Category: Commentary

Linger Longer

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

glacier-sm10-735-rainbowI have a memory that I keep in my heart and often bring to life. It is from long ago. My father and I are sitting in the kitchen of our home on Northdale Street, just the two of us in the quiet of night. I am six years old and he is thirty one. We are at the table drinking grape juice with only the night light on the stove providing illumination. We are smiling and laughing. It feels good to be there with him. I can tell that both of us are happy and content. I can’t remember our topic of conversation but that doesn’t seem to matter. I only recall feeling at peace and wanting to linger there just a bit longer.

I have had many such moments over the years when I wanted to stop the ticking of the clock so that I might have more time to enjoy a special moment. It seems as though the childhood of my two daughters sped by far too quickly. I loved the simple times that we shared especially in the lazy days of summer when we were able to sleep in and had entire days before us to roam and find adventure. I remember stopping with my friend Linda for shaved ice snow cones on Old Galveston Road after swim lessons and traveling with Mike and the girls to the mountains in our Chevy truck. There was the year when my children and I read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn and pronounced it our all time favorite novel with tears rolling down our cheeks. I laugh at the thought of the day when we so enjoyed the movie E.T. that we returned for a second screening after dinner so that we might share our new favorite film with Mike. I loved the evenings when I sat in the front yard watching all of the neighborhood children run and play until the moon and the stars came out while laughing at the stories and wisdom of my good friends, Carol and Betty. Those were some of the best times of my life and I often wish that I had lingered just a bit longer when I was in those moments.

I have been on vacation trips so incredible that I never again wanted to return home. Seeing a rainbow in Glacier National Park as we rounded a curve in the road brought me to tears. Walking with grandson Andrew along the beach in Chatham still makes me smile. Remembering the spiritual conversations that I shared with Jack under the ancient trees of Yosemite National Park is a priceless treasure. Watching Ben and Abigail play so joyfully in Central Park or Eli and Ian romping on a rocky beach near Seattle are pictures to comfort me even when times grow difficult. Ringing in the New Year in Austria with Monica and Franz comforted me at a time of change and loss. If I had the power I would have stretched out those hours so that they would not have gone by so quickly. I would have stopped the clock and lingered longer.

Have you ever noticed that when we are experiencing pain, suffering or death even the seconds seem to stall as if time has decided to stand still to mock our suffering? We feel as though we will surely collapse before our trials are over. It is then that we find solace in harking back to thoughts of the good things that we have experienced, They remind us that life always has a tendency to work its way back to joy. Sadly we can’t seem to stop the advance of the hours when we are the happiest but we can bring pleasant images to mind anytime we want or need to do so.

We have no guarantees of what tomorrow or even the next minute will bring but we always have our memories. Even those who become afflicted with Alzheimers are often able to recall the distant past even when they no longer remember what happened only days before. Perhaps it is the mind’s way of helping us to cope. By thinking of the beauty and blessings we have known in the past it becomes easier to deal with even a difficult present.

When I was a very young and inexperienced teacher I often judged the success or failure of my day on the basis of how many bad events had occurred. I did that as a young mother as well. Over time I became happier and more productive by instead harking back to the positive things that had occurred. As I reflected on them I realized how much more often they occurred than the horrors. All and all if we linger just a bit longer when we are enjoying life that moment will imprint on our brains and serve us well in the future. 

We all have many struggles that overwhelm us. We grow fearful and sad. We wish for success, money and good health. We run in a rat race and accumulate possessions that ultimately grow old and worn. We soon realize that our happiest times are often so simple: seeing our babies for the first time, getting an unexpected hug or kiss, laughing until the wee hours with friends, feeling rain on our faces, reaching the top of a mountain. Our stresses usually come from forgetting to linger longer in a joyful moment.

A good friend recently wrote a blog dedicated to showing young mothers how to give themselves the gift of enjoyment in the moment. Perhaps each of us should begin a daily ritual in which we set aside a few minutes to be totally free of any but beautiful thoughts. It may be exercise that brings us to our happy place or music or even reading from a special book. We can meditate or write in a journal. Sometimes just sitting in silence is all that we need. We owe it to ourselves to take the time to linger longer. The more we do this, the easier it will become to relax and be present in an untroubled state of mind.

I must admit that I am someone who too often measures the merit of a day by the number of my accomplishments. I have difficulty slowing my pace and relaxing to the point of inactivity. I often feel that I am being selfish to lavish the gift of time on myself but I know full well that it is one of the best things that I might do. In being wholly in a relaxed state of mind I find clarity of purpose and energy to face any problems before me. I in fact become far more productive and tend to stew less over my own predicaments. I give myself oxygen first so that I will be useful to others who may need my help.

