Category: Emotions

Laughter: The Music of Angels

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

3891748_f520I like to watch the late news before going to bed each night. I mainly want to hear the weather forecast and know what has happened during the day while I was too busy to pay attention. Trying to fall asleep after hearing a depressing story is difficult. All too often my mind becomes fixated on a particular event that is covered in the thirty minute review of local and national happenings which is why I always follow up by watching The Tonight Show. Jimmy Fallon invariably makes me laugh. There is a contrived innocence in his brilliance that evokes a physical and emotional response in me that reveals itself in an audible chuckle and a release of all the stress that I have harbored in my soul during the day. For me laughter is indeed the very best medicine and I can’t imagine living in a world without it.

Luckily I’ve never been much of a clown fan because they are apparently on the outs these days. Red Skelton is the only comedian who ever made his rendition of a clown seem likable and the character he brought to life was so sensitive and humane that he was sad more often than not. There has always been something profoundly alarming about a court jester hiding behind a mask to ply his trade. Instead of being funny most clowns try a bit too hard and touch a part of our psyches where we’d rather not go. Clowns tend to annoy rather than amuse. They are akin to the kid in the class who believes that his antics are entertaining when they actually only demonstrate his emotional problems. We want to look away from clowns. There is something about them that is just not quite right.

A truly funny person, joke or situation tickles our funny bone and makes us smile. After watching or listening to a talented comedian we feel weightless, having lost some of the baggage that was bearing down on our souls. Society needs its jokesters. The best way to tackle our human problems is with a bit of mirth in our hearts. As Whoopi Goldberg mentioned to Jimmy Fallon last night there is more than enough anger in our world. We might all do with a bit more laughter. She understands that all work and no play makes us humans quite dull. With a slight change of expression and a twist of words she has a knack for transforming a normal situation into an hilarious romp. Put her with someone like Jimmy and the tears of joy flow along with the chortles.

One of the things that I love the most about my husband is that he is an aficionado of humor. He openly seeks and shares the funny aspects of life. Hardly a day goes by that the two of us don’t break out into uncontrollable giggles and guffaws. His analysis of the world is profoundly satirical. He gets the jokes of Pulp Fiction and roars with glee over the antics of Mel Brooks. Christmas wouldn’t be complete for him without once again watching the hapless adventures of the Griswold family in Christmas Vacation. He was a Monty Python fan from the get go. He and his father regularly trade jokes which he invariably passes on to me with glee. We have traveled through life in a mirthful state of mind and it has made all the difference in how we approach the problems that are part of the human experience.

We Americans tend to love politicians who have a twinkle in their eyes and a bit of mischief in their words. They are the ones who best understand that while our issues are serious we need to step back and have a bit of perspective. They demonstrate that we should be able to laugh not at those with whom we disagree but at ourselves. True humor isn’t ugly. It looks at our foibles and finds ways to poke at them a bit. It helps us understand rather than oppose each other. John Kennedy and Ronald Reagan were masterful at making us smile in spite of ourselves. We liked them because they were able to see joyfulness even as we were struggling. In many ways it seems that far too many of those who seek to lead us are all work and no play. These are serious times that require weighty discussions but we might all use a good laugh now and again. It would do our leaders well to understand that sometimes they just need to look honestly at the hilarity of a situation. It’s hard to keep calm and carry on if we are always morose.

I’m not particularly funny. I invariably forget the punchlines of jokes and my timing and delivery are way off. Somehow I didn’t inherit my father’s humor gene but my brother Pat did. He has been entertaining the family for decades and his knack for hilarity has fortunately been passed on to a few of our children and grandchildren insuring lots of fun for generations to come. Every family needs those fun siblings and relatives who lighten the mood of gatherings. The family that laughs together stays together.

Comedy has been part and parcel of history. I can almost imagine a group of our ancestors sitting beside a fire eons ago quipping about their day, finding the humor in their labors. I have read that many of the Holocaust survivors still managed to laugh even surrounded by horror. Soldiers ease the tension of their dangerous jobs by telling jokes. One of my uncles was part of a M.A.S.H. unit in the Korean War and he assures us that there were many Hawkeyes in the ranks keeping everyone sane with their antics. The average teachers’ lounge ripples with laughter at lunchtime. As humans we may endure tragedy but we always seem to have to balance it with comedy. Wearing a hair shirt and flogging ourselves twenty four seven rarely brings out the best in our personalities.

