any situation. There is the woman from New York who helped me become fearless from her examples of being compassionate and fair even in dire situations. I don’t see either of these ladies anymore but they carved such an impression on my heart that I still think of them with a smile. They made me tough and resilient and also much kinder and softer than I had ever dared to be.

Perhaps my longest standing friend is Lynda, the girl who lived across the street from me when I was six years old. We shared so many childhood memories and secrets but then my family moved away we were going to different schools, so we only saw each other now again. Nobody would ever guess that we do not communicate every single day because we can pick up our conversations as though they ended only the day before even when several years have passed since we talked. Hers is the only birthday that I remember without a calendar. April 19 tells me that she and I are growing older together and that somehow we are “sisters’ who just get each other no matter the passage of time.

I have young friends who might have been my daughters and sons but we are so simpatico that our difference in age does not matter. They are incredible young folks who keep my faith in the future optimistic. A world of people like them will be very good indeed. They are generous and loving souls who remember me in small ways that mean the world to me. I may get a text on Christmas day or Valentine card on February 14. Sometimes they just check to see if all is well. 

I am sometimes stunned by the goodness of the people that I know. While so many complain that the world is going to hell, I know differently. I see the compassion in the people that I have been honored to call friends. They just keep optimistically moving forward no matter what the weather or state of the Union may be. They love me and I love them in spite of our differences. We did not choose each other because we always agreed on everything but because we witnessed the beauty of each other. 

I have lost some of the most wonderful friends that anyone has ever had. My friend, Pat, was the big sister that I always dreamed of having. She guided me into a world of adventure, travel and enjoyment. Being with her was like a holiday. I still treasure every moment that we shared and now I have her daughter in my circle to continue the family tradition of thoughtfulness and joy.

I miss my friend, Egon, a German with a Norwegian mother. We used to joke that we would take care of each other if anything happened to our spouses. I never dreamed that he would leave us so soon. I miss the evenings sitting by his pool listening to music and discussing the state of the world as though we were serious pundits deciding how to steer the nation. I just wish that I had known more about my ancestry before he died. I think he would be delighted to know that I descend from Vikings on my paternal grandmother’s side of the family. I think he would have laughed and danced like a Norwegian elf at the news that we were even more alike than either of us expected.

I don’t think of myself as an extrovert but somehow I seem to make friends wherever I go. I always have a quiet relationship with the people that I know. I’m not much for big parties or raucous situations. I most enjoy just sitting one one one or with a small group listening to people and learning from them.

I feel quite fortunate to have been so lucky in finding the most wonderful people with whom to share so many moments of my life. I love their diversity. They have made me a better more interesting person than I might otherwise have been. Even if I do not see them or if they have decided that I no longer fascinate them I feel an incredible appreciation for each and every one of them and will always be open to welcoming them each time we manage to find the time to meet once again. 

I love the cul-de-sac where I live. I have wonderful neighbors who are kind and loving and ready to help each other. They are a diverse group that seems to prove the idea that having many different kinds of people can make an organization or community stronger. It is in their individual uniqueness that they bring much joy and kindness to our daily interactions. Ours is a beautiful street filled with a cross section of educational levels, races, cultures, religions, sexual preferences and ages. We embrace each other just as we are and learn from our differences. We are a happy bunch who understand implicitly that help is always nearby when we need it. Being in the midst of diversity is such a lovely way to live. It is like a rose garden filled with variety and color. 

A few summers ago my husband and I visited Maine with the purpose of helping our granddaughter move from the apartment provided for her internship into student housing on campus. It was still two weeks away from the arrival of most of the students so the area felt oddly empty save for the many retired folks who inhabit that part of our country. Everywhere we went we saw mostly grey haired white people who had retired to the lovely state filled with trees and ocean views. it felt strange to be in such a monochromatic bubble even though it was of the kind that existed in the time of my childhood in the south. 

My granddaughter explained that part of her internship duties had involved determining how to attract more diverse populations to the state. It seems that businesses were languishing in the absence of the kind of vibrance that I take for granted where I live. The concern of industries and the government in Maine is that without the vibrance of many different types of individuals and families the economies will not grow and may even become stagnant as the older people die. 

There are some in our country who seem to believe that diversity should have no prominence in our government or corporations or schools. They somehow equate diversity with an evil ploy to make it difficult for white men to achieve the highest levels of success that they once enjoyed. I hear folks saying that it is common for a white man to lose a job to a female lesbian of color. Such beliefs make me realize that a large number of people do not fully understand the nuances that result in the hiring of someone for a particular job. They do not remember or know of the prejudices that impeded all but white males in job placements of the past. Nor do they seem to realize that when searching for the best applicant for a particular job there are many characteristics that lead interviewers to rank one candidate over another, none of which boil down to meeting some false set of quotas. 

