Category: Family

Lessons From The Gang

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ourgang4_xlargeBack when I was a child most of the local television stations filled the programming hours in the afternoon with old black and white movies usually of the B variety. I never saw many A listers in those films but some of them were surprisingly good and memorable. I grew to have a particular affection for the short Our Gang flicks featuring an adorably talented group of children known as The Little Rascals. I didn’t realize back then that the beloved characters and stories that I watched so eagerly were filmed back in the 1920’s and 30’s. Those kids were long grown up by the time that I was laughing at their antics. They represented life during very hard times for the world and overriding all of their mischief there was always a moral for how to live life to the fullest. Their tales and the lessons they taught were universal enough to the human experience that I still think about how much they influenced me.

For some reason one of the episodes of that long ago time has stuck in my mind throughout my lifetime. It featured a family of children trying desperately to find an extraordinary gift for their mother. The little ones did odd jobs to earn money but even when they put all of their savings together they were still shy of having enough to purchase the kinds of presents that they so desperately wanted to give her. Their prayers appeared to be answered when they encountered a big sale at their local department store. Even though there were limited styles and sizes being offered at the low prices they managed to find an entire outfit of clothing for their mom, including a hat and shoes. It was with great fanfare and joy that they presented their gift of love to her.

The final scene shows the elated mother walking proudly down the street ignoring the gaping stares and whispers as she greets her friends and neighbors with her head held high. The dress from her little ones is quite obviously several sizes too large and hangs dangerously from her shoulders ready to drop to the ground if she does not walk very carefully. The shoes are little better and the hat is quite ridiculous. Still the pride with which she carries herself and the smile on her face insures her children that she is enchanted by the outfit that they worked so hard to buy her. Her selflessness and gratitude radiates and the smiles on the kids’ faces tell a story all its own.

In this season of giving we have at times become all too expectant in our wants and desires. Madison Avenue has somehow convinced us that this should be a time for receiving a new car or very expensive jewelry or electronics. The spaces underneath our Christmas trees are often crammed with gifts that may or may not satisfy us or those to whom we give our offerings. Most of us would be unlikely to demonstrate the kind of appreciation for a misfit gift that the mom in that old production showed to her children. Instead of simply enjoying the thoughts behind the many gifts that we receive we all too often obsess over whatever may have been lacking.

My mother loved visiting friends and family at Christmastime. It was quite fun going from one house to another and viewing the Christmas decorations and presents under the trees. One lady that Mama knew always received professionally wrapped gifts from her husband. They were so lovely that I would have had a difficult time tearing the paper and bows apart to find out what was inside. There always seemed to be mountains of boxes just for her. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be if my widowed mom had someone to be so extravagant and thoughtful to her. She had to be satisfied with the small homemade things that my brothers and I gave her but her friend seemed to be feted like a queen. Ironically instead of being happy she complained every single year about how she would no doubt have to take everything back because her man had such poor taste. She insisted that it was a trial for her to even think of opening the presents because she was convinced that she would dislike them all. Somehow it never occurred to her how hard he was trying to please her. The attitude that she proclaimed seemed so wrong to me and I wanted to fuss at her but I was just a child and such lectures would have been wrong. Instead I told myself that I would never ever be so selfish.

A gift is far more than just the item inside a package. It is an outward sign that someone cares and has taken the time and the resources to show love. Regardless of how small, a present should never be taken for granted. Instead we should treasure the idea behind the offering. Someone in the busyness of the day has thought to make us happy. If we consider how powerful such an act is then we realize that it really is the thought that counts. 

My father read so many fairytales to me but the one that seemed to resonate the most was about a fisherman who caught a magic flounder. He was granted a wish if he agreed to throw the hapless fish back into the water. Knowing that his wife was saddened by the deplorable condition of the shanty in which they lived he asked that he receive a nice little home. When he returned from work that evening his wife was beaming as she emerged from a small but tidy cabin. When he told her how the miracle had come to pass she frowned and upbraided him for making such a small request. Instead of being satisfied by her improved condition she longed for more.

As luck would have it the fisherman once again caught the magical creature who offered yet another wish. This time he was more specific in requesting a mansion with lots of money to match the splendor of the house. By this time his wife was on to the game and she met him at the door railing that he still had not requested enough. She fretted that he might have done so much better and became ever more unhappy even in the midst of splendor. Of course as the tale proceeds the fisherman catches the fish again and again asking for more and more audacious gifts with each new opportunity. In the end the flounder decides to give the man what he needs rather than what he thinks he should have. The hapless fisherman returns home to find his wife standing in front of the shanty that had originally been their home.

In this season we would all do well to keep our desires within reason and teach our children to do the same. Learning how to appreciate the blessings that we have is crucial to finding the happiness that we all seek. The baby for whom the holiday was named was not a king or a man of power but a humble soul. We would all do well to follow His example and to remember the moral of the story of mankind that is repeated over and over again. It is in giving that we truly receive. It is in loving that we find the greatest joy.      

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.

