Family – Page 75 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

Brothers and Sisters For All Time

Published on October 17, 2016October 16, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

14715452_10210431674649282_4125192097874582664_o-1 The dictionary definition of family is “a group of people related by blood or marriage.” Such a description is far too limiting. We often extend the breadth of our relationships to include special friendships that are as deep and endearing as those we share with our kin. We feel bound to such people by sharing common experiences and traditions. We especially form deep and abiding friendships when we are young. The common history of our youth makes particular people feel like our brothers and sisters. Just as with those who come from our same DNA, the individuals who walk with us day after day for a time may leave, but they are never forgotten. Somehow they live in our hearts even when we do not have them near. Such it is with my family from Mt. Carmel High School.

Fifty years is a very long time, five decades, half a century. When I was a teenager it was difficult to even imagine such a long passage of the calendar but I have indeed walked through those fifty years since my graduation from high school. Before that day of long ago I had spent eight to ten hours five days every week inside a brick and mortar building with the same people. Our journey together lasted four years. We shared the same lessons and traditions. We learned together, laughed together and sometimes even cried together. We cheered for our heroes of the gridiron, baseball diamond, track and basketball court. We slowly discovered the people and the ideas that interested us. We formed circles of friends and lived through all of the adolescent peaks and valleys. We became a family.

In my home away from home I grew from a gangly little girl afraid of her own shadow to a pensive young woman wondering what life had in store for me and my classmates. I wondered about all of those questions that occur to most teens. What would I become? Would I have an exciting career? Would I ever marry? Would I have children? Would I become rich or famous? Would I have a good life? I never thought about death or illness. Those things seemed to be the purview of the old, not something that I would encounter for a very long time.

Life took hold of me and my classmates after we had finished our school days and one year grew into two and then ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. I thought of the people who had been with me in my formative years now and again. I wondered where they were and how they were. I intended to keep up with them but something always seemed to distract me. The phone would ring. One of my children would need my attention. My job would demand my time. My mother would need me to care for her. The excuses always came and so I did not see most of the people who had been so much a part of my life but I never forgot how much they had meant to me.

A couple of years ago along came a beautiful soul that I had known since I was a little girl, Carol. I had been in the Brownies with her and her twin sister, Cindy. We celebrated First Communion together and went all the way through high school only to lose track for all those many years after graduation day. Carol came to some of us almost fifty years later with an idea. She wanted to have a fabulous reunion for our class. It was to be in honor of her sister who had tragically died from ALS. It would be a way to remember Cindy and our other friends who had already left this earth. It would remind us of our youth and the importance of living our lives to the fullest. It would provide us with a way to embrace each other once again.

Carol worked diligently with a group of people determined to find every last soul who had been in the Class of 1966. Terry, Susan, Mickey, Paul, Shirley, Ruth, Judy, Monica, Linda, Jim, Jeannette, Tad, Tommy, Donald and Chris began meeting over a year ago to plan a celebration to remember. Sadly Chris left the world this summer but his impact and generous spirit kept the group inspired. On Saturday night the fruits of this committee’s labors came to fruition as we all gathered together in a love fest that none of us will ever forget.

There were so many stories to share on Saturday night. Some of them were joyful. Others were heartbreaking. I learned of successes and disappointments, happiness and loss. I found that my classmates are people of uncommon conviction, optimism and courage. They have faced down challenges and accomplished great things. They have led the kind of lives that all of us value. They are happy even as they have endured the ups and downs that are inevitable in a span of fifty years. We have all matured and learned what is truly important. We realized in visiting with one another that the ties that bound us so long ago are a special part of whom we will always be. We are truly family in every sense of the word, brothers and sisters for all time.

In the excitement of reuniting we have made promises that we will not let the time run away from us ever again. I hope that we honor that commitment. We have learned that life is precious and fragile and unpredictable and that we must reach out and grab every opportunity to be with the people who were and always will be so important to us. We have always been intertwined even as we branched out in different directions.

