Category: Courage

Passion

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

birdWDF_1076070I’m a huge fan of the Google Doodles. I’ve learned some fairly interesting bits of trivia from those imaginative drawings and I get quite excited whenever I see one. A few days ago the featured story was about a woman named Phoebe Snetsinger. Like me, it is unlikely that most people would have known anything about this woman unless they were avid birdwatchers. It seems that Ms. Snetsinger was known as a “big lister” in the birding crowd because she had managed to sight more than 8400 different species of birds out of the ten thousand that are said to exist. Only a handful of individuals even come close to her feat. I wanted to learn more about this woman because my son-in-law and his father love to watch for birds wherever they travel and a teaching colleague of mine enjoys that hobby as well. What I learned about Phoebe was fascinating.

Phoebe Snetsinger seemingly led the good life. Her father had made a fortune as a brilliant advertising executive and she married a man who as a researcher at Purina also earned a hefty salary. She herself had always wanted to be a scientist but instead she settled into the routine of a 1950s suburban housewife. It wasn’t long before she was feeling quite bored but these were the days when women were expected to embrace traditional roles and for a time she did her duties. All of that changed when something extraordinary happened. Phoebe was diagnosed with melanoma and told that she likely had less than a year to live. Suddenly she knew exactly how she wanted to spend her last days on earth and she embarked on an adventurous plan to see as many birds as possible before she died.

Phoebe threw herself into birding with abandon, traveling all over the world in a quest to find even the most exotic species. She didn’t die from melanoma but she endangered herself over and over again while following her dream. She once broke her wrist and her knee while pursuing the rarest birds on earth. She even endured the horror of being raped by five men in New Guinea. Nothing seemed to stop her, not even the melanoma that eventually returned. On one occasion she visited Rwanda just before the warring genocide began and joked with friends that she had just barely made it out alive.

Her personality and determination were bigger than life. She shattered the conventions so often placed on women, shockingly missing both her mother’s funeral and her daughter’s wedding, no doubt causing tongues to wag. She was on a mission and the only thing able to deter her was ultimately her death, not from cancer, but from a car crash in Madagascar. Had she lived she would have been 85 years old this month.

Most people have neither the time, money nor inclination to follow such a fanatical path as Pheobe Snetsinger did but my guess is that those who share her love of birds might dream of being able to replicate her accomplishments. My son-in-law has a family and multiple responsibilities but I suspect that given the resources to do so he would hit the road tomorrow. My teacher friend is now retired and she and her husband spend most of their time seeking birds and photographing them. I for one look forward to viewing her lovely photos each day and imagine how much fun she is having now that she is no longer ruled by a clock everyday. She is just adventurous enough that she too might love having the means to expand her bird watching territory into more exotic places.

Passion is a grand motivator but sometimes we quell those stirrings inside our minds so that we might “do the right thing.” Literature is replete with stories of humans who embarked on grand adventures and those who slowly died performing the duties that were expected of them. It is the rare person who is able to unloose the chains that keep them ordinary and there is usually a high price to pay for doing so. Society tends to judge those who take extraordinary risks with a negative slant, particularly when they are women. Such it was for Phoebe Snetsinger who was generally only known in a world that most interested her, but within that circle she became a rockstar. Phoebe had the good luck of being wealthy. Having money to pursue one’s interests is always a plus. It’s difficult to travel the world and thumb one’s nose at the naysayers on a modest income. Being rich has always has its perks but it is not the only route to success and even the wealthy are not without their problems.

Phoebe Snetsinger was remarkable for her willingness to endure hardships and make real sacrifices while seeking some of the rarest birds in the world. Much like the most notable individuals of history she understood that greatness does not come from doing something halfway. Thomas Edison might never have invented the light bulb had he worked on his invention only in his spare time. Galileo was willing to give his very freedom in defense of his scientific theories. The very best among us whether they be scientists, athletes, writers, educators, business persons, mathematicians, doctors or artists are devoted to their craft. It is passion that propels them forward and keeps them focused even in difficult times.