Find those triumphant memories that bring a smile to your face. Let them envelop you until you are certain that you will always remember how good they felt. Carry them with you as reminders that you have lived a good life and that you have been, are and will always be loved. Accept the offers of friendship and caring that are extended to you. Don’t be afraid. Just be sure to immerse yourself in happiness and linger just a bit longer.

Just Breathe

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

764562-Kid-1411175258-363-640x480My fourth grade school year was traumatic in more ways than one. My father had died the summer before and our family was in a state of grief and uncertainty. We had returned to a familiar neighborhood after Daddy was killed in the hope that being back among good friends would help us to heal. Our home was a shell of the one that we had inhabited with my father. Without his engineering income we had to downsize considerably but ours was a sound house and the neighbors were warm and welcoming. I reenrolled in Mt. Carmel Elementary School and was looking forward to being united with the classmates that I had known before we moved in my third grade year. It was comforting to be back in a place that had heretofore been quite happy for me. When I learned on the first day of school that I was in Sister B’s class I had little idea that my emotional rollercoaster would become even more torturous.

Sister B was one of those old school Catholic nuns about whom legends and comedy routines abound. She thought of verbal and physical punishments as ways to build lasting character in young boys and girls. Those of us subjected to her classroom management style thought differently. It took no more than a few weeks in her presence for me to become utterly terrified, so much so that I was afraid to even speak of my fears to my mother. That environment was totally the wrong place to be for someone already scarred by the death of a parent. It was so hellish in my mind that I somehow began to believe that I had unconsciously and unknowingly done something terrible for which I was being punished. Why else would I have to endure a year with this tyrant, I wondered? I adapted each day by telling myself to just breathe.

I was actually one of the students that Sister B most cherished. For a very long time I was not the object of her wrath. She loved me so much that she became good friends with my mother. She often gave me letters of encouragement and special religious gifts. I should have returned her affection but I have always been a social justice warrior and I witnessed her unkindnesses to my fellow students more often than not. I don’t know if she just didn’t realize the impact of her humiliations but I did. With no place to turn, I seethed inside each time one of my classmates was harmed. I found solace in escaping to a place in my mind where all I had to do was just breathe.

Sister B once created a bulletin board that featured rockets advancing to the moon. On the side of each rocket she had written the name of a student and the grade that the individual had made on a test. Mine was proudly standing on the lunar surface with a one hundred indicating my success. Down at the very bottom were the spacecraft of less fortunate souls whose names were on display as failures with their rockets lying broken in half. Even as a nine year old I knew that it was utterly wrong to bring such negative attention to those who had not done so well with their academics. I felt embarrassed that I had to sit near the bulletin board filled with so much venom and hurtfulness.

I listened to the verbal taunts of my teacher until even I felt broken. I lived in fear that I might one day invoke her ire and become the focus of her anger. I hardly slept at night and thought myself terrible for thinking badly of a religious person. I was torn between hating her and wanting to forgive her. Since there were no counselors back in those days I suffered in silence often reminding myself to just breathe whenever the atmosphere became unbearable. Eventually things turned dark even for me, one of her pets.

We were in the middle of music class one afternoon when my bladder told me that it needed to be emptied quickly. I hated to interrupt Sister when she was so engrossed in a lesson but I felt that I had no choice. I raised my hand and calmly asked to be excused but my request was instantly denied. I crossed my legs and hoped for the best but as the minutes ticked by the pain that I felt became almost unbearable. I repeated my request several more times, being refused over and over again even as I began to wiggle in my seat to keep from having an accident. I was on the verge of tears and getting dirtier and dirtier looks from the teacher as I realized that I was not going to be able to hold back for much longer. I made one final attempt to be released to take care of the problem only to receive the same negative response. I was doomed and I felt my bladder slowly but surely ease the pressure as a puddle formed on the seat of my desk. At that moment I was in agony. I wanted to disappear so that I would not have to endure the fate that I knew was coming. I sat rigid hoping against all reasonable hope that nobody would notice what I had done. Of course that was not the way things were going to work.

