Category: Grandparents

Finding Marion

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

shamrocksThere is a theory that most people will be completely forgotten within three generations. After that time nobody still living will have heard the sound of their voices or felt the impact of their personalities. They may leave behind photographs or documents attesting to their presence on this earth but essentially they are defined not by memories but by images. Of course the modern era is rectifying this with digital footprints that might include recordings and moving pictures. Such used to be the purview of only the wealthy but now even common folk have access to technology. This is not the case for most of those who came before us and so they are slowly but surely being forgotten.

I have a great grandmother who is a mystery. I think that her name was Marion Rourke but of that I am not certain. She was the mother of my grandfather, William Mack Little. He told us that she died three days after he was born. There is no record of any of this. In spite of my relentless searches, Marion remains a cipher, as though she never even existed.

Of course there has to have been such a person because William was not just found in a cabbage patch. He had a father named James Mack who took him to live with a woman that he called his grandmother known as Sarah Reynolds. Sadly I have been unable to find any records for these individuals. They walked on this earth as though they were ghosts, phantoms of my grandfather’s imagination.

William never knew Marion but he thought enough of her to name his first born daughter after her. It was his touching way of honoring her. I suspect that he always wondered who Marion was and what she was like, just as I do. It saddens me to think that she died at what should have been one of the happiest moments of her life. She had a good strong son who would ironically live to be one hundred eight years old. He was a very kind and intelligent man who treated women with the highest regard. He no doubt would have been a dutiful son to the woman who brought him into the world.

Marion’s last name indicates a connection of some kind with Ireland. My grandfather always claimed to be half Scottish and half Irish and I have verified such roots with a DNA test that I once took. I wonder if she was born in the Emerald Isle or if she was a descendent of someone who originally came from there. She had a beautiful name and was someone’s daughter, but who might that have been? She was obviously quite poor according to what little my grandfather knew of her. He was her first child and I wonder what happened that made her so ill that she died.

When I had my first daughter my labor was long and hard. There were complications and my doctor later told me that in the old days I might have lost the baby or even died myself. I wonder if I somehow inherited the same genetic disposition for difficult birthing that Marion had. Do I have an idea of what she might have endured? Was she alone and frightened as things went awry? Did she realize that she would not live long enough to see her son grow into a man? Such thoughts haunt me as I attempt to remember her without any facts to steer me in the right direction.

I try not to forget Marion. Someone has to think of her. Each St. Patrick’s Day I celebrate the Irish in me and attempt to imagine my great grandmother. I cook corned beef and cabbage and celebrate my own life that would not exist were it not for the sacrifice of her own. I so want to know her and probably never really will.

My grandfather is not quite sure where he was born nor where he spent his childhood. It was somewhere in Virginia where he was able to see hills in the distance. By the age of thirteen he was orphaned again when his grandmother died and he became a ward of the state. He chose John Little as his guardian because he was an honorable man, a graduate of West Point. Grandpa took “Little” as his last name in honor of the individual who helped him to complete his journey into adulthood. Sadly John Little died of typhus when he was in his early thirties leaving my grandfather all alone again. Grandpa had to fight hard to find reasons to to stay alive, and somehow he always did. He had an optimism that was inspiring. I wonder if he inherited that trait from Marion? Would she have been proud to see him overcoming one challenge after another?

I feel a kinship with Marion both as a woman and as her great granddaughter. I know that she lives somewhere in me. I would love to know where she was born, what she did as a child, how she met James and where she was finally buried. It has been a kind of holy grail for me to find out who she really was and I am not yet ready to give up even though I have spent years searching for someone who seems not to have even existed. She deserves to be known and loved and treasured.

On St. Patrick’s Day I will once again prepare my traditional meal and think of her. It is possible that I will be the last person to do so. She will one day become forgotten just as the countless individuals who came before her. I am determined to tell her story even if I have to fill in the blanks to describe the details. I know from the scant information regarding her untimely death that she had been loved enough by James to bring forth a child and that hers was a difficult existence devoid of the medical help that might have insured her survival.  I know that her son was a strong, bright and healthy man who would have been a joy to her. I know enough about genetics to realize that she must have been an intelligent woman. Her DNA has helped to produce some quite outstanding descendants.

Marion is a name said to have derived from the Hebrew “Miryam” which means “sea of sorrow.” I hope that this is not an accurate description of hurt and pain that my great grandmother may have endured. I would like to believe that she found peace and that somehow she knows how well things turned out for her son and his son and finally for me.

