Category: Family

The Sun Will Rise

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

sunriseI woke up this morning. While that may seem to be a minor accomplishment I know it to be something quite special, a blessing. I have one more opportunity to approach life with generosity and love, to do something outside of myself, to realize what is truly important, maybe even to impact someone who needs a little support to make it through another day. Last week was very hard for me. It began with very personal sadness and ended with worry and concern.

I should know better than most people just how uncertain life can be. I have awakened on a beautiful summer day only to learn that my thirty three year old father died in a car crash. I have watched my mother deteriorate so quickly from cancer that we never even had the opportunity to receive a definitive diagnosis. I have attended more funerals for loved ones and friends than I care to recall. Illness and death is a recurring theme in our world. We know that our days are numbered and yet we allow ourselves again and again to become distracted from focusing on the people in our lives.

Last week I received a frightening text that my son-in-law and my grandson had been in a terrible wreck. The car in which they were riding was totally destroyed in the blink of an eye. If the impact had differed by an inch here a foot there it might have been fatal for them as well. My grandson had difficulty even exiting his seat because the dashboard had pushed so close to him. Luckily all of the safety features of the auto did exactly what they were designed to do and both of my loved ones were okay, at least physically if not emotionally. Kind strangers went out of their way to help and in the end all went well but our family was still shaken by thoughts of what might have been.

Within less than an hour on the same day I received yet another message informing me that one of my cousins was receiving hospice care. He is someone who has been part of my life for as long as I have memories. He was born ten months after I was. We grew up together, sharing our childhoods, our teenage years and our lives as adults. He has been a constant source of laughter for me. He loves to tickle my funny bone with his sense of humor and corny jokes. Even a week after receiving this devastating news I can’t fathom losing him.

Last night there was a remarkable event in honor of another cousin who is battling lymphoma. She is far younger than I am, a mother of two small children who is really just beginning her adult life. She is a woman of incalculable faith but her strength is being tested to its very limits. Those who love her have rallied to her cause. She has earned their attention with the generosity of her heart. She presents a brave face to all of us but I can’t help but believe that there are many times when she is so afraid of what the future will be. I sense that she will be a courageous warrior for her children and I believe that she will win. Still I worry for her and find myself praying throughout the day that she will soon be healed.

The results of the election last week were shocking to me. I never would have dreamed that our next President would be Donald Trump. I stayed awake to hear the final announcement and even laughed a bit at the thought of this strange man leading our country. My inclination was to take his victory in stride. I learned long ago to be resilient. If I did not know how to roll with life’s punches I would have been destroyed by now. It was with great concern that I realized just how many people were suffering deeply because of what had transpired. Their pain was true and visceral.

I am above all empathetic almost to the point of overkill. I actually feel the hurt of those around me. It ties me into emotional knots that bind my mind. For most of the past week I experienced anxiety attacks, insomnia and spasms in my lower back. All of these things are related to the worry that I have for the individuals who feel so lost and confused over what has just happened. While I believe that many of their fears for our future are not going to be quite as bad as they think I understand why they are so worried.

I have written on multiple occasions about the undocumented students that I have taught. They were brought into our country when they were tiny children. The United States of America is really all that they have ever known. Whether or not this should have happened to them is of little relevance. What’s done is done and they had nothing to do with it. To suddenly punish them by sending them back to countries that are foreign to them seems particularly cruel. Most of them have been outstanding citizens. They have earned college degrees and worked hard, asking for little or nothing from the rest of us. Now they are fearful that all that they have ever known will suddenly be turned upside down by a man who has pledged to send them away. Even those who were born here worry that their families will be torn asunder. Their fears are so tragically real and I feel their pain deep down in my soul.

I have taught many Black children. They too wonder how they will be treated in the new political reality. It would be easy for all of us to dismiss their concerns as being unrealistic but I believe them when they tell me that they often suffer indignities. They are so beautiful to me that I sometimes forget that prejudices still exist. They know that even with their educations and their best efforts there will be those who consider them to be less than.

I am acquainted with people who are incredulous that so many of our citizens were able to overlook the offensiveness of Donald Trump and elevate him to the highest office in the land. At the same time I am familiar with others who believed with all of their hearts that Hillary Clinton was easily as bad. Many voters saw their choice as being the selection of the lesser of two evils. They did not pick Trump because they were vicious people but for reasons that made perfect sense to them.   

