Category: Family

Laughter: The Music of Angels

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transformation

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did They Know?

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

starchild-2001-space-odysseyOne of my all time favorite movies is 2001 A Space Odyssey. It is an enigmatic journey beginning with Neanderthal man realizing the destructive power of tools and ending with the rise of a fetus, a star child. It poses many questions about who we are as people and where we are going in the future. It is fitting that it proposes a child as our hope. Whenever I see a baby I find myself considering what magnificent gifts he/she might one day present to mankind. I wonder if some loving relatives saw the bright eyes of a Leonardo da Vinci in his innocent look when he was just a boy. Did they know that he was going to change the world?

There are many stories of omniscient mothers and grandmothers who predicted greatness in their young. Lyndon Johnson’s mother is supposed to have told everyone that he would one day be President of the United States. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s grandmother insisted that he had been saved from death after a treacherous fall from a second story window because he was destined to do important work. Are these self fulfilling prophecies or is it really possible to indeed see something in the faces of our young that tells us that they are somehow gifted in ways that will change the world? Do we subconsciously train our little ones to follow a certain path or does it just happen with or without our help? These are questions that I have often considered but I know for certain that the smallest among us represent our greatest hope for tomorrow. For that reason we must cherish and develop each tiny person in every possible way.

Sadly there are too many children who suffer and even die from neglect, lack of resources and abuse. If we spent even a third of the time and money that we expend on entertainment to help create better lives for children everywhere many of the problems that plague the world would be eliminated. A child who grows up in a healthy and safe atmosphere of love is far more likely to fulfill his/her potential than one who does not have such opportunities.

Most of us work hard to provide our children with lives conducive to full development. As I attend events with my grandchildren I witness the caring attitudes of men and women who understand the impact that their concern will have on raising happy and confident youngsters. Such care is not limited to those with high incomes. Even without money a loving parent makes a difference in a child’s life. My own mother struggled to provide my brothers and me with the basics but above all we understood without question that she was our protector, advocate and the person who encouraged us to fulfill our destinies. There was no better cheerleader in our lives. It did not take money for her to let us know that we were important members of the world and that our opinions and contributions mattered. This made us strong and able to navigate problems because we knew that we were never alone.

It is well documented that much of the testing that our children undergo is experience driven. A child who has read or been read to is more likely to do well than one who has not been exposed to print matter. Those who travel and see many different places and hear many ideas are more likely to achieve. A child who lives an isolated existence in a stimulus deprived environment is at a grave disadvantage. Luckily there are ways to counteract such problems.

The KIPP Charter Schools place a high priority on exposing students to a variety of experiences. They take children on field trips and introduce them to cultural events and opportunities. It is not uncommon to see entire classes traveling to Washington D.C. or New York City, thus giving them insight into the world at large. These adventures make a tremendous difference in the lives of kids who might otherwise never see such things but they cost a great deal of money and all too often the funds are simply not available. I often think of how wonderful it would be if each of us decided to forgo at least one luxury and instead donate that money to an educational cause. Perhaps we should have a tip jar in which we place the coins that we might have spent on a latte or another new pair of shoes. At the end of the year we would have more than enough to have an impact on somebody’s life.

When my mother died she had a small amount of money in her bank account. It was a rather insignificant amount but my brothers and I decided to use it to fund a charitable act. A teacher friend was in the process of building a library for her English class and we were able to purchase a number of books for her project. I knew that my mother would have been ecstatic to learn that her humble offering had made such a grand difference for children who might otherwise have limited exposure to literature.

When I was teaching I learned soon enough just how many of my students had no form of reading material in their homes. There were no newspapers, magazines or books of any variety. This was not because their parents did not appreciate reading but because they had to limit their spending to essentials. They had to choose between providing basic needs and filling their homes with the volumes that so many of us take for granted.

In my own experience in the classroom I learned that my students truly enjoyed the mini-libraries that I often created for them. I found myself wishing that I might simply give away my books but I never had enough income to be so generous. I realized that my own daughters had lives filled with resources, lessons and opportunities that would rarely be available for my pupils. I saw the effects of their paucity and it was heartbreaking.

I recall taking a group to participate in an Academic Pentathlon competition. They were already nervous but when they drove through the wealthy neighborhood where the games were being held they became silent and I saw the sense of deprivation that they were feeling. Finally one of them declared that she was afraid to go into the school because she was so unlike the people who lived in that area. I gave the group a pep talk. I told them to walk in with their heads held high because we had prepared them for the tests that were to come. We had purchased beautiful team shirts for them to wear. Each of them had copies of the books and questions that might be asked. I insisted that they had nothing less than their wealthier counterparts.

As they walked in with their confidence renewed there were whispers from the other teams who were wondering from whence my students had come. “They look as though they are from a prep school someone shouted.” Smiles appeared on my kids’ faces. Their confidence went up several notches. They were winners that day and I suspect that they later parlayed that victory into their lives. Sometimes all it takes are a few gentle reminders that genius is possible in anyone for it to take hold. They were able to find the talents inside their souls and bring them to the surface.

Our future begins with the tiniest among us. It starts with healthy habits and care for expectant mothers. It continues with opportunities to enrich the minds and bodies of all of our children. There is no greater contribution that we might make to society. It is an investment in what is most important and it doesn’t take that much to become involved. Even the tiniest bit of help has the potential to change a life. Instead of relying on the government to make a difference it’s time that we all found ways to support the youngest among us. We will all win.

