Category: Courage

My Beautiful Web

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

spider-web-01I find myself caught up in a web from which there is no escape. What is my sin? I am too willing to consider differing points of view. I have no strict adherence to a particular set of beliefs that put me in league with an identifiable group. I am not a joiner or someone who will fight to death for one philosophy. Words that are tossed at me include “wishy washy,” “weak-kneed,” “phony bipartisan,” “bogus,” “troll.” Because I refuse to go all in for any single political, philosophical or religious institution I am considered by many to be someone of shallow intellect whose thinking should either be ignored or thought to be humorously naive. The very thought of advocating diplomacy or compromise is anathema in today’s supercharged environment. I am not allowed to see life in shades of gray. I must instead side with one position or another. There is no middle ground. That place is for those who have no courage which translates to the fact that many think me a coward simply because I walk a fine line between one way of thinking and another. My thoughts cannot be neatly categorized and for that I am considered by many to be a freak.

I am neither all democrat nor all republican. I would find it difficult to wholeheartedly join either party and advocate fully for their respective platforms. I see problems and hypocrisy from both sides. Because I am so, my thoughts tend to be ignored by both. If I suggest that reality is far more complex than neat demarcations I incur the wrath of all. Still I steadfastly hold to my belief that the best days for our country have been those in which we set aside our differences and attempted to see the world from the eyes of others. Doing so does not mean surrender but rather an acceptance of the fact that there has been and will never be a time when everyone sees eye to eye on how to solve the many problems that face us.

I’ve learned over almost seven decades that there is rarely a quick fix that works seamlessly. Even the most well thought out solutions will still have kinks and detractors. We will never please everyone but if we demonstrate a willingness to consider the multitude of voices with sincere respect our final decisions may be better and more widely accepted. To buy in, people must be part of the bargaining process. That is something that we seem incapable of doing very well these days. Instead we are encouraged to be unyielding. Heroism is defined by a willingness to buck the system and infuriate the opposing side. Those like me who give the benefit of doubt are thought to be without backbone or resolve.

Each of us is a product of many different interactions with people and thoughts. We first learn from our parents and decide to either accept much of their thinking or to rebel and become the masters of our own ideas. As we read and intersect with others we hear of new philosophies and considerations all the while picking and choosing what best works for us. How we ultimately view life will be based on a lifetime of experiences and how we interact with them. All the while various groups and organizations will be vying for our attention and our hearts. Those who become wholeheartedly for or against particular causes will use their skills to entice us to become followers, soldiers in the fight to spread the word about the best way of seeing the world. For whatever reason I have always been loathe to join the ranks of any such groups because I invariably find areas of disagreement that make me too disloyal to be a member in good standing.

I suppose that my upbringing contributed to my stubborn personality. My mother wanted me to be an obedient child but she didn’t think to realize that I would see her modeling the heart of a dissenter. She always told me to think for myself and to remember that the people that I would encounter were no better or brighter than I was. It taught me to carefully consider what they were saying to me. She also took great pains to make me a very religious person in the mode of the Catholic Church but unwittingly sent me to a school that advocated the kind of critical thinking that taught me how to see the flaws in even the most perfectly executed arguments. My favorite past time was debating and analyzing. It became a way for me to navigate through life and become my own unique person. I was able to overcome barriers by maintaining a determination not to be victimized by the propaganda that so pervades every aspect of society today. Now I find that rather than being cherished, my tendency to ask questions and note that most institutions and philosophies have inherent flaws is viewed with suspicion and negativity. I make enemies on all sides.

I steadfastly maintain that we must return to the art of compromise but I seriously doubt that I will see much unity and willingness to to find bipartisan agreement in the next few years. Give and take has indeed been evidenced in my lifetime. More brilliant tacticians than I have been able to work toward the common good by inviting even those with whom they differed to take a seat at the bargaining table. They are the ultimate heroes of history and we should begin to celebrate their achievements lest we be fooled into believing that only those who are continually defiant are the courageous. Surely if we take great care and honor one another we can find common ground whether we are discussing healthcare, education, climate change or the economy. These are areas where the answers might be found in a continuum of ideas. It is in such undertakings that I will hold steadfastly to my beautiful web built from questions and diplomacy.