I have counseled many students who were confused over how to plan their futures. Again and again I have urged them to think about what they really love to do and then craft a life around following their dreams. The happiest people that I have ever met are the ones who ultimately do what their hearts tell them to do. My brother who announced at the age of three that he wanted to be a mathematician is still joyfully doing his advanced calculations to navigate the International Space Station. Another brother who wanted to be a firefighter followed his instincts over the protests of adults who thought they knew better and he has had a glorious career. I can tell countless stories of individuals who found profound happiness simply by living out their passions. At the same time I know others who never quite found contentment because they allowed themselves to be misdirected from what they saw as their real places in life.

We should all be inspired by the story of Phoebe Snetsinger. She was a living example of someone who was a true warrior. She refused to allow a deadly diagnosis to keep her down. She ignored the customs of her time and instead followed her own instincts. She focused her time on what was important to her. She ultimately became one of the biggest of the birding big listers proving that it is never too late to fulfill the dreams that call to us. Each of us wants to leave a mark on the world. We want to be significant even if only in a small way. Listen to the voices that are telling you how to become the best version of yourself. Take the first steps and then don’t look back. Bring passion to your endeavors every day and never be afraid. Nobody knows your purpose better than you do. Follow your heart and it will surely lead you to the places that you were meant to be.   

An Anniversary

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Ellen and DanielFive years ago my retirement and my mother’s death coincided. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way but life always seems to be full of surprises. Just when I thought that I would be free to give my mom more of my company and attention she left this earth. It was a shocking turn of events and it took me a great deal of time and reflection to finally accept that the timing had been just as it was meant to be. Hers was a faith-filled ending to a life well lived. She fully understood what was happening and was expectantly ready to meet her God.

I suspect that she was tired and worn out from shouldering so much responsibility for so long. At a very young age she had become both mother and father to me and my brothers. She taught me how to cook and sew and played catch with the boys. She had to be our nurse, our disciplinarian, our source of comfort and security. Somehow she found ways to stretch a budget that was so thin that most women would have felt defeated. Instead she teased that she had a secret money tree and we need not ever worry. She bragged that we never missed a meal and that was quite true, but we often ate beans for dinner and learned to enjoy them as much as a juicy steak. She worked during the day and went to college at night, often staying up so late that she existed on very little sleep.

Just when her world appeared to be settling into a normal routine she was stricken with the symptoms of bipolar disorder that would stalk her for the rest of her life. There were times when her illness made it impossible for her to even leave her home. Her emotional pain created physical illnesses that were as real as if she had come down with a disease. Somehow she always fought her way back and began anew. There was never anything easy about her existence and yet she never complained. Instead she counted her blessings with a kind of radiant joy and often spoke of how good God had always been to her. That optimism was with her on the day of her death. She seemed more concerned with comforting her family than dwelling on the end that she knew was certain to come. She pointed to heaven and smiled. She knew that she was going home.

I felt a void in my life for many months after her death. I suspect that I was no more ready to end my career as an educator than I was to accept that she was really gone. I needed something to do each day and I was unable to find anything satisfying. While I fought hard to entertain myself I actually found that having those quiet hours in my home were just the therapy that I needed. I was able to look back on my time with my mother and forgive myself for the things that I should have done for her but never did. I was able to reconcile my thoughts and begin to focus on the positive aspects of my relationship with her. With the help of friends and family I slowly began to heal and adjust to my new life. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable and thoughts of my mother became joyful rather than sad.

Eventually I began to do the things that made me happiest. I went camping with Mike, tutored students who were experiencing difficulties with mathematics and best of all I began to write. I found great solace in my new hobbies, particularly in the exercise of writing the story that my mother and brothers and I had shared. I realized that my mother never truly left us. Her spirit is present in us and our children and grandchildren. I see snatches of her in each person, even those who never got to meet her. I revel in the love that she created and nurtured for all of her life. I feel certain that she is still with us when we party and celebrate. I will always be convinced that she sent my sister-in-law Allison to us, and most especially to my brother Pat. I think of how excited she would have been to know that five more great grandchildren have been born since she left. She so adored babies and would have been delighted beyond measure to see those little tots. I think that she would celebrate in knowing that her grandson Daniel has found a loving partner with whom to spend the rest of his life.

I wonder sometimes if she ever realized how much people loved her. We humans have a bad habit of hiding our emotions when we should share them. It would be so grand if we were to let people know how much they mean to us. The accolades heaped upon her since her death five years ago are too numerous to list. I hope that she is hearing them from her heavenly perch.