Our reunion was a happy and moving experience for all of us. We laughed and cried tears of joy and remembrance. Our celebration was perfect in every way. The love that we felt for one another was palatable and the spirit of our departed friends was ever present. We heard their laughter in our hearts and knew that they were especially happy that we had once again come together. We will forever be grateful for the opportunity that we had to learn that everyone is mostly okay. I’d like to believe that we will have many more chances to come together again. I know that I intend to do all that I can to keep our renewed friendships alive. They are important enough to merit our time and attention. Carol understood that and showed us how it is done.

Let the Celebrating Begin

Published on October 14, 2016October 13, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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It has been fifty years since the Mt. Carmel High School Class 0f 1966 left the school gymnasium after graduation. We departed with high hopes and good intentions and the clock on our lives began ticking far more quickly than we might have imagined. Some among us served in the military. Others went to college. There were those who married and started families, some who focused on careers. We navigated through the ups and downs of life, experiencing the milestones of human existence. All the while we remembered those years when we were young. Our days in high school had at times been filled with angst and at others with joy. As teenagers we had felt hurts and victories. As full fledged adults we mostly moved past our immaturities and hangups to mellow into acceptance of ourselves just as we are. We became able to gaze into the mirror past all of the flaws and truly like the people that we had become. Somehow all we now need to know about our former classmates is that each among us has found happiness. We have embraced the contentment that comes with wisdom and age and grace.

Tomorrow evening we will gather together for our fiftieth reunion. It will be good to see one another again and to hear the stories of what happened to everyone as the decades passed. Our old friends will be there and some will bring their spouses, people that we have yet to meet but will most surely enjoy. We will view photos of travels, children and grandchildren. We will learn about jobs and hobbies and all of those things that weave together the fabric of our lives. None of us will look the same. Regardless of how well we have aged fifty years leave an imprint on our faces and our outlooks. We are now just as we once were and yet different. The essence of our youthfulness is still in our hearts but our experiences will have changed us.

I lost track of so many people after graduation day. I was busy earning a college degree, raising a family, teaching and caring for my mother who developed chronic mental illness shortly after I had finished high school. Like most people my days were filled with responsibilities from dawn until I fell asleep at night. I had little time for pursuits outside of my family and my work but I have enjoyed a long and lovely friendship with Linda Daigle Scheffler that thankfully continues to this day. Our children grew up together taking swimming lessons, watching football games and celebrating birthdays, graduations, marriages. We have met at Christmas to exchange ornaments and gifts virtually every year since our children were born with few exceptions. Monica Krider Watzak has been by my side from the time that I was a tiny girl. She was one of the first people that I met on the playground in second grade back at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Elementary. Her children also grew up with mine. We have gone on trips together and stood by each other in times both good and bad. Nancy Gracey was one of the bridesmaids in my wedding. We played bridge together on Fridays and finished sentences for each other. She eventually moved away and we lost touch for years only to reunite as though it had only been five minutes since our last meeting. I continue to encounter Susan McKenna Bolduc, another of my bridesmaids, time and again at funerals for classmates and their parents. Judy Loisey is often there as well demonstrating the same warmth of heart that was her trademark in high school. Of course I also encounter Tommy Darst who has so graciously helped so many Mt. Carmel families during times of greatest sorrow.

Mostly though I lost track of the one hundred forty three souls with whom I had shared so much during those critical four years of my life. From time to time I heard stories about them but somehow I never crossed paths with them even though I must have surely been moving through the same places where they had been. It was only through the miracle of Facebook that I have slowly reignited friendships with former classmates, sometimes finding surprising kinship with those that I barely knew when I was young. I have enjoyed reading about their trips and adventures and seeing their beautiful children and grandchildren. I’ve even appreciated the great variety of their political persuasions. Nobody can ever say that we were brainwashed at Mt. Carmel High School. Everyone has a mind of his/her own. Mostly though I have marveled at how wonderful we all became. We are good people who took the lessons that we learned at Mt. Carmel High School to heart no matter where in the world we landed.

I get excited just thinking about the possibility of seeing so many of my classmates tomorrow night. The guest list has swelled to a hundred or more including curious spouses who have no doubt heard so many stories about our Class of 1966. I get both giddy and nervous when I think about seeing them in person again after all these years.