Children Will Listen

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

banner2For some this will be a day of celebration, for others disappointment. Forty four times we have inaugurated a new President of these United States and in each instance the transition of power from one man to another has been peaceful even if not enthusiastic. It is how our government was designed to work. Today the forty fifth man will utter the Oath of Office that has been repeated so many times according the Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution, “I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of the president of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

Those thirty five words invest an awesome responsibility into the hands of someone who is only a human being, which makes fulfilling the mandate even more difficult than any of us might ever imagine. Not everyone who has held the highest office in our land has been up to the job but in virtually every case our country has somehow muddled through even the most tempestuous times. I would like to believe that the majority of the men who sat in the White House have felt the full import of leading our country. It has been said that taking that oath is a sobering moment.

Donald J. Trump will soon be the president. He was not my choice but many of the individuals who have held that title were not the person for whom I voted. There have been twelve different heads of state in my lifetime starting with Harry Truman and ending with Barack Obama. Now Donald Trump will be a member of that very exclusive group. I honestly wish him well because if he fails we will all feel the effects of his ineptitude. For the sake of our country I pray that he will embrace his duties in a spirit of considering all of us. I want him to see his job as one of serving each and every man, woman and child without reference to party affiliation. I hope that he will rise above partisanship and that his motives in making any decisions will be based on careful consideration of what is right and just for we, the people. I wish more than anything that he will be able to set his own selfish needs aside and that he will work with humility and a realization that nothing that he does should ever be about legacy or popularity. It should always be based on the oath that he has sworn to follow with God and mankind as his witnesses.

I pray that Donald Trump will be safe from harm. Violence toward our leaders has never lead to solutions of our problems. There are proper avenues for voicing our concerns. Our system of checks and balances will function well as long as all of us remember how necessary that way of operating has always been. It will also serve us to give President Trump credit when he does something right rather than being against his every move and utterance. We have had so much of that type of behavior for such a long time and we have accomplished little more than alienating ourselves from one another. We have in many ways stagnated because of politics based more on winners and losers than what is needed for the progress and vitality of our nation. It’s time for more of the kind of profiles in courage that President John Kennedy lauded in his Pulitzer Prize winning book that told of individuals who bravely stood up for what was best for the nation.

It is difficult for me to be particularly excited about this day and yet the very fact that we are able to pass the baton of leadership from one man to another in such a peaceful manner is cause for joy. I celebrate that I have been and will be able to assert my beliefs without worry of being silenced. There are few places in the world where that is a  reality. I don’t actually feel that we have to make America great again because I think that it is already one of the most wonderful places to live on the planet even with its issues. Our goal should simply be to continue to make it better and to realize that such a task is never truly complete.

We all know that there are a multitude of difficulties that we face as a nation. I’m not nearly naive or idealistic enough to believe that we will do so without major disagreements. It is virtually impossible to please everyone in a family much less a country as populated and diverse as ours. Still I desire more than anything for our leaders to demonstrate the wisdom and nobility that is needed to understand and bind our wounds. We citizens must do our parts as well by helping to dispel so much of the anger and divisiveness that has characterized our society for far too long.

There is a song in the musical Into the Woods called Children Will Listen which seems quite appropriate on this day as we watch our government at work:

How do you say to your child in the night?

Nothing’s all black, but then nothing’s all white.

How do you say it will be all right

When you know that it might not be true?

What do you do?

Careful the things you say

Children will listen

Careful the things you do

Children will see and learn

Children may not obey, but children will listen

Children will look to you for which way to turn

To learn what to be.

Careful before you say, “Listen to me.”

I do not and never have pretended to know all the answers. Audacity and self-righteousness can be lethal. It is all right to admit that we may be wrong about certain things and that answers are not always as clear as we might want them to be. To tackle the issues that lie before us will require a willingness to listen to one another just as the children listen to us with an eye to remembering that what we do today will affect our little ones tomorrow. As the song says, the spell we cast may last past what we can see. Let us all pledge to encourage our leaders, especially our new president, to make choices that are in keeping with liberty and justice for all. God bless and be with the United States of America. The children will be listening.