His Story

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

US_$10_Series_2003_obverse.jpgHe was a small man with a gigantic intellect. Nothing about his background might have indicated the greatness that he would achieve. He was born out of wedlock on an island in the West Indies at a time when illegitimacy was considered a curse. By the age of thirteen he was an orphan who so impressed a local benefactor that he was sent to New York to further his education. He eventually graduated from King’s College and became an up and coming lawyer. Without any wealth or influence he used his genius to be one of the driving forces behind the American Revolution and the development of the Constitution of the United States of America.  He earned the undying respect and trust of George Washington and became his personal aide during the war and the first Secretary of Commerce in the early years of the nation. Certain tragic flaws led to scandal, blackmail and ultimately his death in a duel. He has been the often forgotten Founding Father known best as the face on the ten dollar bill and the man shot and killed by Aaron Burr. In truth he is the person most responsible for creating the economic foundations of the country and in many ways he is perhaps the most quintessential representative of the American citizen. His name is Alexander Hamilton.

A few years back I became fascinated by Alexander Hamilton after reading a biography by Ron Chernow that my husband had given to me for Christmas. I identified with the sheer humanity of his story. He was someone who overcame tremendous deficits through sheer will and talent. He was a man who was unafraid to fight for what he believed to be right and just and yet he was also guilty of harboring resentments and falling prey to dishonest flattery. He was supremely confident in some situations and unsure of himself in others. He was a man filled with contradictions who often allowed his unbridled ego to determine his fate. He reminded me of so many highly gifted individuals who in spite of their multiplicity of talent too often become embroiled in personal battles that destroy them. Ultimately each and everyone of us struggle with inner demons.

It seems that while I was learning about Alexander Hamilton and celebrating his complexity there was someone else coming to the same conclusions as mine. In a stroke of genius Lin-Manuel Miranda created a brilliant musical to introduce the world to this fascinating character. Mixing history with modern day rap Miranda has created a stunning chronicle of the life and times of our nation’s earliest beginnings through the story of one of its most interesting founders. Hamilton represents the nitty gritty of America from his humble birth to his tragic downfall and Miranda has captured the sheer irony of Hamilton’s life in music that brings our forefathers into the modern world with all of their glory and baggage. The play has garnered well earned critical acclaim, honors and nightly packed houses. Best of all it has brought renewed interest in Hamilton and his costars in the unfolding of America’s story.

My dream is to one day see this musical on Broadway but that will have to wait until the tickets become more affordable for an average Josephine like me. Still I would love nothing more than to travel to all of the places that served as a backdrop to Hamilton’s life and then attend a showing of the play as the grand finale to my journey back through time. I think that it would prove to be the perfect vacation. My all time favorite trips have been educational in nature and this one would be beyond incredible. Judging from the ticket calendars for Hamilton that I have studied it will be several years before I will be able to fulfill my fantasy but in the meantime it will be a fun excursion to plan.

There are many aspects of Alexander Hamilton that remind me of my own grandfather. For all intents and purposes he too was an orphan. His mother died when was only three days old and his father gave him away to a woman that he lovingly called his grandmother. No documentation confirms who his relatives actually were. It is as though he simply sprang spontaneously from the earth. When he was only thirteen the woman who had raised him died leaving him on his own. He chose an uncle to oversee his small income and even stayed for a time with his father but it was not long before he was traveling across America alone and in search of work. He used his wits and determination to survive.

Grandpa was a brilliant man who in many ways was self taught. He loved this country and exercised his right to a voice in government by regularly voting well into his one hundredth eighth year of life. Like Alexander Hamilton he refused to allow his humble birth to dictate the direction of his life. He used all available opportunities to keep himself and his family afloat even in the most difficult times. He witnessed more than one economic depression, five different wars, and every presidential race from 1878 until his death in the mid nineteen eighties. Through it all he was an optimist who believed that each passing year of his life was just a bit better than his last.

My grandfather saw our human progress as a sign that the government was working just as it had been intended. He kept the faith in America’s democracy until the very day that he died. One of his last big reads was a biography of Thomas Jefferson which he was able to discuss at length just after he turned one hundred eight. He believed that his longevity and his gifts of freedom were great treasures. He left this world with not a penny to his name but he would have insisted that he was rich. He loved his country as much as he had his family. He had weathered a lifetime of tragedy and yet he was a happy man who thought himself blessed simply for living in a place that seemed to be ever improving. His take on history was that the United States of America was slowly but surely moving forward and that we all benefit from its continual search for justice and freedom.

Right now we are in a kind of valley of fear and criticism with regard to our country. We act as though these are somehow the worst of times and yet our history demonstrates that we have been in similar circumstances before. We find the divisiveness between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton to be deplorable and we are shocked that they won’t even shake hands. We forget that Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr were such political rivals and enemies that they ended up on a field in New Jersey to settle their differences with pistols. Hamilton was mortally wounded and Burr who had been the Vice President of the United States was charged with murder and thought to be a villain for all time. Somehow our country moved beyond such a shocking turn of events just as it always seems to do.

My grandfather was able to use the breadth of his experience to see that we may falter and even lose our momentum but we always find our way back. He realized that great men like Alexander Hamilton understood the nature of humans even when they ignored their own flaws. Together individuals from different backgrounds and alternative points of view developed a government that was capable of sustaining itself and correcting its mistakes. Over two hundred years later it’s still here and not even the bombast and prevarication will tear it down as long as we the people cherish it and continue to work to make things right just as Hamilton did so long ago. He lived and died just as we all do but what a story he left behind.

Unexpected Showers

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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