We Are Our Own Narrators

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We the Women

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

img_1698A reporter from a local newspaper visited the Texas state robotics championship last Saturday and happened upon a group of middle school girls who were checking the equipment just before putting the robot through its paces in their round. The newswoman began talking with them and learned that one of them had been part of the primary design and engineering team, another had helped to author the Process Engineering Notebook and others had performed various tasks in marketing and driving all of which led to a second place finish in an earlier regional competition. She was fascinated to see so many females working with such precision and confidence and decided to feature them in an article. These young ladies are among the many who are blazing new trails in a world that places fewer and fewer limits on individuals because of their sex.

Women are forging ahead with abandon these days. America’s universities now enroll more females than males on a regular basis. Women are assuming leadership positions in virtually every walk of life. While there is some disappointment that we do not yet have a woman President of the United States, I am confident that it will happen before long. Glass ceilings are shattering everywhere.

There was a time when young girls were treated as though they were somehow unworthy of higher education or even an opportunity to learn the basics. Neither of my grandmothers had enough schooling to even know how to read. In just a few decades the trend of keeping the girls at home to take care of the cleaning, the cooking and the children no longer happens in the families of their descendants. One of the young ladies that I mentioned above is their great great granddaughter. She can’t even comprehend being held back like they were. I suspect that my grandmothers would be quite proud of her accomplishments and her confidence. She has no doubt that she will be able to achieve whatever she wishes. Her only problem at this point is in deciding which of many different talents she will ultimately use.

I was among the first generation of women who began working outside of the home en masse. I chose a traditional career as a mathematics teacher chiefly because I enjoy working with people. I had little desire to be an engineer or work with numbers in a more solitary environment. Teaching tapped into my social and creative talents and made me happy which is what I believe should be the case for everyone in determining a career. I was free to choose my own destiny and it felt freeing and natural.

My sister-in-law became a highly respected engineer and was in the highest levels of management by the time that she finally retired. She worked for a NASA contractor and played a big part in working with Russia and the International Space Station. She says that she rarely encountered any forms of sexism. She was highly respected for the excellence of her work. All that her coworkers and bosses wanted from her was competence and she had an abundance of that. Like me she enjoyed her work and only reluctantly left for a quieter life spending time with her grandchildren and traveling around the world.

Me and my peers literally blazed trails in one occupation after another until it became commonplace for mayors, police officers, CEOs and scientists to be women. We smashed the traditions of long ago when females often had to work in the background in certain fields. History is replete with stories and questions about how much women may have contributed to the genius of men like Galileo, Shakespeare and Einstein but we will never know the full truth because they had to work in the shadows. It was rare for the female half of society to venture outside of the home in most cases and almost unheard of for them to be consulted for their points of view.

We hear of trendsetters like Abigail Adams who was well read and had definite opinions about how things should have been. She did her best to get husband John to remember the women when drawing up the Constitution. Much to her dismay all thought of giving women the vote was dismissed and it took far too long for our ancestors to finally be given a right that should have been theirs from the beginning. With determination and courage brave souls worked until it finally happened about the time that my grandmothers were coming of age.

The days of pushing women aside are long gone. Within my family the female descendants of those grandmothers are doing extraordinarily well. There are accountants, Ph.D.s, a medical doctor, nurses, teachers, school administrators, artists, communications specialists, managers, social workers, championship golfers, and a group of up and coming little girls who promise to set the world on fire. There seem to be no limits to what we are willing to try, including climbing mountains, writing books and making movies. We simply don’t hesitate to make our dreams reality.

I attend the graduations of any former students who invite me to their commencements. If I were making tick marks to keep track of how many women and how many men are earning college degrees, the ladies would be far ahead. They are working hard and making names for themselves in law, scientific research, medicine, education, business, public health, psychology and a host of incredible careers. They have no fear when it comes to educating themselves and moving forward at a rapid pace. They leave me breathless with their accomplishments.

I presently wear a nail polish called “We the Women.” I find it fitting to do so since I have spent my life encouraging both young men and women to follow their dreams and never look back. I like to believe that I have played a small role in encouraging the young women that I have known to be courageous in deciding their own fates. There is no stopping them any longer. They are ready to accept all of the challenges of a future that looks quite bright for them. It’s going to be fun to sit back and watch them roar.

The Gift of Love

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Gift pileA Boys and Girls Club in Atlanta recently performed a small experiment and filmed the results. They brought in young children whose economic status was such that they might not receive any gifts for Christmas and asked them what they would choose if they could have their dream present. The kids wanted everything from a laptop computer to more traditional toys. Then they were told to name something that might be good for their parents. The ideas included jewelry, a big screen television, articles of clothing and such.