We Are Our Own Narrators

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

come-with-me-7-2011_1-1024x671There is a certain irony that my grandson Jack performed in his last musical with the varsity theater group at his school this past weekend and that the play was Into the Woods. The piece was wildly popular on Broadway in the nineteen eighties about the time that Jack’s mother was ending her own days in high school. It is a profound story of relationships and the consequences of the choices that we make. It is a study of the fine line between childhood and becoming a true adult. Nothing is as it really seems or as simple as we would like things to be.

Jack played both the narrator and the mysterious man, a rather fitting dual role whose significance for me he may not fully understand until I explain. I found myself enthralled by the brilliance of his performance and his ability to nuance the subtleties and complexities of the parts. All in all Jack and his co-actors ultimately moved me to both tears and reflection which is as the authors of the play no doubt intended. 

Jack is named for a man that he never met, my father who would have been his great grandfather. The two Jacks are far more alike than almost anyone might suspect. My grandson like his long dead ancestor is a kind of renaissance man, someone who is as comfortable in a world of mathematics and science as in the domain of artistry. Like my father he is a sensitive soul who often finds himself questioning the ways of the world. He has so many talents and interests that he might follow a variety of paths in life just as was the case with his namesake. Both are known for looking at the world from many different angles. At the same time they might both be described as having a kind of innocent boyishness and joy of living that has made them attractive to others.

My father Jack loved to read and he passed that hobby down to me beginning when I was very young. He purchased two volumes of fairytales that he read faithfully to me. Those stories created a secret bond between the two of us and kept his memory alive long after he had died.

At first my thoughts of my father were romantic and childish much like the first act of Into the Woods and the stories that he read to me. I missed him terribly and often found myself having foolish dreams that he would one day return to guide and comfort me. Sadly reality never really works like that as is so profoundly revealed the second act of Into the Woods. There comes a moment when we all realize that we must cross over from the fantasies of our childhood into the world of reality. We learn that each of the choices that we make have consequences not only for ourselves but also for the people around us. We can only rely on our parents for so long and then we must face the fact that as we make our own ways we will undoubtedly make mistakes just as they did.

My grandfather was a kind of narrator, just like Jack was in his school play. Grandpa was the father of my father Jack. He often told stories of his own childhood and related history as he had lived it. He gave me great comfort any time that I was feeling down. He was a living link to my own father. His stories were not as lovely as the fairytales of my youth. He spoke to me with honesty because I was an adult and he understood that I must face even dark stories. He admitted to overcoming alcoholism and enduring profound depression and loneliness before encountering my grandmother and starting a family of his own. Like the songs in Into the Woods he found ways of bringing humor to situations that were actually quite tragic. He had developed a wisdom that allowed him to realize that sometimes we laugh and cry at the same time. Sometimes we are both frightened and curious. He had lived long enough to see that no person or situation is usually all good or all bad. He taught me that life is complex and we can neither run away from it nor tackle it alone. Like the mysterious man that grandson Jack also portrayed in his play, my grandfather had faced up to his own demons and conveyed to me the wisdom that he had learned from those battles.

I suspect that my grandson Jack has little idea how much his musical affected me. I thought of all of the times when I wanted to run away from the very adult responsibility of caring for my mother that was thrust upon me even before I had begun to explore the world. I had believed that she was supposed to be my rock and foundation but instead our roles were often reversed. I found myself making silly wishes with regard to our difficult relationship when she was very sick. Time again I had to rely on the kindness of others to help me through the most trying situations. I learned that I was much stronger than I had ever imagined and that I really didn’t need a narrator to tell me how my story should go.

I want to share my thoughts about his play and his role in it with my grandson Jack. I want to tell him the tale of his family thus far and how we all worked together and with an odd assortment of friends in reaching this day and time. I want him to know that we have seen triumph and tragedy, jubilation and bitter disappointment. Ours has been a very imperfect family but somehow we have managed to keeping traveling in and out of the woods, overcoming giants and wolves. We have been as human as the characters in the musical in which Jack had a starring role.