My mother is greatly responsible for the person that I have become. She demonstrated how to live by example. She taught me what is most important in this world and it has never been money or power or privilege. People and God were always at the center of her universe and she treasured them every day of her life. If there really is such a thing as saints then my mom most assuredly is among their ranks.

I’m still unable to spend a day accomplishing nothing without feeling strong pangs of guilt. I believe that I should serve a higher purpose at least until my body or mind sideline me. Writing is my favorite pastime but whenever I have the opportunity to help a child with mathematics or any other aspect of academics I feel especially elated. I suspect that I was always meant to be a teacher. My mother was the first to show me how to touch hearts and minds. The natural abilities that I seem to possess came directly from her. Those talents have been the most rewarding gift that I might have ever received.

Time flies when I’m having fun but I suppose that I will never forget that day of five years ago when it became apparent that my mother was going to die. I have played her last hours inside my brain over and over again. With time and distance I have been able to exalt in the glory of her passing. Everyone should be as blessed as she and our family were on that day and every day since.

I expect to spend this day quietly. I’ve got a date to take my eldest grandson out to lunch and I’ll be preparing for an upcoming trip to Boston. Life goes on just as it did after my father died. We grieve and then adjust and learn how to carry on. It is the way of the world. My mother showed me how to walk through the world with grace and optimism. I still miss her from time to time but I feel her spirit in everything that I do.

(Note that the photo included with this essay was taken only one month before my mother died from lung cancer. She always loved to dance. She told me that she felt very dizzy when she danced with her grandson Daniel but he kept her steady and she was quite happy and proud that she had that final spin around the dance floor with him.)

A Determined and Beautiful Soul

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Angelo13335985_1334593716556631_590632749242879864_n (1)I graduated from Mt. Carmel High School fifty years ago. When I left I never really looked back. Like most teenagers my four years in secondary education had been both the best and the worst of times. I have warm memories of friendships and educational explorations but also painful thoughts of hurts and slights. Fortunately the good far outweighed the bad and the things that I learned there served me well in the years, then decades that followed.

I was always quite proud of my school because at the time that I was there it was an institution marked by academic rigor and excellence. Over time it began to lose its luster and enrollment dwindled. It remained in a location that was hardly conducive to attracting students whose parents were willing to pay large sums of money for their children’s edification. As a Catholic school with little or no support from the Diocese of Galveston Houston it struggled to keep up with even minimal repairs and to maintain a faculty willing to work for ridiculously low wages. The time came when the school was no longer able to sustain itself and it had to close its doors, reinventing itself as a charter school within the Houston Independent School District. It became a ghost of its former self known as Mt. Carmel Academy now located in an old church building a few blocks away.

The ediface where I had blossomed into a citizen of the world stood on Mt. Carmel Drive in ruins and there was talk of tearing it down until a visionary named Father T.J. Martinez envisioned a new life for the battered place. He realized that it would be a perfect home for a Cristo Rey High School along the lines of others that had been created in a network that spans all the United States. With a never ending imagination and an uncanny knack for fundraising Father Martinez transformed the place into a dazzling urban environment. In 2008 Cristo Rey Jesuit Preparatory High School of Houston opened its doors for the first time. It’s focus was on economically disadvantaged students who might not otherwise have the opportunity to receive a rigorous education coupled with a foundation of religious teaching and social justice.

I had heard about Cristo Rey and followed its progress with interest, particularly because its location was directly connected with my past. When I retired five years ago I found myself foundering a bit because I wasn’t quite ready to live a life of leisure. I still wanted to contribute something significant to society and so I found myself searching for some type of part time employment. When I mentioned my quest on Facebook a former colleague who was working at Cristo Rey told me that the school needed someone to tutor students in mathematics. I met with the principal and felt an immediate connection with the her and the organization’s mission. Before long I was driving back to my old digs three afternoons each week.

My first year was somewhat slow and I often waited in a classroom for an hour or so with no takers for my skills. By the second year, however, a group of students attended with regularity, sometimes bringing friends who were struggling with Algebra or Geometry. The numbers of young people that I was helping began to swell and among them was a young man named Angelo Vela.