In the aftermath of the election I have been brokenhearted, mostly because of the animosity that I have seen from both sides of the voting public. I have witnessed people reacting in self righteous and smug ways toward their fellow citizens. I have read of instances in which people declared that members of their family were dead to them based solely on the ways they voted. I heard from a former student who is sincerely worried that a civil war will break out in the streets of our cities and towns. He is a young father who only wants his little girl to live in the safety and security that he senses might slip away if we do not find ways to become more united. My heart has felt as if it will break into a million little pieces. It all seems so very wrong.

We have been fighting with each other for far too long. We simply cannot continue to be a split screen nation. I pray for the soul of my country. While I am not a fan of President Elect Trump I want him to prove me wrong. I would like nothing better than for him to pull us together as a nation and bind the gaping wounds that are making us so sick. We need to be able to hear the many voices of our people whether they be liberal or conservative, straight or gay, white or of color, young or old, from the north or the south, the east or the west, urban or rural. I suspect that if we remain unwilling to find ways to reach out to even those whose ideas confound us then we will be in for years of chaos and hurt. I believe that we are better than that. It is time for us to show our better selves for the sake of our children. The sun will rise no matter what we choose to do but our days will surely be sunnier if we learn how to work together once again.

Be What You Want Them To Be

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

nature-vs-nurture-or-bothEach of us is a product of nature and nurture. Our genes determine the color of our eyes, the texture of our hair, our proclivities toward disease and illnesses. It is our environment from which our points of view and beliefs derive. Day after day we are exposed to people and ideas who influence our thinking. We pick and choose from the many philosophies that are presented to us. None of us are born being hateful or racist. Babies are as innocent as anyone might ever be. They love unconditionally. They are sweet and pure. Those of us who are parents, teachers, friends place our marks on a growing child until one day an adult emerges with a set of values that are an amalgam of many experiences.

I am not and have ever been an exact duplicate of my parents in the way that I see the world because I not only heard their thinking but also that of others who impressed me with their wisdom. I weighed what I heard with what I already knew and either accepted or rejected ideas. Thus it is with everyone which makes each of us a kind of change maker even when we may not even realize that we are making a difference in someone’s mind.

Little things affect us. For example I had a broken chair and I set about attempting to find someone to repair it. One person suggested that I simply purchase a new chair from him all for the low price of $375. Another took the time to track down the original manufacturer of the broken chair and in the process learned that it had a lifetime warranty. All I would have to pay to make it like new again was $20 for shipping. The first man was highly refined and worked in a prestigious store. The second man was decorated with tattoos and appeared to be less than elegant. Nonetheless he was the one who most impressed me and taught me once again to never judge a book by its cover. His honesty was inspiring and when I purchase two more chairs which I have long intended to do, I will buy them from him rather than the man who had little time or patience with my dilemma.

My simple encounter with the two men reinforced a particular way of thinking in my mind. It reminded me that character is something that can’t be measured by outward appearances, something that I learned long ago when I was still a fairly young bride. I was living in an apartment project when I met a woman from New York state who cussed like a sailor and trotted around barefooted most of the time with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She had a rather colorful background and was not like most of the people that I had previously known. I was fascinated with her and made an effort to get to know her better. I learned that she had a generous heart and she was a gifted artist. I know that some of my friends and relatives wondered why I hung out with such a seemingly rough person but they did not know her like I did. She was literally someone who would have done anything for someone for whom she cared. She taught me to have the courage to be myself and to think out of the box. She also showed me how to love and support my friends and family.

I have picked up nuances from many people all along the road of my life. My friend Pat opened up my eyes to the world and pushed me to enjoy experiences that I had never even imagined. To this day many of the routines that I follow come from the things that she taught me. Most importantly she demonstrated the importance of always putting people before things. Her door was always open to me whether I called ahead or simply dropped in for a chat. She would sit me down at her table and brew some tea and then give me her undivided attention.

I have another friend who is a real life Heloise. I can ask her how to do or fix anything and she has an answer. Her knowledge is encyclopedic and even includes having recipes at her fingertips. I often tell her that she should write a book or a blog. She has a very small income and still manages to live large with her ability to transform virtually anything from broken to a treasure. I can’t tell you how many times her homey advice has saved me from an expensive repair or parting with something that I love.

I have enjoyed listening to political discussions since I was a child. My relatives were rarely in lockstep with each other so I heard many different philosophies and have found pearls of wisdom in all of them which has turned me into a very independent voter who has never been tied to a single party or individual. Most people have difficulty deciding how to classify me because I don’t fit into any category.

