Category: Emotions

Keep On Trucking

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Burning-HouseOn Good Friday I was preparing food for our family’s Easter celebration when a heavy cloud of dark smoke suddenly poured from my oven. As I ran across the room to turn down the heat a small flame erupted in the bottom corner of the appliance. I called for my husband to come help with the situation and just as he raced down the stairs an inferno engulfed the entire cavity. We reached for the fire extinguisher that we store in our pantry but when we attempted to open the oven to apply the fire retardant it was latched shut. Our only option was to yank the appliance out of the wall just enough to create a small crack that allowed us to spray away. Luckily our efforts worked and the blaze was soon out leaving behind a rather nasty mess and an oven that was undoubtedly ready for the scarp heap.

In the same week my daughter was happily driving her new car when she approached a red light. Of course she halted as required but sadly the youngster behind her was so busy texting that he didn’t notice that the traffic was at a standstill. He plowed into the back of her auto with full force. Her beautiful car was a shambles of its former self.

Meanwhile across town a friend went to bed admiring the wood flooring that had just been placed in his home. He was proud of the dramatic and lovely change it had made in his abode. When he arose the following morning expecting to see the gleaming planks he was instead greeted to a most disastrous sight. Water covered the area that had looked so wonderful only hours before, ruined by the overflow from a toilet that had run all through the night.

Each of these incidents were maddeningly inconvenient and costly. It would take days, even weeks to repair the damage that was so unexpected, but eventually all would be set right once again. All three of us were fortunate to have the ability to overcome our disasters, unlike so many whose lives spin frighteningly out of control. While these examples were fixable they demonstrate the importance of keeping the events that occur in our lives in perspective.

My house didn’t burn down as it might have. My daughter walked away from her accident unscathed. My friend’s home was not flooded so badly that it was rendered uninhabitable. Sadly I know people who have faced far worse.

One of my aunts who was in her nineties at the time watched helplessly as her home burned to the ground, eliminating everything that she owned including irreplaceable family heirlooms and treasures. I have known several people whose loved ones have died in car accidents, including myself. I have friends who used to live in New Orleans who came home to total devastation after hurricane Katrina. Such losses are indescribable. They haunt the psyche for years and leave scars that tend to quietly inflict pain. 

We all want to think that we have a modicum of control over our lives but reality demonstrates time and again that the possibility of the unexpected happening is always there. At any given moment our lives might be thrown into utter chaos. We don’t dwell on such facts because we would be immobilized with fear if we did. Instead we go about our daily lives sometimes sweating a bit too much about the small stuff instead of focusing on our blessings. We take the food on our tables for granted. We forget to tell our family members and friends how much we love them. We grumble and complain.

Of course my husband and I were upset over the prospect of having to purchase a new oven and repair the damage to our cabinetry. We certainly might have used the money in other ways, but once the smoke had settled so to speak we began to realize how fortunate we were. Had we both been in another room our kitchen might have been far more damaged, perhaps even destroyed. In another time in our lives we might not have had the money to purchase a new oven and would have had to scramble to find a way to fix the problem. As it was, we had just received a tax refund that essentially covered the costs.

My mother lived on the economic edge for most of her life but she nonetheless always remained optimistic. She used to brag that God loved her so that He somehow took care of every problem that arose for her. Such was her faith that she told us when we were children that she had a money tree from which she would pluck funds when they were needed. She herself lived without an oven for several years because hers had quit functioning and she did not have the funds to get a new one. Rather than complaining she made do until she had accumulated enough to get a new one. She joked that by the time she finally had a way to bake again she realized that she really didn’t need to roast or broil. She didn’t allow herself to worry over things that were in reality inconsequential.

The truth is that there are people on this earth who will never have an oven or a car or a wooden floor. They live in places racked by famine, disease and war. Their lives are so out of their own control that they only have the freedom to exist, and sometimes even that liberty is taken from them. We on the other hand enjoy luxuries that we take for granted, worrying over problems that in reality don’t matter as much as we may think.

I am an admitted control freak even though I have learned time and again that so much of what happens is beyond my reach. The only thing over which I have total power is my own attitude. I can choose to stew over the randomness of occurrences or I can choose to roll with the punches and take the actions needed to set myself aright. There is little point in crying once the milk is flowing across the floor.