Angelo is an affable young man with an infectious smile and a loyal group of friends. His freshman year at Cristo Rey had been highly successful for him but things had begun to go awry after the death of his grandmother who had lived with him and his mother. He had attempted to work to help ease some of his family’s financial burdens but found himself feeling chronically exhausted and eternally behind in meeting his obligations. He struggled to complete assignments and began to feel overwhelmed with academics, something that had never before happened to him. With a unflagging determination to recoup, he faithfully met with me whenever I was at the school and on many occasions worked late into the night. Before big tests or exams he often requested that I come more than just three days in a week and I generally deferred to his wishes because I was struck by his determination.

Over the next three years I got to know Angelo well. I realized that he possesses a keen intellect and a charisma that naturally draws people to him. Mostly though I saw that he has a genuine interest in people and in helping them to solve their problems and find their true identities. He is also a leader and someone who is unafraid to take risks. I became convinced over time that he is definitely going to be someone who will have a positive impact on the world because he literally never gives up.

Angelo once hunted me down when I was on a camping trip in west Texas during spring break. He had found an opportunity for summer learning and he needed to quickly procure a reference so that he might meet the application deadline. He had attempted to contact several people with no success until his texts reached me. I was more than happy to vouch for him because I had seen his earnest nature and grit up close. He ultimately became a finalist for the spot but lost to another student. Instead of brooding, Angelo learned from the experience and moved on to his next conquest.

Angelo Vela graduated from Cristo Rey High School this past Saturday. He sent me a unique invitation that he had created from his heart. He included photos and through texts expressed a sincere desire that I share his triumphant moment with him. Of course I was thrilled to go. I understood the hours of grueling effort that Angelo had put into achieving the first of the many goals that he has for himself. I was as proud of him as I have ever been. It made my heart sing to watch him walking across the stage. He had shown his strength of character and had proven his doubters wrong.

Angelo plans to attend the University of Houston in the fall. I suspect that he and I will continue to stay in contact. I have a vested interest in his future success. Those of us who know him best realize that he has yet to reveal the true extent of his many talents but they will surely become more and more apparent in the coming years.

I have a deep respect for Angelo Vela and I am particularly grateful that he gave me such wonderful purpose at a time in my life when I had thought that my days of influence were long gone. I wish him all the best at he enters college along with his friends who also attended my tutoring sessions on so many afternoons.

Congratulations Angelo, Angel, Lauren, Yolanda, and Taylor, my very favorite tutees. You have all demonstrated your willingness to work hard, ask questions and put forth whatever extra effort is needed to meet your goals. I look forward to watching you in the exciting days ahead.

Beloved of God

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ali1My early years at the University of Houston were marked by a highly charged political atmosphere. I was there during the height of the Vietnam War when young men the same age as I was had to register for the draft. Attending college gave them a temporary deferment as long as they were full time students, and made passing grades that allowed them to continue to progress toward a degree within a reasonable timeline. Back then the intensity and stress normally associated with the college experience was exacerbated by the threat of losing that deferment and being called to serve in the army. For many avoiding the draft was simply a matter of not wanting to be forced to serve. For others it was a matter of principle, namely that they did not want to participate in a war that they thought to be unwarranted and unjust. Others were strict pacifists who would not have wanted to fight under any circumstances.

The university was the site of protests and political speakers on a regular basis and for those of us who were against the war there was ample opportunity to meet with like-minded individuals to voice our concerns. I had analyzed the situation and found little reason for the United States to be involved in the conflict unfolding in Vietnam. It had begun as a civil war between opposing political factions and ideologies and the United States had originally only intended to provide support to the democratic government of the south. By 1968, however, our nation had become hopelessly mired in the fighting with our youth being sent a world away to a war whose purpose few really understood. By the time that I was a college student the country was hopelessly divided over the issue of whether or not we should be sending troops to Vietnam. The divisions would ultimately destroy the reputation of President Lyndon B. Johnson and show its ugliest side in riots at the 1968 Democrat convention in Chicago. 

While my concerns about the political atmosphere of our country often outweighed my interest in my studies, I was only peripherally involved in the student efforts to voice our point of view. I knew many of the key players in the anti-war movement at school but mostly just attended meetings and went to hear speakers who came to our campus. I was particularly excited when I learned that members of the student government had secured a visit from Muhammed Ali and that he would speak at an informal gathering inside the Cougar Den. I knew that I had to be there.