Even though there were once one hundred forty four of us. Not everyone has made it this far. Before we had even been gone for ten years some among us had already died from cancer or accidents. Others have gone from us more recently. They had hoped to be with us for our celebration but the good Lord saw fit to take them. Each time we have heard of a death among our old friends it has brought us great sadness. We remember when they were so bright and beautiful. We know that they meant so much to their families and to us.

When I was a young mom buying shoes for my little girls Mrs. Lippies used to ask me to pray for her son Kerry who had cancer. Sadly he did not make it. He was one of the first among us to die. I was broken apart when Bill Bailey was killed in a freak accident in Galveston. Not long ago I heard that a colleague of mine at St. Christopher’s School had lost her husband who also happened to be one of my classmates, Frank Fox, a wonderful man who had been so loved by his wife and children. I followed Cindy Cash Criss’s medical progress as she fought ALS. I loved seeing her images of kitties on Facebook and I marveled at her courage and optimism as she dealt with the devastating effects of that terrible disease. I know how much she wanted to make it to the reunion but that was not to be. Instead many of us gathered at her memorial and came together for the first time in years. We knew that she had been the catalyst for beginning our journey to the celebration that we will enjoy tomorrow. Somehow her spirit will be there with us, hoping that we love and laugh the way she always did. Chris Nixon had overcome many heath problems and came faithfully to the early planning meetings for the reunion. He too was called to heaven sooner than we had hoped. Many of us attended his funeral only months ago and cried together for a dear sweet friend.

I had lost track of my friend and high school confidante, Claudia Dean Langguth for well over forty years. When we were teenagers we had shared our deepest secrets and dreams. I had thought that ours would be a lifetime of togetherness but circumstances pulled us apart. When I recently searched for her I learned that she had died only a year ago. I wish that I had been able to tell her how much she had meant to me. I would have liked to let her know that I loved her.

Others who meant much to me are also gone. David Patton and I often competed with one another academically. I knew in my heart that he was my intellectual superior but I would never have admitted that to him. A few years back he began to email me after he had suffered from a stroke. It was sad to know that his brilliant mind had been diminished. I hope that I gave him a bit of comfort with my responses to his communications. I was crushed to learn of his death.

In school our teachers usually seated us in alphabetical order. I sat behind John Kurtz for four years and got to know him well enough to have a secret crush on him. He once told me that his juvenile diabetes would curtail his life prematurely. I was too young and inexperienced to believe that he knew the truth. I shook my head and told him that he was being silly. Unfortunately he was not wrong and left this earth far too soon for such a good man.

The list of those who have already entered the kingdom of God is longer than I would want it to be. There are about twenty four souls who have already died and will be watching over us as we convene this weekend. They will remind us that life is a treasure that we must embrace before the opportunity to do so has left us. In our minds they will be forever young and as lovely and energetic as they were on that May day of long ago when none of us were able to imagine the roads that we would travel or that fifty years would go by so quickly. They are gone but never forgotten. We can still see Janice Repsdorph as the amazing athlete that she always was. We will remember Dorothy Wheeler Cox and her sweet smile and loving presence. In our hearts we’ll think of Diane Martin in all of her glorious beauty and generous spirit. Each of them touched our hearts.

Our lives have been blessed. We are all fine people who have contributed to the benefit of our families, our friends and our communities. We have remembered what is most important and have lived the way our teachers had hoped that we would. When we left on that May in 1966 we understood that we had been called to work for the benefit of all mankind. We have kept the promises that we made. Now it is time to remember and appreciate all of the people who helped us to arrive at this remarkable place in time. Let the celebrating begin.

Fire

Published on October 7, 2016October 6, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

fire-generic-750xx724-407-0-38 When my youngest brother, Pat, announced to our mother that he wanted to become a firefighter I suspect that she believed that he was just going through an adolescent phase that would soon enough pass. She told him that she would not give him her blessing to enter the Houston Fire Academy until he had first earned a college degree, a requirement that he dutifully completed. With his diploma from the University of Houston in hand he returned to her once again to announce that he had applied to become a candidate for the Houston Fire Department. This time he was only informing her, not asking for her permission. Shortly thereafter he began his training and was so taken with the lessons and skills that he learned that he graduated number one in his class. It was a proud day for him and all of our family when he earned his badge and a job at the downtown Houston Fire Station Number One.