I take heart from the courage of the incredible people that I know such as the mother whose six month old son was diagnosed with leukemia who kept a smile on her face throughout her years long ordeal. I think of the friend whose daughter was killed by a drunk driver. She has channeled her grief into counseling others and spreading healing by sharing her own story. I marvel at the woman who had to reinvent herself after hurricane Katrina at a time in life when she should have been retiring comfortably. I am daily inspired by a former student whose brother was murdered and her fight to bring justice for him and all individuals marred by violence. I think of a dear friend who daily cares for a husband sidelined by a severe stroke and dementia. All of these individuals have risen from the ashes of their circumstances in triumph. They have found new meaning for their lives and new appreciation for even the smallest of blessings just as my mother always did.

I know not what challenges will come my way. None of us ever do. My only hope is that I will find the inner strength and positive attitude that will allow me to keep my footing and keep on trucking along. It is after all the best that we might do regardless of the circumstances.

Letting Go

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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“Leave your worries for awhile. They’ll still be there when you get back.” –Unknown

We admittedly have many things about which to worry in today’s world. Much to our displeasure, Russia appears to be as big a problem as Mitt Romney predicted that it would be. The entire Middle East is a hot mess. North Korea is being run by a spoiled psychopath who thinks nothing of executing uncles, brothers and generals on a whim. China is a mysterious nation whose leaders probably should not be thoroughly trusted. Venezuela is on the verge of total collapse. Terrorists are afoot and we have little idea when the next attack will occur. It seems that we can’t even enjoy a plane ride without fear of being accosted by security guards wanting to forcefully take back our seats. It’s enough to drive those of us who have a natural propensity for overthinking to throw up our hands and just surrender to to our sometimes outrageous concerns.

I come from a long line of worrywarts. My grandfather often complained that my grandmother never quite knew how to relax. She was almost always concerned that some bad thing or another might happen. She wondered if a drought would ruin the crops that they had grown or if a deluge would drown them. She fretted over whether  they would have enough money to stay afloat in their old age or how someone she loved might get hurt. She had already lost her first husband and two children to disease. When her only son, my dad, was killed in a car accident it convinced her that we all live on a dangerous precipice filled with harmful possibilities. Instead of simply enjoying her days on her farm in Arkansas she stewed virtually all of the time. I suppose that in some ways it was a habit that was part of her DNA as a woman. We ladies tend to be sometimes overly anxious about those that we love.

I remember watching my sick children in the middle of the night and staying up until my teenage girls came home from their dates. They chided me and complained that I didn’t trust them, but it was the big bad world that gave me pause, not them. I knew that there were hundreds of different dangers that they might encounter. I was never able to rest until they were safely at home in my care. Of course every mom must eventually give her babies wings to leave the nest. It is the way things must be, but it is never a comfortable thought, especially when they are far away from home. Over time I learned how to let them go and maintain a faith that all would be well, but even to this very day they are never far from my mind. Over time I’ve added thoughts of my grandchildren to the daily list of my concerns, along with former students, friends and the members of my extended family. Obviously I would be unable to operate in a normal world if I were to become too engrossed in dire predictions about all of these souls. Instead I have learned how to let go of obsessive concerns about people and situations over which I have no real control.

The only person over whom I have total power is myself. I can be the same or I can change. I am free to make choices all day long and mostly I choose to be optimistic and happy. When I am in situations over which I have no influence, the only thing that I might do is decide how I will react. I have learned the art of allowing adequate time for venting anger and for grieving over loss, but not so much that it overwhelms me. Eventually I purposely leave my worries for awhile. Even if they are still around when I return I find that I am better equipped to deal with them.

Sometimes work is the best tonic for anxiety. Other times the situation calls for a vacation from routine. We can’t really run away from our troubles but taking a break from them provides us with an opportunity to clear our heads of the cobwebs of negativity that often coexist with worry. Once we are feeling better it is amazing how much sharper our problem solving skills become. We find ways to deal with whatever has been bothering us and take the needed steps to rehabilitate ourselves.

I have found that a small amount of worry keeps us safe and on track. It is in habitual overthinking that we become lost and confused. It steals our happiness and deprives us of sleep and laughter, both necessary components of a healthy life. We need to learn what works best to chase away the noisy thoughts that crowd into our brains, keeping us from feeling joy.