Back then the Cougar Den was little more than a wooden shack nestled under a grove of trees to the left of the Ezekiel Cullen building. It was a dark, noisy, smoke-filled and always crowded room under the best of circumstances. On the day of Muhammad Ali’s visit it was a madhouse as students eagerly jammed inside hoping to get a glance of the greatest boxer in history. When a good friend and I arrived we realized that we would be lucky if we were even able to hear him speak much less actually see him. Fortunately fate intervened on our behalf. My friend was an incredibly beautiful and popular coed and as we were jockeying for a decent place to stand we encountered an officer of the Young Republican Club who had a huge crush on her. He offered to take us both upstairs to the organization’s headquarters where we might stand along the railing and watch the proceedings from a bird’s eye view. We eagerly followed him and the location proved to be perfect.

When Muhammad Ali entered the room a respectful hush fell over all of us. The mere sight of him was mesmerizing. Here was a man who had risked everything by refusing to be inducted into the army. With the famous words, “I got nothing against no Viet Cong” he had refused to step forward when his name was called to be drafted. His actions had resulted in the loss of his boxing title and the inability to fight in many places. He was threatened with five years in prison and had to pay a stiff fine. He would be involved in an appeal for the next many years, citing his Muslim religion as the reason for his pacifism. For some he was seen as a traitor but to those of us who believed that the war was wrong, he was a hero of the highest stature. On the day that I heard him speak he appeared to be godlike and was truly the greatest in my mind.

Muhammad Ali’s appeal would go all the way to the Supreme Court where his conviction would eventually be overturned. He was cleared to resume his boxing career and he went on to have a legendary career that is spoken of with reverence to this very day. His presence, his confidence and his style was unlike anything that the public had ever before seen. Even his detractors had to admit that he was an incredible man. 

I was never a fan of boxing so I can’t say that I followed Muhammad Ali’s career very closely. I had uncles who loved to watch the matches that were broadcast on television but I was never interested. One of those uncles had gone to see George Foreman train here in Houston. I remember his unmitigated excitement when Foreman was slated to fight Ali in Manilla. He was convinced that it would be one of the best contests ever and it indeed became one of those sporting moments that boxing fans would never forget. In the searing heat Muhammad Ali pushed George Foreman to a state of exhaustion and then knocked the giant off of his feet to secure a victory that stunned the world.

I suppose that what I admired most about Muhammad Ali was his integrity. He was a man who lived the principles that were the foundation of his beliefs. He was unafraid to speak even when the truth was difficult. He was a warrior for social justice and a peaceful man. When Parkinson’s disease began to ravage his body he demonstrated courage and grace. I’ll never forget the moment when he carried the torch to light the Olympic flame at the games in Utah. He was already frail but he bravely ran up the ramp as though he were holding the light of the world for all of us. He was as beautiful as he had been when I saw him as a young lion those many years ago.

Muhammad Ali became an example and spokesman for those of us who are nameless. He never varied from his determination to make the world a more tolerant and peaceful place. From his days as Cassius Clay in Louisville, Kentucky to his most triumphant moments the public knew that he was indeed a remarkable man. At a time when a black man dared not speak out lest he be punished, Muhammad Ali refused to still his voice. He held his head high and reminded us that he was beautiful and great. He would proudly boast, “I am Muhammad Ali, a free name – it means beloved of God, and I insist people use it when people speak to me.”

Muhammad Ali was beloved, not just by God but by people the world over. He taught us the importance of faith, family and conviction. Now he may rest in peace. His battered body will hurt him no more. He is with God and moving like a butterfly in his heavenly home.

Go Forth in Remembrance

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

k10304515Memorial Day on the last day in May has come to represent the beginning of summer even though the laws of astronomy give that designation to a different date. It is a three day weekend holiday designated by Congress. There are few better times to buy mattresses or large home appliances. People flock to the beach on this day and gather around swimming pools and barbecue pits. American flags fly from the porches of homes all across the land. For many the true intent of Memorial Day has become lost in a haze of celebration having little to do with what this national holiday was originally intended to be.