Hopefully my grandson will have learned more from his acting experience than just his lines and the melodies that he performed. If he reflects carefully he will see that there is an important message for each of us contained in the wittiness of the words and songs that he and his friends executed so very well. I wish for him to reach the depth of wisdom that is to be found in this musical that is not so much for children as for the child that lives inside all adults.

I suspect that Jack does indeed understand. He would not have been as convincing in his acting if he had not realized the power of the message that he was conveying through his expressions and the tenor of his voice. It is a good way for him to step out of the world of children and onto the pathway that will lead him into the adventure that he will one day call his life. I hope he knows now that he and only he is the teller of his story. How it proceeds and where it ultimately ends is up to him. It is an exciting journey that will not be without its misdirection and loss but will also bring him the realization of some of the most wonderful wishes that enter his head in the quiet of night. Along the way he will have unexpected encounters with people who will both help and hinder him. If he has truly learned his lessons well he will be ready for whatever comes. He will realize that all of us have a once upon a time that is only as lovely as we work to make it be. The magic is not in witches or beans or potions but within our own minds.

Love Is Still The Answer

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

two-people-holding-hands-connection-love-vulnerability1I was nineteen years old that April when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. died. I felt as though I myself had been attacked by a bullet when I heard the news of his assassination. I was shocked, devastated. He was and remains my hero, a larger than life figure who made a lasting imprint on my life when I was only tentatively entering adulthood. That was almost fifty years ago and in the years that followed his murder I have lived through a lifetime and become what society views as an old woman. Still the memories that I have of Dr. King are as fresh and vibrant as if they had occurred only yesterday. I cherish the fact that I was old enough to remember the world as it was before he so courageously sought to change it. For it is in knowing the impact of his influence that I am able to understand why he is perhaps the most important figure of the twentieth century.

I am a child of the south who saw the injustice of segregation. I used to ride a bus to downtown Houston with my mother from our home just a block away from what was then called South Park Boulevard. I enjoyed those adventures on public transportation far more than simply jumping into our car and riding to our favorite shopping spots. My mother had grown up taking a bus into town from her childhood house near Navigation. She regularly jumped aboard the carrier that transported her to shopping, movies and her first paid jobs. It felt natural to her to take a bus to get around the city rather than to fight traffic and so we often waited on the corner until the great big conveyance stopped to let us on.

There were not usually many people on the bus when we first stepped aboard but by the time that we reached our downtown destination it was packed. Back then I was only five or six years old and thought little about the seating arrangements that were literally dictated by law. There was an invisible line of demarcation separating those of us with white skin from our fellow Houstonians with darker complexions. They mostly joined us on our journey as we got closer to downtown, usually around Scott Street, obediently moving to the seats in the back, quietly enduring their humiliation.

As a child I was curious to know why such traditions existed but the way in which my mother would silence my inquiries told me that there was something secret and painful about the situation that I was not deemed old enough to understand. I remember sneaking peeks at my fellow travelers and wondering why we needed to be set apart from one another. I was still an obedient child and dared not question my elders but the whole thing seemed rather silly to me.

Our city was filled with shameful rules that prohibited those same folks who sat at the back of the bus from eating in the restaurants where we enjoyed lunch. There were separate water fountains and bathrooms for them as well. I didn’t understand but I complied with the unjust directions while questions began swirling inside my head even back then. I suppose that I have always been a bit of an old soul and my five year old mind felt the wrongness of what was happening even while the adults around me seemed not to even notice.

I came of age in the nineteen sixties, turbulent times defined by war, violence and open protest and questioning. Television had become a commonplace way of viewing world events on a nightly basis. I was educated by nuns and priests from the north whose points of view were often more radical than those of the southerners who were my neighbors and fellow citizens. I had eagerly watched the civil rights movement unfold from the summer when I took my last vacation with my father before he died. I was seven then and those weeks were punctuated by an awakening within my mind. I had overheard discussions between my father and grandfather about integration efforts in schools in Arkansas. I saw African Americans mingling with whites during our trip to Chicago as though there was nothing more natural. Somehow I realized that the way of doing things in my hometown were wrong and I audaciously announced my feelings to my parents who urged me to be cautious in pronouncing such radical ideas to strangers who might not take so kindly to my thinking.