Babies spontaneously giggle with delight at the sight of a loved one. Children laugh continuously as they play. It is in our natures to balance our work with fun. Whoopi Goldberg is correct in her diagnosis of what we need, less bickering and much more chuckling. We would all do well to find and cultivate our national sense of humor. We work hard to strengthen our minds and to make our bodies healthy and strong. We too often neglect to cultivate the laughter that lies inside our souls. We need to enjoy it and release it for all the world to hear. It is the music of angels, the voice of happiness. Here’s hoping that each of us finds moments to chuckle a bit everyday.

Transformation

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

transformationsEllen was an exotic beauty with black hair and deep dark brown eyes that seemed to be flirtatious and mischievous even when she was engaged in a mundane conversation. In her younger days she boasted a perfect hour glass figure but even as she aged and carried extra weight she was still utterly attractive. Her mind was keen and few were ever able to outsmart her. When she smiled she warmed an entire room. People quite naturally loved her. She didn’t have to expend extra energy to entice them but she always did. She was known for her generous spirit and empathy, always the first not just to notice pain and suffering but to respond with kindness. She was a sprite, a free spirit undefined by societal norms. Her confidence was such that she would have treated a famous dignitary exactly the same way that she did a homeless soul. She was one of a kind, a rare individual so blessed with beauty and brains and a bold outlook on life that she stood out even in a crowded room.

Ellen was my mother and she was larger than life in every imaginable way. She was the rock on which the foundation of our family was built, particularly after our father died when she was only thirty years old and we were small children. The trauma of our daddy’s death marked the first time that I saw her flounder. It was frightening for me to watch her grief explode so publicly. For a time she appeared to be a stranger with a faraway look in her eyes. She was not present for anyone. We might have burned down the house and she would barely have noticed. A slow transformation was beginning inside her mind that would alter her. It was not of her own making. It was not who she really was. It was the product of a mental illness that would from time to time overtake her in ways that seemed to destroy her very essence.

At first we barely noticed what was happening. Somehow she willed herself to return to her normal state. She had important work to do. She was now the mother and the father in our family. She had to provide and nurture. She could ill afford to drown in her tears or spend much time in a sorrowful state. She donned a mask that announced to the world that she was back, her old self ready to tackle any challenges that came her way. For a time she did a remarkable job of convincing all of us that her heart was a bit dented but not badly damaged. Still there were signs of her slow deterioration that we did not see. We hardly noticed how easily her feelings were often hurt, something that had not been part of her personality in the past. She appeared to get sick more often, sometimes staying in bed for days. We would see signs that she had been crying but then she would smile to reassure us and we forgot to consider that she might still be in pain. She shouldered so much hurt and responsibility without ever speaking of it. Perhaps we all expected perfection when we should have known that she was only human.

Ellen attempted to be all things in all situations but the stress ate away at her. She was teaching school, attending college, paying bills, keeping the home in order, caring for her aging mother, and always being a kind of super mom. After ten years of courageous effort her facade cracked wide open and the bipolar disorder that had been smoldering inside her brain became full blown. Her transformation into the world of mental illness was complete and it was as frightening as anything she or we had ever experienced.

She closed the windows and the blinds and turned off the air conditioner even though it was the hottest part of the summer. She took to her bed and openly cried almost continuously. She whispered her fears which were paranoid to the extreme. She believed that our family was under attack from a nameless group bound to the idea of ruining us. She was certain that we would be put away into some jail without a trial. She worried that all of the food in her home had been poisoned. Her eyes were dull and darted around the room in fear. Her hands shook continuously and her breathing was labored. She would not eat and could not sleep. She was certain that she was going to die or that she may have already done so. Her dark and tiny world was filled with enemies and intrigue. She trusted no one. She was paralyzed in a state of panic from which she saw no escape. She had been transformed into a stranger who did not resemble my mother in any way.

I underwent my own transformation in that time. I had to vanquish my youth and accept responsibility for my mother and my younger brothers. I could no longer afford to be shy and backward. I had to quickly learn how to assert myself. I became a voice for our family. I assumed the mantle that had been thrust upon me. It felt uncomfortable and I disliked having to take control of the situation. It meant that I had to make difficult and sometimes unpopular decisions. I had no idea back then that this would become part of my destiny or that my mother would suffer from her disease for the rest of her life. Her illness would become the backdrop for our family for the next forty four years. It never went away and it was painful to watch.