I was raised in the Catholic Church and that upbringing had a profound effect on me but I do not believe every single teaching that I have heard. I have to politely disagree with admonitions against contraception, homosexuality and in vitro fertilization. I seriously can’t see Jesus worrying about such things given His tendency to repeat His commandments of love as the proper way to live. I suspect that my thinking was heavily influenced by liberal priests who focused more on how to treat people than worrying about judgements. As a result I am comfortable thinking for myself while still adhering to a faith in God and His role in my life.

I have no doubt that I behave and think the way I do because of millions of interactions with thousands of people, some of whom I don’t even consciously recall. All along the way I was cataloging the things that I liked and discarding what didn’t seem to fit my comfort level. I remember a humorous moment when my mother noted that she didn’t raise me the way I actually turned out. She was referring to my tendency to use rather colorful language when I am upset and I reassured her that indeed I had never heard such words from her.

Long ago I visited Chicago with my parents. While we were there I saw African Americans dining and co-mingling with whites, something that I had never observed in then segregated Houston. It struck me even at the age of seven that the people of Chicago were right and those in Houston were wrong. I even confronted my parents on this issue. It made me angry when they didn’t take my concerns seriously and only reinforced my belief that we must one day live together in harmony rather than in separate parts of town. I’m not sure from whence came my ability to think for myself but there it was.

I suppose the point that I am attempting to deliver is that we are quietly influencing others all of the time. They remember our kindnesses and our hurts. They hang on to our wisdom or shun our ignorance. We are molding others with the way that we behave toward them. It is not a purposeful thing, just something that happens in our everyday interactions. For that reason we should all be more careful of the impressions that we are making. Our children are learning more from what we do than what we say. If we want healthy happy individuals to evolve from their youth then we must act the way we want them to be.

Thoughts On An Election

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

states_imgmapI am very tired and not particularly clear headed today. I stayed awake until almost 3:00 A.M. and was up and about by 6:30 this morning. I am presently confounded by the results of our Presidential election. I have been absolutely wrong from the first days of the primaries. I assured former students and friends and loved ones that Donald Trump would not make it past a few weeks of voting in those early days. Of course my predictions were way off. When he earned the nomination I insisted that he would never win. In fact I expected him to lose in the manner of George McGovern. As late as yesterday evening I thought that Hillary Clinton would be making an acceptance speech by 10:00 and I would be in bed by 11:00. I was utterly shocked as the returns came in and they kept favoring President Elect Trump.

Anyone who has kept up with my blogs has read the reasons why I did not think Donald Trump worthy of the presidency. I have outlined my views again and again. To be honest I wasn’t particularly jazzed about Secretary Clinton either. I crafted a humorous piece in which I made suggestions as to how she might become more relatable to the average person but of course my words were ignored. Along the way Ms. Clinton’s loyal followers began to deify her and that really worried me because we all know in our hearts that she is as deeply flawed as any of us are. It would have been far better to admit that both of the candidates needed to do some soul searching and then note that of the two Hillary had the better temperament for the job. I feared that creating a story that she was perhaps one of the most wonderful individuals ever to run for the office would be a big turn off to many voters and I suspect that I was correct.

In the end I had to follow my conscience just as everyone else did. I could not have voted for Donald Trump even if someone put a gun to my head. I could not bring myself to vote for Hillary Clinton either. I chose to submit a write in vote even knowing that it would not count. That is how I reconciled all of the misgivings that I had.

I have spent the last year and a half reading voraciously about both candidates and about our Constitution and form of government. I have learned about previous presidents who were far from noble. I have listened to viewpoints from both avid supporters of Donald Trump and those who were excited about Hillary Clinton. What I learned is just how earnest each side truly is. I even had one of my former students who is a young millennial minority explain why he felt that it was so important to vote for Donald Trump in spite of his obvious deficiencies.

I was often surprised by the sincerity of the arguments that I heard. I don’t have friends or family members who are deplorable people. They are all exemplary human beings with generous hearts and good intentions but some of them were wholeheartedly in the Trump camp. I wanted to know why and so rather than trying to convince them to change their minds I simply listened. I found that their reasons varied. Some of them were upset by economic setbacks that they had experienced. Others were concerned about the Supreme Court. There were individuals who were now struggling to afford healthcare since the enactment of the Affordable Care Act. I spoke with highly religious people who were worried that their faith was being ignored by our leaders. There were many adamantly against abortion who felt unable to abide by Ms. Clinton’s views. Always in the back of many of their minds was the sense that Secretary Clinton had not always been forthcoming in her dealings with the nation. Not one of them ever mentioned race, sexual preferences or the fact the Hillary Clinton is a woman as deciding factors in their decisions to support Donald Trump.  They also noted that they found it insulting to be viewed by so many as ignorant and mean spirited. They felt that nobody had been listening to them until Trump came along.