I have found that exercise is one of the best medicines going. It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, just a walk in the neighborhood is often enough to clear the head. Sometimes silence is just what the doctor ordered, becoming so relaxed that we are literally as one with our breathing and the beating of our hearts. If we practice we can reach a state of total tranquility.

I rely on my faith in times of trouble and find comfort in reading scripture and devotionals. Silent prayers bring me much needed peace as well, but I understand that many do not have religious beliefs. There are still lovely books with reflections that teach us how to find our own inner strengths. Many of them help guide us out of our preoccupation with a crazy world that seems intent on driving us to distraction.

Having dealt with my mother’s mental illness I understand that sometimes worry becomes so all consuming that nothing seems to chase it away. There are indeed times when seeking the help of professionals is the wisest thing to do. There is nothing wrong with admitting that we need medical assistance now and again. There are therapies and drugs that are sometimes the best answer for unrelenting anxieties and obsessions.

If I have learned nothing else in almost seventy decades, it is to be very good to myself and to do whatever I need to keep myself feeling happy. Then and only then will I be of any worth to everyone else. I try to mostly surround myself with positive people and thoughts. I walk away from negative situations and individuals that I cannot change. Of course I still worry just as we all do, but I try not to allow my troublesome thoughts to overtake me. When I realize that they are becoming the central focus of my days and nights I do what I can to fix the situations from whence they came and then I do my best to move on.

Yes, the world is filled with worrisome situations but most of the time we never encounter them, so why needlessly expend our energy stewing over what might be or what is already past? Instead of listening to the voices that cause us to fret, we need to make room for the sounds that make us smile, like the laughter of children, the rain on our windows or the voices of the people that we love.

We All Fall Down

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

maxresdefaultI was twenty years old when my mother had her first mental breakdown. Mine had been a somewhat sheltered life. Aside from my father’s untimely death when I was only eight, I had not seen much of the dark side of existence. I certainly knew nothing about mental illness and the dramatic symptoms that seemed to so suddenly change my mom from a strong, independent woman into someone paralyzed by depression, paranoia and manic episodes. As I witnessed her decline that summer I was overtaken by a state of anxiety that made me feel as though I might surely die. I would visit her during the daylight hours and then return to my apartment in the evenings where I attempted to understand what was happening and to rally help for her among my aunts and uncles whom I was certain would have much better insights into her condition than I had. Mostly though I suffered from my own form of mental stress experiencing panic attacks that threatened to render me useless in the battle to bring my mother back to a healthy state of mind.

I slept little during that period. In fact, that August marked the first time that I was plagued by insomnia. I generally lay awake each night silently crying and feeling as though an elephant was sitting on my chest daring me to breathe. I felt so very alone, convinced that nobody might possibly understand how worried and sad I was. I was walking through those days in a continual daze, pretending to be in control of my situation while actually wanting to run away screaming in desperation. As my mother’s symptoms grew worse I realized that I had inherited total responsibility for her welfare. Circumstances forced me to grow up by a factor of one hundred. While my friends, save those who were fighting in the jungles of Vietnam, were still enjoying the adventures of college and the freedom of their youth, I understood that if I didn’t take charge my mother and my brothers would be in danger. I took a deep breath and became my mother’s keeper in a strange relationship that would span four decades. It was something that I would have happily given up if given even half a chance but the reality was that there was nobody else who could do this for her.

I was as imperfect at being unselfish as anyone might be. There were times when I was hardly able to function myself and when I resented the cross that I had to bear. I became an Academy Award worthy actress, hiding my fears and pain along with my mother’s tragic story as though it was an ugly and unspeakable secret. My unwillingness to open up to people who might have provided succor to me only made things worse but I was not yet ready to accept that I would be far happier bringing the truth into the light. When my mother became well again I naively believed that all of us were going to be fine and that I would never again have to face such a daunting experience. Sadly, she was sick again in only a matter of a few years and I fell apart at the realization that her illness was going to be a chronic fact of our lives.

I continued to be quite secretive about my mother’s fight with mental illness. My own stress increased to an unfortunate level as I quietly and continuously watched for symptoms that would alert me to get her to a doctor before she devolved into a more serious state of mind. I failed to mention my own bouts with anxiety and mild depression but they were quite real and they made me feel as though I wasn’t nearly as strong as I needed to be and that I was somehow defective.