The children were delighted with the idea of being able to provide a surprise for their family members but soon learned that there was a twist. They would either receive the gift for themselves or the one that they had chosen for the parent. With the two items sitting in front of them every youngster took only seconds to conclude that giving was far more important than receiving and they picked the presents for their loved ones, noting that nothing was better than family. In the end the children actually received both gifts but not before genuinely believing that they were giving up their own dream presents.

Human nature tends toward goodness rather than evil. We see news reports of vile incidents but given the millions upon millions of people on this earth they are the exception rather than the rule. One of the reasons that we are so shocked when violent acts occur is because the odds of their happening is generally low. Mostly our world is filled with decent people who have generous spirits much like the children who were willing to sacrifice their hearts’ desires for their parents.

The kids were correct in noting how much their moms and dads had done for them. The average parents do incredible things for their children on a regular basis, setting needs and desires aside just so the little ones will enjoy safe and happy lives. Their offspring are rarely far from their thoughts. They feed and clothe them and provide as safe and loving environments as possible. They teach them and play with them. Theirs are full time jobs that begin early in the morning hours and extend until late at night, sometimes with interruptions that deprive them of sleep. The routines last for years and even when the children leave home as adults the parents still worry and fret. Somehow the caring behaviors are almost instinctual with models for parenting passed down from one generation to the next.

Of course we hear of want, abuse, neglect, broken families and we worry that our society is losing some of its vitality. We wonder if single parent homes are as strong as those with two parents. We fret that very non-traditional situations may harm children. I have found in my own experience that as long as the household is centered on love, kids will thrive. They do not need things as much as they need to know that someone truly cares for them.

I often hark back to stories that I have heard from my students. I recall the little girl whose only wish was that her mother might receive a mattress from Santa Claus so that her parent would no longer have to sleep on a pallet on the floor. I think of the young man whose goal of graduating from high school was motivated by the sacrifices that his mom made everyday. His eyes filled with tears as he thought of her arriving home from work late each night after toiling for fifteen hours. He spoke of her exhaustion and swollen ankles and her never ending desire to build a better life for him. He was determined to do whatever it took to pay her back for all that she had done.

My own mother had few possessions. Her focus had always been on me and my brothers and eventually on her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Her closet held more gifts for us than clothing for her. She kept a card table at the ready for wrapping presents and shopped for bargains all year long, storing items away for birthdays and Christmas. She enjoyed our excursions to stores where she might find a seventy or eighty percent off sale with additional coupons that brought prices down to a range that she might afford. She combed through aisles searching for just the right delights for each person. When the time came to present her treasures to the lucky recipients she felt as joyful in watching them react as she would have if she had been surprised with a brand new car. Like the children who were willing to give up their own gifts, our mama essentially chose to sacrifice her personal desires in favor of ours over and over again.

I have enjoyed reading since I was quite young. One of my favorite stories from O. Henry was The Gift of the Magi. It is a Christmas classic that tells of a young man and woman with very little money who struggle to purchase each other the perfect gift. The ironic tale demonstrates our human tendency to go to great lengths to bring happiness to those that we most love.

In this holiday season the stores will be filled with people hoping to find the perfect gifts to demonstrate their profound feelings for their families and their friends. Some see this tradition as being too commercial but I choose to think of it as an outward sign of our never ending love for those who mean so much to us. We may sometimes overdo things a bit but for most of us the intent is as pure as the characters in O. Henry’s story. The season of giving derives from the ultimate sacrifice that the baby born in a manger in Bethlehem so long ago would eventually make for all of us, His very life.

This is my favorite time of year when our generous natures shine forth in the lights and the many symbols of the season. Whether we celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa, or simply enjoy a holiday from work there is a happiness all around the world that comes from sharing our blessings with others. We’ve been celebrating and giving in the middle of winter for centuries and something tells me that we will continue for many more, at least I hope that is the case. Underneath all of the tinsel is love.

The Making of a President

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Mount RushmoreI have often wondered what convinces an individual to believe that he or she is worthy of being President of the United States. I’ve read stories about former presidents like Lyndon Baines Johnson that tell of mothers or grandmothers predicting greatness at the time of birth. I just finished a biography of Bill Clinton which suggested that he had wanted to be President from the time that he was young and that he had convinced his friends and family that it would happen long before he was even old enough to run for office. Others, like George Washington, appear to have reluctantly taken on the job more from a sense of duty than a desire for power. Regardless of what motivates the individuals who have sought the presidency, I have to ask what makes them feel that leading our powerful nation is within the realm of their skill sets.