I travel a great deal down the side roads of America. I have been through the heart of our country far from the urban areas that almost unanimously voted for Hillary Clinton. I have seen places where factories are abandoned and towns have all but blown away unnoticed. I have felt a sense of guilt as I pass by beat up trailers and dilapidated homes occupied by people who sit in their yards staring vacantly into the distance. I suspect from the evidence that I saw last night that many of these people have felt as though nobody has been listening to them for a very long time. Donald Trump took the time to visit with them and provide them with a ray of hope. He won because he was able to earn votes in places like Michigan, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, traditional bastions of blue collar Democrats. They have been hurting and we have ignored them as a nation.

I am a well educated woman who lives in the fourth largest city in the country. Most of my friends were loyal supporters of Hillary Clinton. They are deeply hurt today. Their tears are real. They believed in Hillary’s message with all of their hearts. They are afraid that the ugliness that Donald Trump has so often voiced will become standard operating procedure in our country. They worry about the environment and fear that we will fall back into old habits that have harmed our land. They wonder who will advocate for minorities and the LGBT community. Their concerns are very real and just as visceral as the ones that Trump supporters have.

Perhaps the finest election speeches came from both the winners and the losers. President Elect Trump indicated that he wants to bind wounds. Secretary Clinton had one of her noblest hours as she urged her followers to work with the new President and within the system. President Obama spoke of the American tradition of a smooth transition which he will help to initiate.

Many times of late I have written of our need to communicate with one another in a spirit of compromise and optimism. The fighting between brother and brother, friend and friend, younger and older, one race and another should cease. I have learned that it really isn’t all that difficult to truly listen to what others have to say without thinking of what my response will be to those who do not share my views.

Many people were asking this morning what they should say to their children. I suspect that it isn’t really as hard to have an honest response as it may seem. Here is how I would approach it:

“We live in a great country but not one that is without its flaws. We are a nation of many differences so it is only natural that our political views will run the gamut of possibilities. Every four years we get the glorious opportunity to choose our President. In our history such moments have often been contentious. One election literally lead to the Civil War. Our candidates win sometimes and at other times they lose. Over the long haul things have a way of evening out. Our nation has been able to weather wars, depressions, assassinations and other difficulties that seemed at the time to spell doom. Over and over again we adjust and manage to keep moving forward. Each successive generation steps forward to hold the reigns and guide the United States to a better and better version of itself. In such a grand undertaking there are bound to be setbacks but we will always be okay as long as we work together in a spirit of cooperation and love of country. If we elect someone who is not up to the job we need only wait four years to find a more suitable replacement. We have certainly had to do that before and will no doubt have to do it again. Our system works so long as we do not allow our differences to cause us to turn on one another. Taking the high road is always the best path even when others choose not to do so. We can only hope for the best and if we believe in God, pray that He will guide us. Regardless of whether we are part of the winning team or not this is not a time for despair but one to celebrate our freedoms. They will still be ours long after the dust settles. History shows us that we will move ever forward. As more eloquent people have reminded us in the past there should be no red America or blue America, no Republican America or Democrat America. There should only be the United States of America”

A Bit of Heaven

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

image39aWe used to own some property near Brazoria. It was a lovely place to take our two girls on weekends, a little get away from the big city and work. It sat next to a creek and was shaded by dozens of native pecan trees. A tiny house with two rooms and a bathroom was the only shelter from the heat and mosquitoes that always seemed to be waiting for us. Big ceiling fans kept us reasonably cool in the summer and an old ceramic gas heater warmed us when the weather turned chilly. We had no phone or television there. It was always quiet save for our conversations and laughter and an occasional song from a bird.

The land had once belonged to my husband’s Uncle Bob. He used it mostly for fishing and hunting. He built the tiny house as a concession to his wife who didn’t really care much for the primitive conditions and the work that being there always seemed to entail. Still, she knew how much Bob loved his little piece of heaven and so she was always a good sport about spending time there and often invited other members of the family to gather for barbecues and card parties. My husband spent many a weekend there when he was a boy with his extended family and his uncle’s friends and so he dearly loved being at the place that everyone knew as Bell Bottom.