Soon enough Sister was standing over me demanding to know what had happened. She ordered me into the hallway where she berated me for being absurd enough to wet my pants rather than race out of the room to the bathroom like any rational person would have done. I had no answers for her. I had learned long ago that she never accepted the excuses that any of us gave for our unwanted behaviors. I just stood silently wishing that I might run away and never have to face her or my classmates ever again and urging myself to just breathe lest I let my own tirade escape from my lips. She sent me to the office where I waited for my mother to come with clean clothing and a ride home. I was never able to fully explain to my mom why the incident had occurred. Sister B had already muddied the waters with her own defense and since my mother only knew her as a saintly woman I made no effort to disagree.

When I returned to school the following day my classmates pretended not to have noticed what had happened. I suppose that they all felt as I did that we had to weather the storm of our teacher’s angry behaviors together. Somehow we were bound by the realization that the way she was treating us was very wrong but there was little that we might do other than accept our fate and just breathe. I suspect that I first learned how to be a good teacher in that classroom. I remembered what not to do to students from those days. For that I am thankful to Sister B but I would have preferred not ever knowing her at all.

For a very long time I felt terribly guilty for disliking my teacher, especially since she was a nun, that is until I learned that my brother also found her behavior to be abusive and untenable. When he confessed to me it was like having a heavy weight lifted from my mind. I no longer had to just breathe when I thought of that terrible woman.

My mother corresponded with Sister B until she died, convinced that my old teacher had been a master educator and a saint. It was not until I was almost fifty years old that I shocked my mom with revelations that she found to be painful and difficult to believe. I kept my negative comments mostly to myself. I didn’t want to destroy the icon that my mother thought Sister had been.

I suppose that I developed lovely cursive handwriting under Sister B’s watchful and critical eye. I even mastered the lessons of the fourth grade curriculum with her guidance. More importantly, however, I understood the need to treat children with dignity and respect. I didn’t suffer permanent damage from that school year but I don’t believe that any of us needed to endure the shabby treatment that was inflicted on us. We were resilient but it seems that we never forgot what we had seen. Now I can laugh a bit at the memories of those days but I suppose that I always knew that what we endured was wrong. Thank God I survived by being able to just breathe. 

This I Know For Sure

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

carnivorous_glow_worms_imitate_starry_sky_to_lure_prey_m7.jpgWe humans often have a tendency to accept ideas and pronouncements as fact that may or may not be true. I know that most of the mathematical formulas that I used in my classroom have weathered the burden of proof over time. I also realize that just since I was born theories regarding the universe and its beginnings have changed. If I had taken the earlier pronouncements as fact, I would have been wrong. I have faith that there is a God but as far as I have found, there is no way to definitively demonstrate that I am more correct than someone who belies the idea of a divine being. I think that I know my friends and relatives well but I also admit that I can’t get entirely inside their heads. I believe that the sun will set this evening and rise again in the morning but I can’t be entirely certain that nothing will happen to interfere with the centuries old rotations of our earth. The fact is that what we think to be totally true may indeed be debatable. Somehow in understanding this my outlook on life has become an oxymoron for I am definitely a cynical optimist. In other words, I question virtually everything understanding that ignorance and evil often reigns supreme, but have faith that good will ultimately win the day.

I learned today that Adnon Syed, a young man convicted of murdering his girlfriend fifteen years ago, will receive a new trial mostly as a result of questions raised by the podcast Serial that captivated the world’s attention a couple of years ago. Most of the evidence against Mr. Syed was circumstantial with the exception of testimony from a friend who claimed that he helped Adnon bury the body of Hae Min Lee on the day of the murder. Many of the other witnesses told conflicting stories and aside from cell phone records placing Syed at the park where the young girl’s body was found, there was no DNA, no fibers, no blood to tie the defendant to the crime. The only thing that any of us know with certainty is that a promising young woman lost her life and that nobody has ever admitted to the crime. Being a juror on such a case must be an enormously difficult task. It requires the wisdom of Solomon. On the one hand there is a desire to find justice for Hae Min Lee and her family. On the other hand nobody wants to convict an innocent individual which Adnon Syed claims to be.

I’ve served on a number of juries and each time I have approached my duties with anxiety. I want my ultimate decision to be right and just. I have found that my fellow jurors were as determined as I was to be fair. We each spoke of losing sleep over the momentousness of our task. In the end we could only pray that we had come to an accurate conclusion. The Perry Mason moments that we see on television rarely occur in a trial. Only those intimately involved will ever know the whole truth and they are generally silent.