Pat threw himself wholeheartedly into his work and it was not long before there was a major fire in the downtown area that was so large that it made the nightly news and there in a photograph for the ages stood my brother aiming a stream of water at a wall of red flames that dwarfed him. The image showed his back with his last name emblazoned on his jacket. It was a frightening reminder of just how dangerous his job really was. As a family we tried not to think too much about the kind of things that might happen to him but again and again there were reminders that firefighters literally place their lives on the line each time that they respond to a call for help. They never quite know what kind of situation awaits them and for the most part they rarely discuss what they have seen with those of us who would rather not be reminded of the dangerous possibilities.

Pat was as happy with his career as anyone that I have ever known. He spoke glowingly of the brotherhood and friendships that he shared with his crew members. He proved his mettle as a leader and began to work his way up the ranks, eventually becoming a Captain at one of the neighborhood stations. It was apparent that his men loved him as much as he loved them. They became a second family for him in an environment where he felt confident that he was living his dream.

He returned to school first to earn an advanced degree in Public Administration and then another in Fire Safety. He became such an expert in his field that Mayor Lee Brown tapped him to become the director of the Fire Academy. It was a post that he cherished because it allowed him to share his expertise with young men and women who were as eager to serve as he had always been. He upgraded the rigor of the training process with an eye to preparing his charges for the special demands of being a first responder in one of the nation’s largest cities. It was a very happy time for him but before long he was moving into other arenas of leadership.

He became a District Chief and then a Regional Chief. He helped to investigate fires and to set and maintain high standards for all of the firefighters in the city, all the while humbly doing his work without mentioning his ever growing status within the department. He was always far too busy working for the betterment of Houston to brag about his accomplishments but the men who had worked for him often whispered their admiration.

One of Pat’s most exciting moments came when he accompanied a group of Houston firefighters to New York City on the occasion of the opening of the 9/11 memorial. They traveled by motorcycle all the way from Houston and then participated in a parade in downtown New York. He was so moved by the stories of bravery that he heard from comrades from all around the world. It was a grand moment in which he truly realized the importance of his work and stood shoulder to shoulder with people who understood the unique challenges and joys of being a firefighter.

I can’t imagine what kind of courage it must take to don the heavy equipment of a firefighter and hop onto a truck for a ride to an unknown disaster. On any given day our firefighters know that they may walk into situations from which they will never return. Even in the best of circumstances they often experience damage to their lungs from the continual exposure to smoke. They may fall from the rafters of an attic or have a ceiling come down on their heads. They encounter life and death situations over and over again and are only able to relax once they are safely back at the station. Still they eagerly report to work again and again just as Pat has always done.

Pat Little has served the City of Houston with pride and enthusiasm for thirty six years. He has tirelessly worked during hurricanes, floods, freezes and even when he felt sick. On some nights the alarms awakened him so many times that he had little sleep. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas days when he was faithfully executing his duties while the rest of us were relaxing and celebrating without him. Missing even a single day of work was always anathema to him. He rarely complained when he had to be absent for the milestones of his children or when he had to forego special occasions because he was saving a life. Now his outstanding and selfless career is finally drawing to a close. On Sunday his crew is hosting a party for him and on October 11, he will retire for good. He will be remembered and revered by both family and fellow firefighters for the joy and dedication that he brought to his job for all of those thirty six years. I have little doubt that given the opportunity he would gladly relive his life as a firefighter all over again.

Congratulations, Chief Patrick Little, on a job well done. We are all proud of you and humbled by your quiet courage and your unflagging determination to make a lasting difference in the world. You have done well in a world that is all too often marked by evil and greed. You are our hero, a man who has shown the meaning of service.

Realize

Published on October 6, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

The history of mankind is the instant between two strides taken by a traveler. — Franz Kafka

There is great diversity among the people who live on this planet. Each of us is a unique blend of nature and nurture. We are born with a pattern of DNA inside our bodies that identifies us and holds the history of our ancestors. Ironically the genetic differences between one human being and another are miniscule. On the whole we are more alike in basic composition than we are different. All of us are members of the humanoid species known as homo sapiens, a Latin phrase meaning “wise human.” Our kind evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. Other humanoid types did not survive but remarkably we did, overcoming monumental challenges as we traveled from eastern Africa to all parts of the known world.