The little plot of land sits in the heart of an area once inhabited by the first Texans. Just down the road there is an archeological dig unearthing implements, tools and everyday items that the pioneering people who lived there might have used. Stephen F. Austin’s grave is not far away. He was responsible for encouraging settlers from the eastern United States to build a colony in northern Mexico. The Mexican government wanted the wild and unsettled land to be developed and had agreed to give plots to anyone willing to meet their terms. Along the way bitter disagreements between the people who had come and the Mexican government lead to a revolution and ultimately a split that created the Republic of Texas. 

My husband never knew the exact history of the place which he eventually inherited from Uncle Bob. It was bottom land with rich soil made even better by the deposits of sediment that the creek made whenever it flooded over its banks. We enjoyed exploring along the usually shallow waterway in a flat bottom boat that we tied to the hood of our car when we came for visits. It was quite lovely floating along the quiet water under a canopy of trees that arched over our heads like gigantic umbrellas. We saw fish ambling beneath us and snakes skittering to safety. We heard the tap tap tapping of woodpeckers and the screeching of owls. Mostly though it was silent down in that little secret paradise.

Sadly the county flood control district came without our knowledge and scarred the land and the creek in ways that made us cry. Instead of having a gently sloping access to the water there was now a drop off of several feet making it virtually impossible to launch our boat. Much of our land was taken under the guise of helping with flood problems. The deep cuts along the sides of the creek were ugly and many of the beautiful trees were gone as well. The abundance of wildlife was no more. Instead there lay a kind of unsightly shrine to the folly of humans. Our protests fell on deaf ears. It was what it was and had to be done according to government officials. To us it felt like an attack on something precious.

We enjoyed some of our best family memories at Bell Bottom both before the rape of the land and after. Every other November the grounds were littered with pecans. We brought boxes and sat on the grass meticulously moving through every square inch of the property and filling our containers with thousands of nuts filled with tasty meat. Sometimes it was quite cold as we harvested our bounty but we didn’t seem to mind because we knew what deliciousness lay in store.

In the warmer months we had to mow the lawn around the house. We purchased a small tractor from Sears and rode around and around trimming the greenery that seemed to grow even as we were cutting it. I became quite adept at guiding the mower around trees and over gullies and even down the steep slopes. It had been easier to drive the tractor before the “improvements” from the county but I soon enough learned the trick for staying away from the dangerous drop off near the water.

We took walks on summer days and played baseball in the yard. At night we built fires and sat in the glow of the burning embers. Sometimes we stayed up late playing board games or telling stories. I always slept like a log but my daughters tell me that they were often frightened by the tiny mice sneaking through the house after the lights had gone dark. Their imaginations overcame them but they didn’t want to admit to being a bit scared.

Eventually our girls were grown and Mike and I found that we were spending most of our free time after working all week just keeping things clean and repaired down at Bell Bottom. Ours was an incessant routine of working on the land and I for one began to understand why Mike’s aunt had so often expressed a lack of enthusiasm for being there. Somehow it just wasn’t as much fun as it had once been. After considering whether or not we might want to settle there after retirement we realized that we really didn’t want to be that far away from our family and friends on a permanent basis. The land that had once brought us so much was just one more bit of responsibility that was draining our energy. We reluctantly decided to sell it.

A great sadness still envelops me when I think of letting our beloved Bell Bottom go. I wonder if we were a bit too hasty in deciding to end our history there. Now that we are retired we have nothing but time and I suspect that we would have truly enjoyed bringing our grandchildren there. I especially think about the old place when the skies become a bit gray in November and the temperature drops just a bit. I wonder if the pecans have fallen to the ground and if the new owners are collecting them just as we once did.

Not long ago Mike and I drove by to see how things looked at Bell Bottom. We were happy to see that the people who bought the land had built a lovely home and had even dug a little lake. The lawn was beautifully manicured and it was apparent that the new landlords are quite proud of their little bit of heaven. I felt a bit better just seeing the love and care that was on display. Long ago Bell Bottom stole a corner of my heart that will remain on the land but my memories will always be mine.