As a Dean of Faculty and Instruction in a high school I participated in a group selection of new teachers. Most of the time those invited to an interview were already culled from multiple resumes and applications that came to our desks. Our first process was to use the information that they provided to find individuals with the education, experience, and recommendations that made them stand out as persons who would be best qualified to teach our students. After that we interviewed each of them to get a feel of their personalities and how well they would mesh with our faculty, our students and our school culture. 

Sometimes the high grades from college and the outstanding essays outlining their goals were not enough to convince us that each person had what it would take to interact with our students. There really was a kind of “it” factor that would tell us that one person was more suited than another. To be certain that we were on the right track in our selection, the finalists would be asked to teach a sample lesson in a classroom that we would select. It was always in watching them interact with the students that we were able to make our final decisions and never was that made simply in some artificial effort to create diversity rather than to look for the best candidate. Sometimes the person with the degree from an ivy leagues college just did not click with our student population. Such persons were not passed over because they were not diverse enough but because they just were not right for the environment in which they would have to work. 

I myself began working at that school as an older white lady because I had years of positive experience working with children of every kind of background and intellectual ability. The principal who interviewed me was wise enough to gather that I was earnest when I told her that kids are kids to me. I have but one job and that is to teach and nurture them so that when they leave my classroom at the end of a school year they will be ready to move to the next level. She soon learned that I was also someone who was sought out by the younger teachers who sensed that I was willing to help them to adjust as well. 

I think we give the idea of diversity in organizations a bad rap because someone who did not land a job needed to find a reason for being rejected in favor of someone who seemed to be less qualified. It is certainly painful not to win the prize and I understand that as well. I have been passed over many times and I generally consider myself to be lucky in that regard. I know that if my philosophies did not mesh with the boss I would no doubt end up being miserable on my job. Being selected for a position in any organization is a matter of many different reasons, the least of which is artificially creating diversity. When diversity finds its way naturally into an organization everyone gains and we should all celebrate, not attempt to officially and legally push it out based on numbers rather than the whole person. 

When deed restrictions, segregation or laws kept certain people out of certain neighborhoods in the time of my youth I was isolated from the magnificent beauty of the many diverse ways of living. My cul-de-sac resulted because everyone who lives here had a chance of buying one of the houses. Diversity is organic and natural when we take away the prejudices that make us believe that only certain people should be allowed to do anything. We may try to wipe it from websites and history but it cannot be rubbed out. We have moved on from that.  

I am an enigma wrapped up in contradictions which I suppose is true of most people. I have a morning routine that involves a long stretch of quiet time before the rest of the world awakens. I like to watch the sun rising with as little noise as possible and definitely no conversation of any kind. Too much cheeriness before I am ready literally rattles my brain and sends me off balance for the rest of the day. Since the men in my house usually sleep two or three hours later than I do, I don’t have to dodge chit chat or well intentioned “good mornings” that induce the same kind of dread for me as fingernails scraping across a blackboard. 

Once my foibles have been carefully protected I’m ready to take on the day and I become as chatty and animated as anyone. Since this is the version of me that most people see, they would no doubt be confused by my reclusive early morning self. Thankfully in the state of retirement I have all the time that I need to successfully begin each day in a way that really works for me. 

When I was still working I actually enjoyed having to drive long distances to reach the schools where I taught. In the isolation of my car I was able to prepare myself for the interactions to come. If I was truly fortunate I would go directly to my classroom upon arrival and silently prepare for the day that lay ahead. By the time the students arrived I would be ready to handle the hubbub that is an inevitable part of teaching. 

I always got along with my first period classes because teenagers never seemed to be fully awake in the first hour of the school day. They liked my quiet voice and the fact that I usually made few demands for them to interact as long as I sensed that they were paying attention. I did not mind that they sometimes wrapped themselves in blankets and seemed to be vacillating between wakefulness and an urge to catch a few more zzzs. I understood them and so we had a kind of mutual respect for one another that worked quite well. 

As the school day wore on I became more and more animated and that energy would follow me home. I was wired and ready to tackle any challenges while chatting all the way. I suspect that there were times when I drove my family crazy with my nonstop iterations of all that had happened during my day. 

I still do that in the evenings. Like a creature of the night I come alive and appear to have the personality of a full blown extrovert. I’m like a Chatty Cathy whose off button does not work. Given an opportunity to talk with someone I am open for any amount of time. I become adventurous and ready to go anywhere on a whim. If I did not think it would bother my husband and father-in-law I would engage in big projects in the evening hours because by then I am still raring to go. 

Once my energy is sapped I am able to sleep like a baby on most nights unless something is bearing down on my mind. In those times insomnia stalks me and I often give up the fight to rest and arise in the dark to read or do some writing until the anxiety that is keeping me awake settles down and allows me to surrender to slumber. 