Most recently the Republican party fielded seventeen potential candidates. Several among them, including the eventual nominee, were seemingly ludicrous, reaching far beyond their abilities and yet each firmly believed that he/she was ready to handle the demands. The Democrats only had two choices, mostly out of deference to the woman that they felt needed to be given her due, despite the fact that her track record in public life is not nearly as outstanding as the party would like us to believe. The level of confidence that I see among political candidates is stunning and as an educator, mother and grandmother I would love to know how to inculcate such qualities of self worth in the many truly outstanding young people that I know. 

I found a hint as to what differentiates those who win the ultimate prize and those who fall by the wayside in a biography of Bill Clinton that I recently read. During his high school years young Bill was often bested by a young man who seemed more likely to be destined for greatness. In contest after contest he beat Bill and was well on his way to a political career long before Bill had won a single office. Along the way this man decided to drop out of contention. He quite simply disliked the price that he and his family would have to pay to rise through the ranks. He abhorred the loss of privacy and the compromising of his principles that seemed to be required in the political world. He left politics and instead rose to prominence in the private sector. Bill on the other hand molded his entire existence around an unwavering desire to one day be President. Virtually every choice that he made in life was predicated on the effect that it might have on his political career.

Right now it’s quite popular in educational circles to speak of the importance of grit in determining success in any endeavor. The people who eventually reach their goals are those so determined to make it that they are unwilling to allow any obstacles to get in their way. Perhaps it is resolve that is the ultimate factor in whether or not someone makes it to the top. If so, how might those of us who work with children teach them how to work hard and stay focused on the tasks that will help them to achieve? Are such skills innate or is it possible to cultivate them? For that matter do we even want to create hard driven adults or is it best to only encourage our young to follow their hearts wherever they may lead?

My father was somewhat of a perfectionist. I often believe that I inherited my own tendencies in that regard from him. I am admittedly a high energy, competitive individual. I want to be the best that I might possibly be at everything that I try. I am more than willing to put in the heavy lifting to get where I want to be. I once spent an entire summer perfecting a baton twirling routine with bumps and lumps on my head as proof of my work ethic. I am one of those people who will get somewhere early and be the last to leave to prove my mettle. Still when the higher ranks of the educational world were within my grasp I flinched. My school district selected me to be one of their leaders and was even willing to pay for the education and certifications that I needed. I ultimately chose a different path because much like the young man who had been Bill Clinton’s early nemesis I decided that I did not feel comfortable at the top. It felt too distant from the heart of schools, too removed from the students. I continued in a role that better suited my disposition, that of a facilitator, a right hand assistant.

One of my all time favorite professors taught a Public Administration course that I took when earning my Masters degree. He had spent years working on important projects on the Beltway in Washington D.C. He insisted that most of the policies that affect us are created by unknown people who work in the shadows of the many agencies that dominate our nation’s capitol. They are lifetime bureaucrats who are never elected and rarely leave even when a new party takes over. They know more about how things work in our government than those for whom we vote. They are the unseen drones who wield power over us without our ever realizing that they even exist.

Since first hearing about the worker bees who do the heavy lifting to keep our nation running I have found myself wondering if it is possible that they are indeed the most powerful, the Rasputins among us, the handlers who create the public faces of our leaders. If that is the case then maybe those who run for the highest offices have learned along the way that all they really need is a crew of smart and trusted associates to help them. They understand that they need not stand all alone in running a country or a state or a business. They do not become candidates for President because they believe that they have all of the answers but because they know which people will help them to gather the information that they need. That is a very different skill set indeed than the one that we often imagine is needed. It requires the mind of a manager, someone who has a knack for seeing the big picture and all of its working parts, someone who knows how to motivate people and stay on top of things. When viewed from this angle, it becomes apparent that the ingredients for the making of a president are far more complex than a few simple character traits.

The truth is that very few of us ever aspire to the job of leading a country. For those who do, the requirements seem to begin with a certain level of desire and confidence. Unswerving grit helps but matters little without intellect and managerial skills. Quite frankly someone without at least a touch of charisma may never achieve the loyal following of supporters needed to rise to the top. Finally the person must be willing to pay the high cost of public exposure which always exacts its incredible price. I suspect that in the end few of us would want such a life either for ourselves or for our children. Still there is nothing wrong with knowing how to encourage those very special youngsters who somehow have the strength of mind and body to endure the rigors of taking their exceptional abilities all the way to the top. A good parent or teacher sees the potential of greatness and shows the child how to develop it to the utmost. We never really know from whence the next Abraham Lincoln may come. He or she may be crawling across a room right now in preparation for one day leading us into the future.