The End of the Curse

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

chicago-cubs-world-series-slot-2016-10-22For a time my daughter and her husband lived on a corner in an apartment in Wrigleyville, a neighborhood in Chicago. It was a busy area right across the street from a tavern where locals always seemed to be celebrating something. The elevated train system was only steps away so the clattering noise of mass transit was just one of the everyday sounds that echoed through the open windows of their place. It sat on the top floor providing an excellent view of the shops and eateries nearby. It was an old school residence without an elevator or air conditioning. The walk from the ground floor on the steep steps provided an unadvertised perk of daily exercise. The apartment was small but quite lovely with its polished wooden floors and windows that allowed the sun to create a homey warmth. It had the kind of character that comes from tradition and age. My daughter somehow made do with the tiny kitchen that barely provided enough room for two people to stand. It lead to a small private stoop and a fire escape that fascinated me. Somehow it felt like a setting right out of a novel.

I am a creature of the wide open spaces of Texas who had only read of multistory housing in crowded urban settings. When I first heard where my daughter was living I secretly worried for her safety. Upon visiting her domain and actually walking through the neighborhood near her place I became enchanted. Everything about Wrigleyville was quite wonderful, even the raucous noise that filled the air each evening as revelers relaxed in the local bar across the street. I most enjoyed sitting at her dining table in a corner room with windows overlooking the expanse. I imagined being there day after day and finding inspiration for my writing. I was intoxicated by the sheer adventure of observing so much humanity.

The area was called Wrigleyville because the home of the Chicago Cubs baseball team stood proudly at the center of the residences and businesses. It was an easy walk from the apartment to the field so of course I wanted to attend one of the games but my first visit was in the winter so I had to wait until my return in the summer. I had no idea that I would fall in love with the Cubs when I first entered the stadium on a warm afternoon. Everything about the experience was wondrous. It seemed to me to be what baseball was supposed to be like. The fans were all decked out in their gear and the place was packed. The hot dogs were a gourmet delight so unlike the plastic almost inedible ones that I had tried back home. People sat on the tops of nearby buildings to catch the action without benefit of sound. The crowd was happy, cheering and totally into the game. I can’t recall a single time that I have had so much fun at a baseball game. Forevermore the Cubs would be my favorite team with the exception of my Houston Astros.

I heard all about the curse that had once been placed on the Cubs by a local tavern owner who became incensed when he and his goat were turned away from the stadium back in 1948. I tend to be a believer in such things since I am sometimes a bit of a jinx myself. I’ve been known to turn the victorious tide of a sporting event just by my mere presence. I take such matters quite seriously. Somehow the whole idea that the Cubs were the victim of black magic seemed to be confirmed a few years back when they were on the road to finally ending their drought when a fluke play shattered their dreams. I just happened to be visiting my daughter at that time and watched in shock as a fan reached out from the stands and caught a fly ball before one of the players had the opportunity to force an out. I vividly recall how stunned we were as we realized that the Cub’s dreams had gone up in flames.

The apartment where my daughter lived caught on fire one evening. One of the residents had fallen asleep while burning a candle which eventually touched off a blaze that filled the entire building with smoke and flames. Luckily everyone escaped with only minor injuries but the firefighters had to vent the roof to control the burn and almost everything that my daughter owned was ruined by falling debris, smoke, and water. She was expecting twins at the time and decided that perhaps it was time to move to a place with more green space and so she left Wrigleyville but not without a heavy heart. We would all think back on that lovely place for years to come and reminisce about those Cubs games and the walks down tree lined avenues.

Eventually she and her family moved back to Texas taking memories with them that never grew dim. Year after year we all rooted for the Cubs but saw our hopes dashed again and again. Then came the news that they were going to the World Series. Prognosticators boldly pronounced that they were the underdogs in the matchup and I feared that something would surely go wrong in their quest to end the curse and become victorious. Slowly but surely they proved everyone wrong in one of the most exciting battles in decades, going back and forth with the Cleveland Indians until it was game number seven and they had to lay everything that they had on the line.

I had butterflies in my stomach all last night and did my best not to somehow influence the outcome of the game with my thinking. I busied myself and tried not to become too overjoyed when they held the lead for so long. When the game tied up near the end I held back the negative thoughts that clouded my mind. A delay of the game due to rain made me want to panic but I instead remained calm. I wondered if there had ever before been such a build up of tension in such a major contest. Then it happened. The Cubs won the pennant. After one hundred eight years they had finally done it.

I can almost hear the cheering in the tavern that still stands across from where my daughter once lived. I can see the smiles on the faces of the people of Chicago as they ride the trains to work and school. I want to walk down the street and celebrate with them. I want to eat a hotdog and wear a blue shirt. In a time filled with so much negativity and uncertainty it feels so good to have a grand reason to shout with joy. The Cubbies have shown us all how to keep the faith. I for one rejoice.