Aside from ironclad laws of physics and events that we see with our own eyes much of what we take as gospel is based more on our innate philosophies than on any concrete proof. I am violently opposed to abortion because I believe with all of my being that it is murder. Still, I am not so vain to think that I am one hundred percent right. My conclusions are based on my own thinking that life is life whether it is a blob of cells that will one day become a baby or a fully formed viable human being. As such I cannot imagine anyone defending the barbarous methods of abortion but I wonder if I am wrong and those who see it as a right of choice are indeed the ones who have the higher ground. I only know for sure that I cannot abide by abortion but I am reluctant to foist my beliefs on others. I am caught in a painful conundrum because I worry that by being so I may be guilty of condoning a practice that I should vigorously oppose.

I myself don’t like guns. I am a bit afraid of them and have little desire to either be around them or fire them. Nonetheless, I know so many people who have them and use them wisely, even the scary ones that seem to have no purpose for normal use. I grew up with uncles and cousins who went hunting each year. When I visited my grandmother’s house as a child I saw my uncle’s loaded pistol displayed on his dresser. I understood that I was never to touch it. My husband has guns that once belonged to his relatives. They are family heirlooms in his mind. He keeps them safely locked away. Once in a great while he takes them to a shooting range to practice his skill at hitting targets. He doesn’t like to hunt and as far as I know he has never actually killed another living thing. He is as comfortable around guns as I am uncomfortable around them. Who is right and who is wrong? I can’t say with any degree of confidence. I believe that my gun toting friends and relatives have been portrayed in a negative light that they do not deserve. I know that they are sensible in their use of weapons. I also understand that few of the mass shootings that we have witnessed of late would have been prevented with the legislation that is currently being proposed. I find myself seesawing between arguments and wondering if we are truly getting at the heart of the matter regarding violence in America. The issue is so much more complex than our politicians would lead us to believe.

I read that Neil DeGrasse Tyson recently suggested that we create a state of Rationalia, a place in which scientific reasoning is our guiding light. It would definitely be a welcome change from the emotionalism that presently reigns but I find it doubtful that it would work in all situations. Ultimately in cases like a murder trial or judgements about abortion or gun control there is no hard data or inarguable evidence to guide us. We cannot always determine the truth without a shred of doubt. Our humanity all too often puts the lie to even the best theories. People find ways to demonstrate that it can be lethal to put our faith in a single idea. Instead we have to approach every situation that we encounter with a realization that we are limited in what we know to be true. When we do that we open ourselves to possibilities that may allow us to rethink our own philosophies and consider opposing views. Being open minded is one of the most difficult states of mind to achieve but it is the place where we surely need to go.

I often think of a graduate class that I took in which I was required to work with a diverse group of individuals to create a single project. We were all bright and self assured which created a rather rocky beginning for our work. Each person was somewhat insistent that she was destined to be the leader in developing the group’s ideas. Eventually we managed to move beyond the norming and storming stage just enough to admit that no one person had all of the answers. In fact, as we began to unemotionally consider each of the points of view we all changed. We realized the great power in a variety of ideas. In the end we were the most dramatically struck by the wisdom of the one member that we had at first thought to be the most deficient in knowledge. I learned from that experience that the only thing that is definitely true is that there is so much that I don’t know for sure. Admitting this has changed my life. I have learned to pledge my allegiance to seeking the truth, not to joining a particular crowd or way of thinking. We have to be open to the possibility that what we have long believed may be wrong. I am optimistic that most good people agree with me. It is how we always seem to find the answers we are seeking. This I know for sure.

Dream Vacation

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Amboy, Kalifornien, USA, Hist. Route 66By this time tomorrow Mike and I will begin a twenty one day junket to California in our travel trailer along with two of our grandchildren. We are either excitingly adventurous or stunningly crazy. The potential for problems when pulling a tiny home thousands of miles behind a truck in abnormally hot weather is high. We’ve already experienced a number of unexpected kinks in our plans on short hops in the past. We’ve practiced our camping skills time and again. We have overcome violent thunderstorms, excruciatingly long roadwork delays, appliances that failed to work properly, attacks by tiny insects and a host of other difficulties that shall remain unspoken. Now comes the greatest test of all. We will either demonstrate our mettle or fail miserably.

Mike and I both have ancestors who braved the unknown to travel to a new world. The earliest among his arrived on the Mayflower. Mine were latecomers to Jamestown. Over decades and then centuries our family trees grew more and more complex and the branches took our people from Massachusetts to Nebraska, Virginia to Texas. The hardy souls who were our third, fourth and fifth great grandparents sailed across oceans in cramped quarters that make our trailer seem like a grand palace. They pulled wagons into dense forests and over mountainous roads. They lived without electricity or running water and somehow survived. They learned how to adapt to the environment and willed themselves to overcome hardship and disease. I suspect that we still bear some of their traits and thus will be just fine in our full hookup campsites with wifi, swimming pools, laundries and grocery stores.