There were moments when my charismatic mother reemerged in all of her glory and magnificence. Those were the best of times but they never lasted for long. Again and again the fearful broken woman would replace her and my brothers and I would battle to save her mind. We settled into a routine of vigilance that mostly worked but each time that we believed the impossible, namely that she was cured, we would be proven wrong. We learned that her illness was chronic and that it could be controlled but only so much. Medications would work for a time and then their effectiveness would lessen or they would produce serious side effects that precluded their use.

She gained weight from the chemicals coursing through her body. She felt fuzzy. It was not a state that she enjoyed. She would rebel from time to time, hiding her medications under sofas and beds, pretending to swallow them when they were tucked under her tongue. She argued that she did not need the treatments that we forced on her. Our relationship was often tense and confusing. She was supposed to be the beloved matriarch but she often felt like the child. None of us liked the situation but we understood what the consequences of ignoring our duties to her would be. We had seen what happened whenever we became complacent.

Somehow the transformation of my mother and our family had its positive effects as well. We became closer than we might have been. We celebrated and appreciated her moments of good health with more gusto than we might otherwise have done. We worked together and learned what is most important in life. We never took each other for granted. The curse of mental illness that had descended on our world turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It made us all better individuals. We learned to value people and to understand them. We became more observant and noticed when those around us were suffering. All in all we were much nicer than we had been before.

Mental illness stalks its victims with a vengeance but we learned that it need not win. Our mother’s life was more painful that it should have been but she managed to accomplish great things in spite of the disorder that lurked inside her brain. It slowed her down but it did not cripple her. It reshaped our family but not always in bad ways. Our transformation made us strong and resilient.

Ellen died at the age of eighty four. On her final days there was no sign of her mental illness. She was once again restored to the perfection of spirit that had so defined her. In her final transformation she was ready to meet God and reunite with our father. The circle was complete for her and for us.

One Fingertip Away

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

fingertipsInside each of us is the instinct to flee from frightening events. As children we may attempt to fake an illness to avoid an unpleasant situation. As adults we may take a mental health day when our jobs begin to overwhelm. Sometimes our lives become so stressful or unhappy that we dream of running away. Few of us ever choose the easy way out of a sticky situation but such behavior is not unheard of.

When I was in college I landed an internship at one of the local elementary schools. I had a fancy title of some sort but in essence I was a teachers’ aide. I spent my days doing tasks that the real educators did not have enough time to accomplish. Only once in a blue moon did a teacher realize that I might enjoy working with students. Most of the time I was in the copy room running off worksheets and tests. That’s where I met a young woman who was a bonafide teachers’ aide who worked full time at the school and would likely still be there long after I had returned to the university to study. She was quite sweet but undeniably adrift. Her job was unfulfilling, low paying and at times demeaning. Sadly she saw no way out of her dilemma. She needed the income and saw no other possibilities on the horizon. In her mind she was stuck in a deep rut from which there was never going to be a means of escape. Her unhappiness enveloped her so that she was unable to even consider any of the ideas that I suggested as we ran the mimeograph machine, collated and stapled.

One morning she was nowhere to be found as I made my rounds to determine what kind of work was in store for me. Everyone was asking if I had seen her. I assumed that she was caught in traffic or perhaps she was so sick that she was unable to call the school to explain her absence. By mid-morning rumors were spreading through the school. The secretary had called the young woman’s home and her family insisted that she had left for work at the same time that she always did. We were all worried and wondering what might have happened. It was not until the next day that we learned the shocking truth.

It seems that the girl had indeed intended to go to work just as she always had. The mere thought of repeating the dull and never ending tasks made her stomach churn but she was a dutiful person. As she sat in the wall to wall traffic she just happened to glance at the side of the road where a sign noted the distance from that spot to Dallas. At that very moment something primal overcame her usually rational thinking. She knew in her heart that she could not face her job that day. On an impulse she decided to drive to Dallas instead. She went past the exit for the school and just kept traveling north until she saw the skyscrapers of Big D. She had no plan, no idea of what she intended to do next. She only knew that there was no way that she could go back to the life that she had been living and stay sane. She apologized to the principal and tendered her resignation effective immediately.

All of us were stunned by her actions. I wasn’t sure whether I thought that she was crazy or the bravest person that I had ever known. I understood that she had flaunted protocols and demonstrated a profound lack of responsibility, and maybe even maturity, but I somehow admired her willingness to excise the pain she had been experiencing in one fell swoop. Over the years whenever I found myself in situations that were overwhelming I thought of her and felt the temptation to emulate her actions. I wondered how freeing it must have felt to shoot the bird at obligations and fly away, if only for a day. Of course I never followed through on such thoughts because ultimately it was not in my nature. Still there was something fascinating about the idea of simply walking away from conflicts.