Mine is a routine that has worked for me for decades. I lucked out in finding a soul mate who did not mind my idiosyncrasies. I have had a tougher time with the arrival of my father-in-law because he awakens with a spring in his step and a hearty “Good Morning!” that makes my teeth hurt. I prepare the kitchen in the dark hours of the morning so that he can fend for himself and the two of us will not have to encounter each other until I am good to go with his cheeriness. On the other hand, he becomes more sedate and lethargic as the day wears on, retiring for the evening at an early hour that precludes my tendencies to work late into the night. 

It is amazing how we humans learn to live together even as our personalities are often so very different. We each settle into routines and patterns that work for us and as we grow older it is more and more difficult to adjust as things begin to change. I suppose I truly understand why my father-in-law dreads the very idea of living in the structured environment of senior living. Like me he has his distinct ways and disdains the thought of having to adhere to a schedule created by someone who does not know his emotional needs. 

I used to visit my aunt who shared a room in a nursing home with a variety of individuals. I found myself thinking that I would surely go insane if I had to wake up each morning without my alone time. For that matter being forced to comply with a regimen determined by caretakers would be horrific. For now I enjoy the freedom of being myself and allowing my father-in-law to do his thing as well. I am thankful even as I know that the day may come when my freedom will be curtailed and I will have to learn how to go with the flow. Until then I’ll watch the sun rise each morning with nary a sound. 

Most teachers spend several weeks during the summer taking classes designed to keep them up to par with the latest educational methodologies. I have partaken of so many courses and conferences that helped to inform me in becoming a better and better purveyor of knowledge to my students. I almost always found a nugget of educational gold in those sessions and sometimes even learned a bit more about myself. 

There was one occasion in which those of us participating began the two week marathon by answering straight forward questions about our viewpoints of the world and most especially our students. We had no idea what the purpose of such an exercise might be and it was fun to provide our thoughts and beliefs. A few days later we received the not so surprising results of the survey noting that more than ninety percent of us had scored in the high ninetieth percentiles of altruism which was defined as “a belief or practice of selfless concern for the well-being of others.”

Given that teachers earn disproportionately less than other college graduates for work that is  extremely important to society it was not surprising to us that our altruism was the driver that kept us returning to the classroom year after year. We already knew in our hearts that we had decided that the reward of doing something bigger than becoming wealthy was our motivation. It was nonetheless interesting that our devotion to our vocation was so universally grounded in our desires to make a difference in providing opportunities for our students to grow and prosper. 

Almost every physiological measure that I have taken has resulted in the same assessment of what makes me tick. I also understand all too well how my fellow teachers are cut from the same cloth. We find joy in the very idea of being the helpers in this world. We see the needs of people and we do everything we can to lift them up. The same might be said for nurses and fire fighters and other people who provide services to the community. There is a vast array of selflessness across the globe that provides love and care to people. 

Ironically those of us devoted to being the helpers understand the need for leaders who know how to produce funding for our projects. We look to them for the resources that we need knowing that they have skills that may be lacking in us. That is the nature of altruistic people. We see the possibilities of every kind of talent that humans exhibit. We realize that it would be a  tragedy to only develop business acumen or engineering skills in everyone. That person with a great sense of humor who makes us laugh is as important to our survival as humans as anyone. The goal of education should never be exclusive. We need those who design bridges and those who have the skills to actually build them. The value of each human is unique.

There seems to be a great deal of pressure these days to retool our schools and universities to focus only on what some deem as being practical goals. As a mathematics teacher I have always enjoyed almost universal approval but I know full well that some of the most important lessons a student might ever encounter occur not in the STEM classrooms but in the history classes or when reading great novel. It is important that we think about our own thinking and it is in the humanities that some of the most impactful moments occur. 

None of us are robots nor should we be. The ability to understand our fellow humans is as important as unlocking the mysteries of numbers and physics. It really is possible to be brilliant in one area and somewhat lacking in another. That is why we have so many different types of work for people to do. Once a person finds his or her niche magic often happens. Sadly our society tends to provide kudos for many professions over others in a very lopsided way giving the impression that some work is not as important as others. We sometimes retool our schools to rank majors more according to the income that they will produce rather than to the impact that they will have on how we humans treat each other. 

I never took a philosophy class in college. I was too busy to add what seemed to be a somewhat frivolous class to my schedule. it would not be until I had retired from work that I would sign up for an overview of philosophy in a continuing education program. It did not take long for me to be totally addicted to reading more and more from the noted philosophers of history and the present time. I soon realized that the process of considering how and why we humans thing\k and behave was one of the most important things I had ever done. I now look forward to applying the ideas of philosophy to all facets of life. My studies have expanded my mind and my outlook in exciting ways. 

There should be no restrictions to learning. Of course young students need grounding in the basics but it would be wrong to deny opportunities to explore any facet of human knowledge. The more we open our minds to new ideas the better we are in helping communities of people to thrive. Our minds are not dough which should be cut into repetitious shapes. We are individuals who each have a personality and longing to contribute our talents to the world. Never, never should we be stifled in our lifelong journey of becoming.