Our Hearts Do Go On

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

heartOn Thanksgiving my nephew’s partner and I were discussing the differences between introverts and extroverts. Most people believe that one is quiet and shy while the other is outgoing. The truth is that the two concepts describe the ways in which individuals heal when they are experiencing difficult times. Ironically I had to embrace a big dose of my own introversion last week after my cousin’s funeral.

I had been in the midst of large gatherings from the time that I first heard of my beloved relative’s death. Even though my encounters with people were limited to family they all involved masses of people and I was rushing from one type of event to another. My introverted psyche was screaming for some quiet “me” time but I was unable to reach a point when I might soothe myself in the ways that always seem to work. I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

After ignoring the signs that I was careening toward a mental meltdown I posted my frustrations on Facebook. I revealed a tiny bit of my behavior to my friends. I noted that I had accidentally broken several items. They were of little consequence but I realized that I had shattered them because my mind was unfocused. I had even bumped the curb with my tires while running errands and while driving home from a tutoring session I just missed swerving in front of an oncoming car that had entered my blind spot. I knew that I wasn’t my usual self and it worried me.

I was suddenly unable to quickly remember small details like my phone number. I’m a visual learner and I literally had to clear my mind and write things on a slip of paper before I was able to accurately remember them. I might have worried that I was slowly devolving into dementia from old age had I not so fluidly worked with my students regarding mathematical concepts.

I continued to run from one appointment to another becoming more and more agitated until I found myself crying in the middle of a store as I purchased a gift for a young woman whom I was meeting for lunch. A kindly soul noticed my emotional outburst and began to comfort me while I told her of my cousin’s death and how it had impacted me. She proceeded to share her own story. On that very day nine years prior her husband had died. She admitted that she was still raw and exposed from losing him. She described her own journey back from grief and we both cried together. I felt that my encounter with her had not been accidental. Some heavenly force had sent her to me as an angel.

When I later posted what had happened to me I received an outpouring of love and wisdom from dear friends who span the decades of my life. I finally realized that the introvert in me was screaming for the kind of solitude that would allow me to meditate and begin to heal. That very night I stayed up long after my husband had gone to bed. The house was dark and quiet save for the lights of the Christmas tree that I was decorating and the soothing music that I had chosen to play in the background.

As I slowly placed each of the cherished ornaments on the branches I literally thought back over my entire life, sometimes crying and other moments laughing. My memories flowed through my brain bringing renewal to me in tiny but continuous doses. Once the tree was finished I sat in its glow just as I have done for all of my Christmases. As the saying goes, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I felt better than I had since I first heard of my cousin’s passing. I said some prayers of gratitude and went to bed, falling into the deepest sleep that I had experienced in days.

I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in the next morning. I moved slowly and at a pace that felt comfortable. I chose to do things that I wanted to do. I visited a Christmas bazaar at a local church and purchased items that made me smile including a table topper made by a group of delightful ladies who create prayer quilts for those who are suffering. My favorite find was a cute little gnome fashioned out of recycled materials by the husband of a friend whom I have known since second grade. The little creature seems almost magical with his friendly owl and crystal wand. I found myself smiling in earnest as I placed him on a shelf near my Christmas tree.

My husband and I later enjoyed a delicious lunch, sitting outside as clouds gathered and a chilling breeze wafted over us. It felt good to be under a true December sky that fit so well with my thoughts. The power of God was blowing all around me, buffeting the trees and soothing my soul. Because he knows me so well my dear spouse said little as we munched on our sandwiches. We simply became one with the moment.

Later we ran errands doing simple things that required little or no thought on my part. It felt good to accomplish something without having to expend much effort. I seemed to simply float through the day, making taco soup and spending more time going inside my body and soul.

In the evening we watched a special program on PBS with three young tenors who were performing in Florence, Italy just as the original Three Tenors did over twenty years ago. I was able to close my eyes and listen to their melodious sounds as rains drenched my thirsty plants outside and the temperature dropped even more. I donned my pajamas and made a fire in the hearth. When a robo-call was stopped cold by an application that my husband had placed on our phone I actually laughed. I felt my old self beginning to emerge. By allowing my introversion to envelop me for a time I was growing stronger.

Each of us deals with life’s challenges in differing ways. I have to take mental health holidays time and again to be able to resume my active life. Sometimes I simply have to crawl into a cocoon and stay there until I am feeling strong again. I know others who rely on the companionship of others for the healing that they need. A big party filled with people is their panacea. If we truly know ourselves we will take the time to be wherever we need to be. Luckily I have dear friends who reminded me of what I had to do.

Of course I am not completely fine. The death of loved ones always changes us just a bit and leaves hollow places in our hearts. We move on once we are able to grasp the reality of what has happened. It is a part of every life whether we want it to be or not. I have been smiling today as I think of the times that I had with my cousin and I recall special moments with other friends and family members who are now gone. I wouldn’t trade having them as a part of who I am. I am so fortunate that those who are still with me gave me the exact dose of advice and comfort that I needed. I plan to emerge again with my butterfly wings intact. It’s true that our hearts do go on just as long as we care for them in the ways that suit us best.