A few days ago I watched an ESPN 30 for 30 film about the incredible University of Houston Phi Slamma Jamma basketball team that made history in the early nineteen eighties. The movie was a story within a story as it traced the meteoric rise of one of the greatest teams in the history of college sports and their tragic inability to grab the ultimate prize of a national championship. In one of the most famous games of all time Houston was literally one fingertip and mere seconds away from the title when a player named Bennie Anders just missed his shot.

Things fell apart for the team and for Bennie after that. The glory days were gone as key players left for the NBA. Bennie who was younger stayed on but seemed to be in continual conflict with his coaches and his teammates. He ultimately became embroiled in an altercation with one of them, went to his car, and came back with a loaded gun. He was arrested and expelled from the university. After that he simply seemed to disappear. A young man who had once been thought to have enough talent to earn a place in the NBA was nowhere to be found. Thirty years later his former teammates located him living an ordinary life in Michigan. Bennie insisted that he was happy because he was free.

I am a promise keeper. Once I commit to a job, an event, a relationship I believe in going all the way. I don’t like the idea of letting other people down but I’m not so ready to fault those who understand that they must sever ties quickly and without warning or be eternally trapped. Sometimes I believe that we really do have to flee certain situations when they break us into a million little pieces. We may need a bit of time away from the fury or we may realize that we can never turn back again. I have not been the victim of abuse nor have I ever felt as though I was going to lose my mind but there are those who quite legitimately realize that they are on the verge of disaster and that their only recourse is to run away from something terrifying.

Those of us witnessing such behavior may be stunned but until we know all of the circumstances it is not up to us to judge. The beautiful thing about the Bernie Anders story is that the only question his old friends asked when they found him was whether or not he was happy. They embraced him just as he was and he felt their love, commenting on the powerful impact that it had on him. He was touched by their concern and the fact that they had never forgotten him. They were heroes but so was he.

We have basic human instincts locked inside our DNA designed to protect us from harm. They signal our brains when we are in danger. All too often we ignore the signs until it is too late or we have to make such dramatic moves that they seem to be extreme. We fail to listen for the tiny voices that tell us when our situation is not what it should be. We hide our fears and fail to reach out for the help that almost always is available. We think that we are alone when our emotions overcome us. We falsely believe that our faltering indicates that we are weak when admitting our concerns is actually the bravest thing that we might do.

Life can be unbelievably cruel at times. We make decisions over and over again as we meet the challenges that befall us. We can take the exit to work or keep heading down the highway. We can miss our shot at fame and fortune or choose to lead a quiet life on our own terms. Whatever we decide to do, it should feel good. When it doesn’t we are likely on the wrong track. Life is never about a single game. It is the sum of all that we do. We always have another chance to make the dunk or just walk away. 

October Is Pink

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

downloadIt has become traditional to focus on breast cancer each October. We are showered in pink to remind us of an horrific disease that continues to strike women in spite of our best efforts to eradicate it. Virtually everyone has known someone who had to deal with the physical and emotional effects of breast cancer. Much of the time the debilitating treatments lead to remission but all too often some lose their battle.

We are taught as young girls how to give ourselves breast exams. It is every woman’s nightmare to find something suspicious. Some of us are perennially lumpy making it more difficult to notice slight changes but we try. Most women schedule regular visits to their doctors and endure painful mammograms just to be certain that nothing is amiss. When a doctor signals that there may be a problem with a concerned look and a battery of more extensive tests women find themselves in a state of quiet panic and worry. There is nothing quite like the not knowing, the possibility of a life changing diagnosis.

I have watched friends and family members get the words that nobody wants to hear. The diagnosis of breast cancer has been confirmed. That little lump that seemed somehow different from the rest was indeed cancerous. They embark on a journey filled with uncertainty and fear. In spite of their most valiant efforts their disease overtakes their lives. Even the most optimistic among them is never quite the same.

The treatments for breast cancer vary depending on the extent and type of cancer but all of them are invasive. They cause pain and suffering. They interrupt the normal flow of life. They debilitate and challenge. We all know exceptional women whose courage somehow makes dealing with breast cancer seem far less terrible than it really is. They keep the faith, trusting in their doctors, their families and their God. They smile through the times when they are exhausted. They wear hats or wrap their heads in colorful scarves when their lovely hair falls out in great handfuls. They do their best to keep up a good front and to continue with their routines even as they feel so very sick. They are warriors of the bravest kind but there is always the deep mostly unspoken fear that the treatments will not work or that the cancer will return even after remission.