The Civil War left our nation broken and bereft. Over 600,000 Americans had lost their lives in the conflict. People in both the north and the south attempted to heal their wounds and sorrows with annual tributes to those who had fallen in battle. The homage sometimes included parades but the main focus was to be found at the grave sites of the soldiers who had been killed in those terrible battles. Family, friends, and sometimes even sympathetic strangers would bring flowers to the cemeteries. Some even carried food for picnics and held solemn vigils. These were days of remembrance and honor that went by different names and occurred in different times and places.

Three years after the conclusion of the Civil War an organization of Union soldiers, the Grand Army of the Republic, established Decoration Day to be held on May 30 to honor those who had died in the Civil War. It is believed that this date was chosen because it coincided with a season when there is always an abundance of flowers. After World War I President Woodrow Wilson declared that the day be forevermore known as Memorial Day and that it be a time of remembrance for all soldiers who have died in the service of our country. It was not until the nineteen sixties that Memorial Day was set to occur on the last Monday of May to create a three day weekend associated with the national holiday.

Over a million members of the military have died while engaged in active duty. It is a staggering number and yet the vast majority of Americans today have little or no experience with losing a loved one or a friend in a war. Talk with individuals in their sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties, however, and there will be more and more eyewitness stories of young soldiers lost in World War I, World War II, the Korean War and the War in Vietnam. While those conflicts seem to be almost ancient history now, for those who saw the blood being spilled, the memories are as vivid as the actual events.

I have watched my father-in-law cry when reluctantly relating stories of fallen comrades in the Korean War. I have friends who speak of relatives who came back home dramatically changed from the War in Vietnam. They tell of husbands and fathers who still have nightmares because of what they saw. My mother’s eyes used to fill with tears as she told of school chums who never returned from battlefields across Europe and the Pacific. I have run my fingers across the names of school buddies whose bravery is forever proclaimed on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C. My great grandfather did not die in the Civil War but he was charged with burying the dead after the Battle of Shiloh and official documents tell of the horrific nature of his duties.

Today our armies are staffed with volunteers many of whom continue to die in faraway places for a cause that we all too often don’t really understand. These young men and women are our first line of defense in an uncertain and often frightening world. Somehow they find the courage to carry out missions that most of us would be too frightened to do. When they die their families and friends suffer great loss. Many times those of us busy with our own lives are all too unaware of the great sacrifices that they have made.

War is hell and always has been. It would be so wonderful if we humans somehow managed to resolve our differences in peaceful diplomatic ways. For whatever reason, even our best efforts to avoid conflict are challenged again and again. We may want to isolate ourselves from the necessity to spill blood but history has shown us that we are sometimes given no other choice than to defend ourselves and lose our human treasure in the process.

I used to naively believe that one day mankind would evolve to a point at which the killing would forever stop. A lifetime of observing human nature has convinced me that there will always be some form of evil in the world and that sometimes we have to cut off the head of the serpent to save the innocent. Thank God for those with the courage and the willingness to do what must be done, even understanding that their efforts may result in death.

We must never forget the brave souls who gave their lives so that we might retain our freedoms. We may not know their names or be related to them in any significant way but we have benefited from their acts of courage nonetheless. There is no greater love than a man or woman laying down his/her life for another. It is incumbent on us to spend some time today reflecting on such sacrifices.

If you have children don’t fail to talk with them about why we have this holiday. Far too many of our youth are sadly ignorant of the real reason for our celebrations. It is up to us to teach them to remember and honor those who gave so much in the long arc of history. Simple gestures can be powerful reminders. Our children understand symbols and they like to hear stories.

My son-in-law and my grandchildren awoke early this morning to place American flags throughout their neighborhood. It is a ritual that they have repeated for many years now. I am proud of them for doing this in memory of our fallen heroes. It displays a special reverence that we as a nation are sometimes in jeopardy of losing. We must not equate respect for the dead with unbridled nationalism. It is the duty of present and future generations to never forget the true cost of war. Every life that is lost represents dreams that will never come true. If we honor those who gave everything, they will not have died in vain.

I have read that in our nation’s capitol the flag is raised on this day in the early morning and then lowered to half staff to remember all of the soldiers who have died for this country. At noon the flag is raised again to represent the glory of our nation that has resulted from their courageous deeds. I encourage you to both remember and celebrate. Go forth and enjoy the fruits of the sacrifices made for all of us.