The Tree of My Life

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

img_0670I set up my Christmas tree today and it is literally dripping with ornaments. I have to be honest that I had to purchase a second tree just to hold all of the lovely trinkets that I have collected over the years. My main tree is well over ten feet tall and the other one is smaller. Every single ornament has a story. In fact, I might fill a book if I were to write a paragraph detailing how and why I have each of them.

Many of my ornaments were gifts from friends, family members and students. One is especially beloved. It is a pink crocheted bell that a youngster gave me when I was completing my student teaching. She was a troubled child and I had been warned to watch her. Somehow I never thought to be wary of her. Instead the two of us bonded almost immediately. I found her to be enchanting and when she brought me that bell that she had crafted with her own hands I was touched to the very center of my heart. I often wonder where she is now. She would be in her forties. I hope things turned out well for her. I suspect that she would be surprised to know how much I treasure her thoughtful present.

My tree wouldn’t be complete without two decorations made from old Christmas cards and photographs. One was made by my friend, Linda, and it holds a picture of her two boys when they were tiny tots. The other came from my daughter, Catherine, when she was a little girl. It has an image of our first dog, Red, a beautiful and sweet golden retriever. They sit proudly amidst far more elegant ornaments but somehow they seem more important than even the annual Swarovski crystal snowflakes that I have been collecting since I visited the factory in Austria with friends, Monica and Franz, more than a decade ago.

I have a plastic angel with faded silver paint that came from my grandmother’s tree. Most people would think it quite ugly but it always reminds me of the fun times we had every Christmas Eve at her house with all of my cousins. I also have the glass globes that were on the first tree that Mike and I ever had. They too are a bit the worse for wear but I haven’t had the heart to part with them.

I have a large number of Hallmark ornaments. I tend to go back for more Mickey Mouse and Snoopy creations than any other. I also love the ones that replicate the toys that my girls had when they were small. My favorite among those collectables is Steamboat Willie. He whistles away as he steers his little ship. It always takes me back to the old black and white cartoons that sometimes played on television when I was a child.

When the Harry Potter books came out I became an instant fan and I have purchased themed decorations depicting many of the characters in the stories. My mother noted my enthusiasm and found a number of them for me. Harry is great but I am madly in love with the one that resembles Hagrid.

My friend, Pat, was a true lover of Christmas and gave me dozens of the decorations that don the branches of my fake fir. Over the years she gave me Snow Babies, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, silver bells, gingerbread men, redbirds, snowmen, and some of my most adorable and beloved adornments. Other friends like Cappy and Marita filled the my tree with trimmings from all over the world. There are straw bells and baskets from Mexico, blue and white globes from Denmark, ships in bottles from Italy and Santa figures from here and there.

I tend to purchase a new ornament any time that I take a trip. When I place those trinkets on the tree each year I instantly recall the fun that I had. I bought tin toys from the FAO Schwartz store that used to be in Chicago, a replica of Cafe du Monde in New Orleans, a double decker bus from Canada. There is a brown bear from Yellowstone and workers sitting on a steel beam from New York City. I have Revolutionary War soldiers and ballerinas. Nutcrackers and humming birds. I particularly enjoy an Elvis from Memphis and a duck from the same city.

My Christmas tree is really a tree of my life. Christmas after Christmas it records my travels, my friendships and the people and things that I most love. It tells as much about who I am as anything. I doubt I would be able to describe myself better than that tree does. It has bells and whistles and lots of sounds and is actually quite fun. I love nothing more than sitting in its light with the rest of the house in darkness and just enjoying each of the many decorations and the memories that go with them. They speak of the blessings that have followed me and the people who have always meant so much to me.

My tree has no coherent color scheme or theme. It appears to be a hodgepodge but I think of it as one of the loveliest things on earth. I used to prefer live trees but when I realized that my children were sick every year because of they were allergic to the sap I learned to love my artificial ones. I’ve had to replace those a few times but I carefully pack away the same ornaments year after year. I’ve had to make repairs and once in a great while I’ve had an accident and broken one which is momentarily heartbreaking but the memory that is associated with it never goes away.

My grandchildren especially love my tree. They press the buttons that make the decorations whir and spin and light up. They search for new ones each year and attempt to find the pickle that I purchased in Indiana way back when my eldest grandson was born. They like to hear to stories associated with each of them as much as I enjoy telling them. Somehow they never tire of laughing at their silly grandmother and like me and their mothers they would never change a thing about my crazy way of decking the boughs of my holiday fir.

It takes me hours to fit all of the ornaments on my tree. I worry that I will one day be too frail and weary to enjoy it as much as I do now. Both my mother and mother-in-law eventually eschewed their big trees in favor of small tabletop bushes. I truly hope that I never have to do that. I’d like to think that my children and grandchildren will help to bring my tree to life because they delight in it as much as I do. It is truly a tree of my life, a special view into who I am.