Our plan is to pick up our youngest grandson William in San Antonio tomorrow along with his sister Abigail. Our first stop will be at South Llano River State Park for a good night’s rest before navigating through west Texas to Carlsbad Caverns. We plan to spend an entire day inside the magnificent cave that is truly one of the world’s wonders. From there our journey will take us to Santa Fe. In a stroke of luck we will be in that cultural mecca during the International Art Festival that occurs only once a year. We hope to venture to the Anasazi ruins of Chaco Canyon while we are nearby area as well. After three days and nights we will continue moving west to Sedona, a place that is reputed to be so beautiful that we may be tempted to forego the rest of our trip so that we might enjoy the scenery and the welcoming environment for a longer time than one evening. If our timing is perfect we may even go north for the afternoon to catch the sunset over the Grand Canyon, a sight that we have already experienced but which can never be seen too often. Continuing on we will spend a night in Needles, California within striking distance of our ultimate goal, Los Angeles. For the next seven days we will enjoy the multitude of scenery and entertainment in both LA and San Diego. The return trip will take us rather quickly down I-10 through Arizona and New Mexico until we reach Fort Davis where we will tarry for a time before returning to South Llano River in Junction and then back to San Antonio to drop off the kids before returning home. It will either be a dream vacation or a horrible nightmare. It all depends on the vagaries of nature and the unexpected behaviors of our fellow human beings, not to mention the multitude of possible problems that may occur with our mechanical equipment.

I laugh when I think of how soft we modern souls have become compared to our forefathers. On this day I often think of them and the incredible sacrifices that they made in the hopes of improving their lives. Passage across the ocean involved traveling thousands of miles with only scant knowledge of what lay ahead. It meant never seeing family and friends again. Every moment of every day was fraught with problems and no luxuries as we think of them today. Even the old homestead of my great grandparents spoke of the hardship and depravation that was their reality only one hundred years ago. We have advanced to an extent that truly boggles the mind. The pioneers who stretched out across this continent so long ago would be stunned to see us going from Texas to California and back in only twenty one days. They would think it amazing to learn that we can watch movies inside our “iron buggies” as we move rapidly down a concrete road and that we are rarely far from conveniences that they never considered even in their dreams.

The first colonists in the United States of America came to a rugged and dangerous land. So many of them died before they even took their steps off of the ships that brought them. Some grew and prospered and others merely subsisted. After two hundred years generations of people had lived here under the auspices of a king and a country that they had never seen. Being ruled from afar by a government that little understood their unique situations became untenable and they rebelled. Theirs was a revolution against one of the most powerful countries in the world and on July 4, 1776 they brashly declared their independence and intent to form a new kind of government. It was a moment that was viewed with skepticism in the halls of power around the world and yet somehow almost two hundred fifty years later our nation stretches from sea to sea across a continent that still seems to be working out the kinks of determining its identity.

We were guided by humans to this very moment in history when all the world looks to us either with profound admiration or seething hate. We understand our flaws and continue to strive to correct them. We are desirous of being a kind nation but wary of being too soft. We struggle to strike a balance between love of country and understanding of our role in a global community. The old questions and disagreements that plagued our founders stalk us even today. Still we are remarkable and I suspect that our ancestors would be quite proud of our accomplishments. They would no doubt caution us to proceed into the future with an eye to preserving the foundations upon which this nation was built while adapting to the realities of a time that they might never have imagined.

Somehow it seems fitting that Mike and I will be taking our grandchildren to see the wonders of this glorious country of ours during the month that sparked our independence. Wish us godspeed as we travel and help us to find McDonald’s for our breakfast, Walmart for our provisions and Starbucks to quench our thirst and keep us alert. We are venturing into a modern day version of the wild. Let us hope that when we think of our trip in the years to come we will remember it as our dream vacation.

  

Stay Just As You Are

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

diversityI remember a time when working for IBM meant that one would wear a pin stripe suit, white button down shirt, tie, and wing tip shoes. The world of computing has certainly changed. Now the dress code at most tech companies is generally quite casual, if there is one at all. In the twenty first century we have moved farther and farther away from conformity. The trend today is to be who you really are, not some preconceived notion of what is normal. Most of us have come to realize that the uniqueness of each human being is preferable to sameness and yet it can still be difficult for some among us to admit to how they truly wish to live without being abused by those who refuse to understand.