By the time I was a teenager my sense of justice was full blown and I was no longer afraid to speak my mind. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had become the embodiment of all of the values that I held dear. He was a hero of enormous magnitude in my mind. His was a message of love and tolerance. He was noble and brave and seemed to follow the teachings and example of Jesus Himself. Little did I truly understand the depth of this remarkable man. I worshipped him only superficially without knowing how human he was and how difficult and dangerous it was for him to assume the mantle of leadership in a cause that would ultimately lead him to his death. I would be nearer to the age that he was when he died before I would truly understand his greatness.

I have read many books and stories about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was thrust into a battle for justice that he did not seek. He was given a gift of oratory that was able to put the frustrations of his brothers and sisters into unforgettable words. Time and again he had to pray for the strength to endure the hatred that followed and threatened him wherever he went. He might have turned away from his destiny but somehow he soldiered on again and again. Always he spoke of unity and tolerance and the power of love. The more I learned about him, the larger his influence loomed in my mind. He was undoubtedly one of the the greatest Americans of all time, deserving of a place in history alongside the likes of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.

Martin Luther King was struck down before his work was finished but he had accomplished so much. Young people today can’t even begin to imagine the horror of segregation that I witnessed and thankfully didn’t have to endure simply because I was born with white skin. We have truly come a long way from those days but there is still divisiveness in many circles. While it should not make the least bit of difference, there are still those who make judgements about their fellow humans based only on the color of skin or texture of hair. A residue of the kind of hatefulness that prompted the assassination of Dr. King remains even almost fifty years later. When, I wonder, will the ugliness be completely eradicated from our thinking and what will it take to get us to a place where there are no more Dylan Roofs who slaughter innocents peacefully going about their lives at church?

I am almost thirty years older than Dr. King was when he died. He never got the opportunity to see the changes that I have seen. He did not live to witness the first African American President of the United States. He never realized the ultimate power of his legacy. He was instead quite weary on the day that he died. His energy and enthusiasm were severely taxed because there was still so much more work to be done. He experienced profound agony in understanding that man’s inhumanity to man is an evil that must be overcome one person and one situation at a time in an almost endless cycle. Still he held fast to a belief in possibilities, reminding us again and again that “love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.” He fully believed those words as do I to this very day.

Our world is in a state of tumult once again. Our young in particular are questioning the way we do things just as our children have throughout history. They look at our society with fresh eyes and wonderment. They are searching for answers to the questions that daunt them and redress to the unfairness that they see. I pray that they too will find a hero as magnificent as mine. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was imperfect like those who founded our country but he rose above his fears and his flaws to lead us in a cause that was far bigger than himself. He did so with grace and sacrifice and showed us what we can accomplish if we put love at the forefront of our lives.

The Crossing

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

children_crossingI stood at the corner just as I was told to do. It was early morning and the students were arriving on foot, in cars and on buses. I liked being all by myself because I was not yet fully awake. My post allowed me to enjoy the morning sunshine and organize my thoughts without the interruptions of the early risers who always seemed to be so boisterous and happy at an ungodly hour. It had been a last minute request from the principal. He needed to be certain that someone would be watching over the kids from that vantage point and he specifically wanted that person to be me. Luckily I had prepared my classroom for the day’s work the afternoon before so I wasn’t bothered at all by the unusual assignment.

I smiled quietly at the passersby. It was actually fun to watch the neighborhood on parade. It was a poor part of town but the people were vibrant and hopeful that theirs would be the last generation to know poverty. They sent their children to school full of dreams and most of the youngsters were responding well. Sadly gangs had infiltrated the area and often made plays for the same kids that the parents were working so hard to protect. Many of the leaders of those groups were my students. They generally behaved well in the classroom, attempting to fly under the radar lest they find troubles that might interfere with their after school work of plying illegal activities. Now and again one of them would be caught and sent to juvenile detention or even prison depending on age. I got along well with them and often let them know that I worried about them.