We sometimes forget how devastating breast cancer may be. We hear success stories and believe that the fixes will be rather easy and certain. We watch women working in between therapies and imagine that the process of fighting the cancer must not be as terrible as we had imagined. We notice the dark circles around their eyes and the new wigs they are sporting but we don’t see them getting sick in the bathroom or crying from the assault on their bodies and minds. We put the onus on them to keep us feeling happy with their smiles. The truth of their situation is sometimes too hard for us to face.

Long illnesses like breast cancer test relationships. The women who are embroiled in a fight for their very lives all too often lose ground in their careers and sometimes even in their marriages. Their battlefield is littered with lost opportunities and misunderstandings. They all too often feel alone. People may rally around them in the beginning but when the going gets really tough only those who truly love and understand them remain. Everything and everyone is tested. It becomes more than just a matter of medical treatments. It is an altering experience in which only what is most important becomes obvious.

While devoting an entire month to a particular cause is laudable we have to be careful that it does not have the effect of making us lose interest. We humans are funny creatures and sometimes over stimulation causes us to lose focus. When we see football players wearing pink shoes and people running marathons in pink tutus there is a risk that we will take the situation more lightly than we should. We mistake the levity as an indication that maybe breast cancer is not as worrisome as we may have thought. We wonder if all of the attention has provided so much funding that our contributions aren’t really needed. We grow weary of the reminders that are so present for thirty one days.

We have certainly gone a long way toward eradicating breast cancer and we may even reach a day when we know how to eliminate it entirely. Until then we still have far too many women having to courageously fight for their very lives. Most of them happily make it thanks to the research and the medical advances that continue to be found. Sadly some women do in fact die. We have all known them, beautiful souls taken from us by a terrible disease. It is for them that we fight, not just in October but all year long, day in and day out. It is for the mothers, sisters, girlfriends, wives everywhere that we support the efforts to find treatments and cures and ways to eliminate this dreaded disease.

October is a reminder to all of us to embrace and support the women who are either presently dealing with breast cancer or who have had to deal with it in the past. Let them speak honestly of their ordeal. Allow them to cry or laugh or react however they wish. Let them know that we are thinking of them and that we love them. If you are a woman use this month to check on your own health. Take the time to schedule a mammogram or visit your doctor. Be proactive and sensitive.

I can see the beautiful faces of the women I have known who have grappled with the monster we call breast cancer. They are perhaps the bravest people that I have ever encountered. I salute them and the families who walked hand in hand with them. They have inspired all of us who watched them. This is their month. This is our month. It is October and we gird ourselves for battle. It matters little what color we wear as long as we are prepared to fight. We must never become complacent. The stakes are just too high.

Cancer of any kind is horrific. I lost both of my grandmothers to cancer. My beloved mother was a victim of cancer. A dear dear friend was taken by cancer. A beautiful cousin is undergoing treatments for cancer even as I write these words. A good friend is fighting cancer with all of his might. My hope is that they will be among the victors that I have also known, the people who made it through the dark hours and now bask in the sunlight of their personal miracles. Find those in your circle who are battling whether it be breast cancer or lymphoma or cancer of the lung. Embrace them. Remember them. Most of all love them.   

    

Unexpected Showers

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

flower561eac4e-9ad0-4c6a-9d72-078c0400bce7My life has a distinct pattern. A red thread of continuity runs through it connecting all of its disparate aspects into a cohesive whole. There is an irony to the fact that I just attended my fiftieth high school reunion over the past weekend and today I will return to the building where I laughed and learned so long ago so that I might help a new generation of students to understand the intricacies of mathematics. My own school no longer exists, at least not in the form that it had when I was there. A unique set of circumstances forced it to close, leaving the brick and mortar structure that had housed my own hopes and dreams as nothing but an empty shell haunted by the spirit of those of us who had walked the halls before. It was rescued from destruction by the Jesuits and in particular by Father T.J. Martinez who saw opportunity in the abandoned rooms. Under his guidance a new educational mecca rose from the ashes. Today Cristo Rey Jesuit Preparatory High School stands where Mt. Carmel once lived. It is a school designed to provide minorities and economically challenged students with the academic rigors that once defined my own education.