At some point I was no longer able to maintain my silence. I began to speak of my concerns, my feelings of guilt, and the sense of despair that often overcame me. At first it was only the most trusted friends who heard such things but eventually I found the courage to talk with my doctors and finally anyone with whom I had contact. I learned that nobody was going to think ill of me or my mother. Nor was I abandoned. In fact, my admissions generally lead to sharing of similar stories and unlikely alliances. Over time I realized that we all fall down from time to time for one reason or another. We may lose a loved one, face a terrible disease, endure the breakup of an important relationship, fail in achieving a goal, become a victim of violence or suffer from mental illnesses of our own. The truth is that we are both fragile and resilient beings. As such we experience ups and downs throughout our lifetimes. Sometimes are lows are so devastating that we feel as though we may not make it through to the light of day.

I have found that there are always kind and empathetic individuals who are just waiting for our cries of help. All that we have to do is open up our hearts and we will find them, kindred spirits who have also had moments of brokenness and terror. They lovingly provide us with comfort just when we need it, but they will not be able to do so unless we are willing to confess that we are hurting. In acknowledging our humanity we take the first steps toward healing. It took me far too long to admit that I was as imperfect as I am.

I remember kneeling in prayer in the office of an assistant principal who cried with me as he spoke of the people in his family who also suffered from severe mental illnesses. I found succor from a doctor who was giving me a physical for work. He noted the checkbox that indicated that some of my relatives suffered from depression. He gently guided me to a confession that radically changed my life as he assured me that I had no reason to feel guilty about the times when I resented my role as a caretaker. I have had countless individuals hug me in an embrace of solidarity as they outlined their stories of struggles with either their own or someone else’s mental illness. Never once has anyone reacted negatively to my recounting of the journey that me, my mother and my brothers had taken in the house of horrors that was the reality of mental illness. Instead with each telling I felt reassured that I was not and never would be alone.

We all want to be viewed with dignity and respect. It is difficult to admit that we have feet of clay or that we make mistakes and yet it is in facing the demons that attack us in the middle of the night that we find the clarity and calm that we seek. Not only do we find a clearer focus for ourselves, but often we help others as well.

I know of two young ladies who are dealing with very difficult situations. They are far more advanced than I was at their ages. Rather than hiding the hurt and the pain that stalks them, they have been willing to share their feelings and the efforts that they have made to set themselves aright. They write blogs and speak to other young people. They tell of their journeys and admit that they still falter from time to time. The work that they are doing for themselves and for others is not just laudable, it is important. They are living proof that even the seemingly most perfect individuals often find themselves struggling to cope. They are both exceedingly beautiful, intelligent and talented, hardly the type of women who might falter, and yet they have. Their willingness to unmask their struggles is inspiring. They prove that the world is far kinder and gentler than we may imagine and that even the most remarkable among us may need a safety net now and again. It’s as easy as voicing the word “help” to begin the process of healing. We all fall down but there will always be someone willing to pick us up if only we ask.

Remembering the Lessons

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

KnotTry to imagine this scenario. Groups of Americans from the United States begin to peacefully demonstrate against the president of our country in locales all across the country. The government sends in the military to quell the disturbances and in a show of force they gun down protesters. This angers even more people who join the rebellion which grows angry and violent. There are enraged armed mobs in your town fighting against the soldiers. You watch as the disturbances grow into all out civil war. The lines between enemies are blurry and take on a religious aspect as well as political. Splinter groups form, some of which are barbaric. You and your family members are caught in the crosshairs. Bombs from the government come into your neighborhood. Bullets from the rebels forces lodge in the walls of your home. Terrorists taking advantage of the unrest kill your friends and relatives in the most brutal manners. What was once a place of peace has become hell on earth. You do not want to leave your home but fear that if you do not, you and those that you love will surely die. A final blast of chemical weapons from the government forces convinces you that it is no longer safe to stay in the place that has always been your refuge. You watch children who live near you dying in the cruelest manner. You can’t take the horror any longer and so you decide to flee.

At first you make your way to Mexico or Canada. You are placed in a refugee camp with thousands of others. You are told that you may not stay indefinitely. There are too many of your kind seeking escape from the war. Your temporary residence is infested with crime and want. You live in a tent that is either too hot or too cold. Disease breeds freely in the unsanitary conditions. You feel only slightly better than you did in the place from which you have fled. You try to get to other places that might be more welcoming or more pleasant. The process is difficult and even if you are lucky enough to gain a passage to some nice town in Europe the residents of those places view you with suspicion and disdain. All you really want is to be able to sleep at night without fear. Your dream is to one day be able to return to your home and begin your life anew. Your whole world is upside down and none of it is of your own doing. It all feels so hopeless.