Human history has been filled with taboos as well as great freedoms. The Greek men who participated in the first Olympic games did so in the nude. The people who lived then believed the male body was quite beautiful and something to celebrate rather than hide. The spectators thought nothing of seeing their favorite champions perform feats of athletic prowess without benefit of clothing. It was simply the way things were. Somewhere through the centuries we became a bit more prudish and such a public display of the human form is not likely to occur again in a sporting venue for a very long time.

As people we developed mores and customs in an attempt to moderate behavior, many of which were derived from religious beliefs. While there are certain universal ideas such as a banning murder, the rules for mankind have often been far different from the way things are today. There have been societies ruled totally by women and those in which slavery was considered the norm. We have slowly but surely moved toward a world in which more and more people have the right to free expression with few limits. We claim to value life as something special and precious and yet there are still those who want to dictate how others should look and act and even feel.

I am a huge fan of Game of Thrones. My favorite character is Tyrion Lannister, a most unlikely hero, but a hero nonetheless. As portrayed by the Emmy winning actor Peter Dinklage, Tyrion is a dwarf whose father hated him because of his misshapen body and the fact that his birth resulted in the death of his mother. Through dent of intellect Tyrion walks tall and proudly among his supporters and enemies alike. Tyrion is so much more than just an amusing soul. He has the heart of a lion and somehow manages to evoke feelings that he is the best of his fair haired family members. He proves again and again that it is not in our appearance that we are ultimately judged but in the way that we approach the challenges of life. We cheer for him because he has learned how to live with the hand that was dealt him and he does so with panache.

When I was a child I had a neighbor who was confined to a wheelchair and spent hours inside an iron lung. I never knew exactly what disease had sidelined her so badly and I visited her because she rarely left home. She was barely able to hold up her head and when she talked she was difficult to understand. When I was with her I sometimes felt ever so slightly uncomfortable much as children sometimes do in such situations. One day I was stunned when she asked if I wanted to hear her play the piano. I nodded my assent but wondered how she would be able to make music given that she was unable to use either her hands or her feet. I watched in amazement as her mother placed a stylus in the girl’s mouth with which she struck the keys so rapidly that they made lovely sounds. I would not have been able to replicate the notes with my ten fingers. I was impressed by her skill and the determination that it must have taken to learn how to play with only a stick and the quick movements of her head. Somehow after her demonstration I saw her in a whole new light. She was not someone to pity. She was a warrior who had soared above a hideous disease. I admired her courage and realized just how strong she was.

Our society still bombards us with images of acceptable beauty. There seems to be little room for someone whose features are imperfect or whose body is too large or too small. The reality is that those considered to be the most gorgeous are often simply blessed by a combination of genes that give them an aura of near perfection. They have generally done nothing to earn the praise that they so often receive. So many people suffer because of defects over which they have no control. We still have cruel people in our midst who ridicule them and purposely inflict pain on them. What those of us who are beyond the superficial understand is that the most exquisite beauty lies inside the soul. Eleanor Roosevelt was one of the loveliest women who ever lived but she was made to feel inferior by members of her own family who worried that she was too unattractive to ever catch and keep a man. They failed to see that she was a stunning soul whose selfless goodness made her more incredible that the most physically attractive movie star.

We try to teach our young to be strong and brave and to follow their own hearts. We tell them that appearances don’t matter. We remind them that they should be in charge of the course of their lives. Sadly there are individuals who will bully and ridicule them if they diverge from what some see as the norm. They have to overcome not just their own shaky confidence but learn how to bear the slings and arrows of a segment of society that may unwilling to accept them just as they are.

Some of the greatest indignities and hurts that I have seen have been inflicted on people based solely on the color of their skin, their religion, their ethnicity or their sexual orientation. It angers and stuns me that we still have such prejudices alive and well in the twentieth century. I cannot imagine the level of self righteousness that it must take to be so judgmental. I have yet to find a perfect person and I suggest that we each be wary of throwing stones.

Fortunately most people are slowly but surely changing and becoming more and more accepting. I’d joyfully celebrate the day when we never again notice the various shades of our skin, the scars on our bodies or the different ways we choose to love. When we strip away all of the superficialities we all breathe the same air and have similar blood running through our veins. We are made of bone and muscle and cells that do little more than house our minds and our hearts and allow us to interact with one another. It’s time for each of us to stay just the way we are and to learn how to love without restrictions. I think we can do it if only we begin to try.