When I am in the school the past and present merge in my mind. I am able to recall what happened in each of the rooms and to remember my own journey as a student. I find that the young men and women with whom I work are not different at all from me and my classmates even though five decades separate us. They may do their work on computers and carry calculators and smart phones but the essence of what they want to accomplish in life is exactly the same as the desires that we had. They are on an exploratory adventure as they attempt to make sense of the world around them both rationally and emotionally. They are inevitably quite earnest when they ply me with questions both related to mathematics and to my own journey when I was a student in that same place. They desperately want to make something of themselves but often fall short of being as responsible as they need to be. They are young and not yet willing to believe that they are not in a race against time. They don’t yet realize that they will have many opportunities to right themselves and begin again.

I have the perspective of age. I am able to look back and see that without a doubt we humans are a resilient bunch. We fall down and get back up over and over again. We learn as much from our failures as from our successes, sometimes even more. We generally grow wiser and tougher with each passing year. We may not get exactly what we want but as the old saw goes we tend to get what we need. I attempt to convey such thoughts to the teenagers with whom I work. They usually trust me but often become so discouraged that they want to give up the fight. I have to convince them that each of us encounter those moments when we are so weary that we no longer want to try but those are the exact times when we most need to find the strength and determination that is dwelling inside our very souls. It’s has been quite gratifying to watch so many of my charges ultimately succeed. I have been in their shoes. I have known fear. I have literally wanted to run away from challenges. I have felt alone. Always there was someone who quietly took my hand and walked with me, giving me the courage that I needed.

When I was only five years old my parents enrolled me in first grade at a Catholic school. My mother had just given birth to my youngest brother and one of my uncles was dying. The family was in a state of chaos and my elders believed that I would be happier being away from the maelstrom. Nobody consulted me. It just happened and I was not happy at all. I had never once been away from my mom, not even for a few hours. I had not been properly prepared for what was to come and I was terrified. My mother purchased a new lunch box and book bag for me and made some dresses that I might wear. One day without warning she awoke me early and sent me off with my father who quite unceremoniously took me to my classroom. I was in a fog of extreme fear but I refused to cry. When we all went outside for the ceremonial flag raising I thought that it was surely time to go home but, of course, it was only the beginning of the day.

I remember little after that. When I opened my lunchbox it had been invaded by ants which I merely picked away because I was too embarrassed to talk with my teacher. Fortunately my Aunt Polly had decided to come check on me. When I saw her she was like a visage from heaven and I have loved her forever for caring so much for me. She reported the insect invasion to the powers that be and I never again had to fight the tiny creatures for my food. Still I felt so shy and insecure but I was lucky to have a gentle and gifted teacher who saw my pain and helped me to adjust. I would forever model my own teaching style after her kindness and intuition.

There was a girl named Virginia who befriended me. I don’t know if she felt the same about me but I always considered her to be my very best friend at school. She was wise and considerate and instructed me in the ways of doing things properly. Again and again she seemed to come to my rescue and I loved her so. I always believed that she saved me from total despair. I remembered her even when I was an aging woman moving rapidly toward my seventieth year on the planet. I often wondered what had happened to her and hoped with all my heart that she was doing well. Little did I know that I had been near her when I was in high school but somehow never realized that she was the same girl who had been so sweet to me. It was only this past weekend when I was able to put all of the puzzle pieces together and learn that the Virginia that I had so admired in my high school class was the same person as “my Virginia” from first grade.

Ironically Virginia had a career in education just as I had. The parallels in our lives are actually quite remarkable much as they are with generation after generation of humans. We move about doing our best and sometimes influence one another in ways of which we are often unaware. Hopefully it is our kindness that people remember when they think of us, for the alternative is so tragic. We experience so many emotions and in turn cause others to react to our deeds and our remarks. The circle of life is real and it goes round and round just as the earth as it travels around the sun.

I enjoy working with young people, especially teenagers because they are really at the beginning of their time as adults. They are in a state of metamorphosis that will ultimately be beautiful as long as they have concerned people who truly care about them as my teachers and aunts and classmates always did. Those unexpected showers of love help us to bloom.

I have lately been helping to edit college application essays. In them I see hopefulness for the future. I am able to travel back in time and empathize with the young people who so desperately want to make a difference in their own lives and those of the people around them. I find great joy and optimism in reading their innermost thoughts and understanding that they are me and I am them. Just as we witness the sunrise each morning, our youth are ready to carry the responsibilities that lie before them. Knowing that this is certain comforts me everyday. It binds my story with the future.