In the meantime, different nations are choosing sides in the battle that rages back in the United States. Not only are there disagreements to resolve between the government and the rebels but also different factions within factions as well as other countries. It is such a tangled mess that you despair that it will ever be possible to sort things out and find the peace that you so desire. You cry for your country and for yourself as years pass without resolution and the gordian knot of trouble only grows tighter.

Of course, these events are not unfolding in the United States but in Syria. Try as we may we will never know the heartache that has so defined the lives of the people of that country since 2011. Their nation sits on the Mediterranean Sea just across from Egypt bordering the countries of Turkey, Iraq, Lebanon and Jordan. The war has displaced more than two million people and stretched the resources of their neighbors and countless European nations. Diplomatic and military efforts have failed to broker any kind of resolution and all the while terrorist groups like ISIL have taken advantage of the situation to make their own claims on the land and its citizens. Shia Muslims have taken to fighting with Sunni Muslims. Russia, China, and Iran side with Syrian President Assad. The United States, Germany, Britain and France have attempted to aid the rebels. It is a standoff that threatens the Middle East, Europe and much of the rest of the world.

I cry for the people of Syria. I understand that the vast majority of them simply want to be left alone and allowed to return to their homes where they might live in peace. None of the rest of us want war either. Nobody seems to have any idea of what is the most effective solution to a daunting problem. Here in the United States we have learned that sending troops and treasure to fight battles can be a solution with no endgame. We have also seen that diplomacy does little. We are caught in a conundrum in which the choices are all unpleasant and the results are uncertain. Do we do nothing and let the people of Syria figure out the path to eventual peace or do we choose a side and commit to fighting for what we believe is right?

The answer to such a question is both confusing and frightening. If we stay out of the fray, things may only escalate and make the situation even more dangerous for all of the world. If we show force we may become involved in a fight from which we cannot extricate ourselves without great loss of life. It feels as though even the wisdom of Solomon might be wanting in knowing what to do.

Today is Good Friday, a day on which we remember the crucifixion and death of Jesus of Nazareth. Politics and religious debates were in full force in the time of Christ just as they are today. An innocent man was put to death for fear that his teachings might result in a rebellion that would topple the power structure. Two thousand years later mankind is still feuding over differences in beliefs but millions in all parts of the globe now follow the lessons of Jesus. His message was powerful and his disciples spread the good news of his word in spite of their own persecutions. It is rather amazing to realize that Jesus Christ is even more revered today than he was when he walked in the Middle East two thousand years ago.

This is a time of reflection and prayer in the world. Perhaps it should also be the moment when we join with people of all faiths in imploring the heavens to help us find a resolution to the unrest that so threatens all of us. We can be inspired by the life of Christ whose constant admonition and example was that we forgive and love. I wonder how we can possibly solve the problems of other nations when we continue to be so hateful with one another right here in the United States. It is truly time for us to set our personal differences aside one individual at a time. It is the moment for us to shed our pride, our hypocrisies and our obstinance. Those are the elements that lead to a Syrian-like war. First come the words and then come the weapons. We must do whatever we need to bind the wounds that have turned  brother against brother right here in our own nation. Perhaps once we have learned to be civil with one another again we will enjoy the combined wisdom of many points of view in finding solutions to the problems that plague our world. I truly fear our future if we fail to return to a state of understanding and humanity within our own ranks. It is only in valuing our collective differences that we will be able to exert the power needed to propel ourselves and the world in the direction of good. 

Never Forgotten

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

memories.jpegA teacher never forgets her students. Like the old woman in the shoe she sometimes has so many children that she doesn’t know what to do. She worries about them as if they were her own, sometimes lying awake at night developing strategies for reaching each of them. Even after they have gone she remembers them and hopes and prays that everything ultimately turned out well. Nothing makes her happier than hearing good news about one of them, especially if if that one had been troubled in the past.