On that morning I saw many of them arriving at school as though their lives were totally normal. They waved at me as they passed and I felt secure in the knowledge that they might be safe for the next few hours while they were under our care.

I understood that danger was always a possibility. I had witnessed violent fights in the hallways that ended badly for those who became involved. I had talked students out of pursuing brutal encounters more than once. I knew that most of my kids were good-hearted and willing to defer to my wishes. Sadly they all too often found trouble once they left at the end of the day.

I liked standing at that crossing on that morning. It was a sunny day with almost perfect spring weather. I was in my element, ready to take on the challenges of the day whatever they may be. My time as a sentry was uneventful just as I had expected. I reported back to the secretary to assure her that all had gone well.

She sighed with relief when she heard my peaceful account, revealing that a tipster had alerted the school that a drive by shooting was planned for that corner on that very day. I wasn’t sure how to react to the disturbing news. I was certainly happy that nothing had happened but I wondered why I had not been informed earlier of the possibilities. I was stunned that I had been left all alone on that crossing when there was knowledge that I might witness or be victimized by violence. I laughed weakly as though I didn’t quite believe what she was saying and silently heaved a sigh of relief.

The more I thought about the incident, the more convinced I became that I had perhaps forestalled the plan because it may have been one of my students who had hatched the plot. Perhaps the perpetrator saw me and decided not to get me involved. I was still quite worried to think that such thoughts had ever occurred to anyone even if the entire incident had been nothing more than a prank. Knowing that innocents and I had been so close to danger bothered me for many weeks.

My situation became the subject of dark humor among my colleagues. We had learned to laugh at even the most dire events. It was our way of surviving much like the doctors and nurses of M.A.S.H. teams. One of my coworkers told her husband about what had happened and after that he showed up in his police car every single time I was on duty. He would flip on his siren for a few seconds and tease me about potential crime. I soon enough figured out that he was watching over me without drawing attention to his kindness. We shared that private joke even though I think we both knew that his patrol was deadly serious.

So many of my former students ended up in the penitentiary. I always cried when I learned of their fate. It was such a waste of intellect and talent and basically good souls. I knew that immaturity and a need to belong had most often prompted their thug life. I preferred hearing the stories of those who had managed to find their way out of the maelstrom. There were many who ultimately found success as firefighters, police officers and soldiers in the military. They belonged to new brotherhoods that gave them hope. Some of them came back to tell me of their success. I was moved by the hard work and determination that they had exerted to set themselves free.

I can still envision that morning at that school crossing. I’d like to think that all of our children will always be as protected and safe as they were on that day. Sadly the realities tell me that there are still so many innocents who become victims of poverty, ignorance and warring gangs. In Chicago the problem is so horrible that we have difficulty even knowing what to do to stop the violence. It is an awesome task filled with danger but we have to try.

One of my former students who seemed to be inextricably tangled with local gangs managed to eventually extricate himself. When I asked him how he found the courage to walk away from the ugliness of it all he explained that it was faith that brought him through. The faith that his parents had in him even at the lowest point made him realize that he already belonged to a loving family and he did not need the outside forces that taunted and tempted him. The faith of teachers who saw the positive aspects of his personality and intelligence helped him to understand his own potential. The faith of the members of his family’s church who prayed for him even when he seemed lost convinced him that there was a power greater than the thugs with whom he had allied himself. The faith of an assistant principal who refused to allow him to throw his life away made him see that he had never been alone. Ultimately he felt the power of that faith and began to believe in himself as well. He turned his life around and left the ugliness of the streets for good.

Each of us has a responsibility to our young. Sometimes it begins by being present at a crossing where they begin to learn of the strength that they have within themselves. We cannot simply give up on them because they have made mistakes. It is with the weakest among us that we have the most potential to change the world. Each of us has to try. We never really know how important a simple act of kindness or encouragement may impact a human soul. We need to be there to see them walk safely across.