A teacher carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her concern is so prevailing that she must find ways to ameliorate it or become so stressed out that she is unable to function. She joins in the sarcastic gallows humor of the teachers’ lounge. It helps to joke about the challenges that she is facing. Only those who do the same kind of work understand that a good chuckle now and again helps to maintain a positive outlook. Laughing is an imperative exercise for a teacher lest she become so engrossed in the seriousness of what she does that she loses focus. A teacher has to keep things in perspective, but it is often oh so hard.

I find myself thinking back to the students who gave me the most trouble. I’d like to believe that their bad behavior was only a phase and that they are now leading good and happy lives, but I sometimes lose faith. I hear that this one is in prison for armed robbery or that one murdered his girlfriend’s father. I saw the good in them and tried so desperately to bring it to the forefront of their personalities, but once they left my care they were beaten down by toxic environments and the poor choices that they continually made. I sense that it is impossible for me to completely understand how desperate their lives were even though I too had a difficult childhood.

I had the support of a loving family, wonderful neighbors, teachers who cared enough to guide me and a church community that watched over me. So many of my students had no one. They went home to abusive parents who were often drug ridden or alcoholic. Being part of a group meant joining a gang, and there were plenty of those from which to choose. I knew that so many of my kids were affiliated with very dangerous groups that offered them the protection and feeling of belonging that I received from good and caring people.

I often think back to a morning when I was on duty at the back of the school. My task was to keep the students as calm as possible as they gathered before the doors opened at the beginning of the day. As the time for the bell to ring drew nearer the crowd of kids grew by leaps and bounds, requiring me to be especially vigilant. This was one of the most likely moments for a fight to suddenly break out. It was up to me and my fellow teachers to quell excitement before it even happened.

On this particular day there had been no incidents. It was uncharacteristically quiet and when the entry bell rang the students filed dutifully inside. I stayed behind to shoo any stragglers or late comers to their classes. It was a rather lovely morning and I was happy to get a bit more fresh air before being trapped in a room with no windows for the next many hours. I was in the midst of a rather pleasant daydream when I saw two groups of students marching toward each other from opposite sides. My heart began beating in overdrive as I realized that this was not a good thing. I was all too aware of which gang was which and who some of the members were, and it was apparent that a battle was about to ensue.

The students seemed to not even notice that I was standing smack in the middle of their advance, or perhaps they simply chose to ignore me. They continued forward as I attempted to formulate a plan for stopping what was most surely going to happen. Suddenly one of the leaders drew a red bandana from his pocket and tossed it defiantly to the ground without saying a word. I knew that I had to act quickly and so without hesitation I dashed over, picked up the crimson cloth, and smiled at the student who had initiated the challenge saying, “I think you may have dropped something. Here you go. Now run along to class.”

There was a deathly silence from every member of each group and the young man who had formally begun the proceedings looked sternly at me as though I had broken the most sacred of protocols. He was actually one of my favorite students and he seemed to be struggling to decide how to treat my lapse of good manners. I attempted to save face for him by continuing to play the fool. I acted as though I had no idea what kind of battle I had just averted, and still grinning naively I asked them to please hurry into the building noting that I was quite tired and didn’t want to have to fill out tardy slips for such a large group. I then gave my still confused student a stern and knowing look that he interpreted quite correctly. Without ever saying a word he accepted the bandana and stowed it away in his pocket. Glancing briefly at his rivals he motioned with his head to his posse and then turned and led them in the opposite direction sauntering slowing into the building.

The other group stood in stunned silence with expressions that revealed their own confusion, frustration and anger. I simply motioned for them to hurry inside and with a shake of his head their leader complied as well. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had stopped what would surely have been a bloody melee and big trouble for all of the boys whose tempers and pride had become riled up for some reason that I didn’t care to know.

I dutifully reported the incident to the principal so that he might watch for trouble, but there was none on that day or even well into the future. I don’t know if the rival gangs eventually met up off campus, or if they just lost their motivation to battle, but I never had any trouble with any of them again. The boy with the bandana eventually asked me how I knew that he wouldn’t fight once I had intervened. I just reminded him that it was “because I love you and I know that you love me.” He flashed an amused and satisfied smile.

I know that one of the students from that incident is now a Houston police officer and two of them are in prison. As for the rest, I have no idea how things went for them, but I think of them and pray that they eventually found a way to live their lives without violence. I have so many stories and memories that both haunt me and brighten my heart. I will always be a teacher. I will always love my kids.