Modern man often follows the money but our ancestors set out on the original journeys in search of food. Unlike the prey for which they searched homo sapiens stood upright, had a larger brain, and created tools that allowed them to overcome animals that were faster and stronger. Early humans worked together and created societies that moved together, protecting one another from dangers but also communicating with stories and flights of imagination. They not only made useful implements but also invented musical instruments and made images that resembled the animals that they tracked. They explored the world both on foot and inside their minds.

Even as other humanoid species became extinct homo sapiens found ways to grow and prosper as the dominant force on our planet. They imprinted their wills and their creativity on themselves and on the earth. They celebrated the relentless changing of the seasons with rituals and customs that they developed and followed from one generation to the next. They created systems for maintaining their very existence and sidelining the darker sides of their natures. There were geniuses among them who learned how to read the workings of the heavens and to invent better and better tools for survival and comfort.

Today we live in a world so remarkable that none of our earliest ancestors would recognize us as being one of them and yet our DNA tells us that we are indeed mostly the same. We continue to evolve and learn more about our world, our universe and ourselves. There are people so creative that they boggle even our modern minds and yet they are our brothers and sisters, with essentially the identical chemical composition and genetic codes that we possess. Even people in remote and far flung parts of the world operate from similar human habits. The shades of our skin vary according to the adaptations that our ancestors needed to survive in different latitudes. The ways that we eat and the recipes that we use are based on the food sources available to us. Those who came before us were a flexible and ingenious lot who adjusted to the environments in which they found themselves. Our numbers today tell us that most of them made it to live another day and devise better and better ways to do more than simply exist. Time and again mankind has realized the potential that lies within each of us.

While individual accomplishments have literally changed the world, it is in our willingness to live as a community of people that our true greatness is realized. The physicist Stephen Hawking is celebrated for his remarkable intellect but were it not for the contributions of his fellow man he no doubt might have died long before he was able to pronounce his theories of the universe. He is able to “speak” to us in spite of the horrible disease that took his ability to move or talk. Others have provided him with the support and the tools that he needs to continue his work and his conversations with the scientific community. When reveling in his genius we often forget the group effort that has made his survival possible.

Each day there are literally thousands upon thousands of nameless individuals who make our lives what they are. We take our conveniences for granted until a natural disaster or a war causes the systems that we have contrived to break down. When the normalcy of our world falls apart we begin to realize just how greatly we depend on one another and yet somehow even as we create comforts that allow us more and more freedom to develop ourselves we all too often separate ourselves into artificial groups. We identify ourselves based on the color of our skin, our political leanings, our incomes, our levels of education, our sexual orientations, our male or female chromosomes, our religions or lack thereof, our countries, our states, our cities, our zip codes. We become members of certain groups and view those outside of our own parameters with suspicion. We forget that it has always been our ability to work together in a spirit of community that has insured the very survival of our species.

If it were possible for each of us to track our ancestry all the way back to the beginnings of mankind’s time here on earth we would learn that we are all cousins descended from the same people who long ago stood up and began a journey that would ultimately span the globe. Perhaps one day we will realize that our bickering is rivalry among siblings and we will learn how to understand and cooperate in a spirit without judgement or evil intent. Surely if we are able to view inside the very essence of our bodies we will one day realize the ultimate potential of our hearts and minds.

Big Girls Do Cry

Published on October 5, 2016October 2, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

I didn’t cry much when my father died, not because I had no emotions but rather because I somehow believed that I needed to stay strong for my mother and my brothers. I don’t think that it was particularly healthy of me to prevent the natural feelings that were causing me so much internal pain from becoming public. For a great deal of my life I have tended to be stoic. I’ve often put forth a strong face when what I really wanted to do was allow myself to sob. Over time I realized that tears and sadness are a natural aspect of our humanity that is to be celebrated rather than hidden. We are made to react to hurt and loss and pain with a release of our real feelings. Big girls really do cry and it is not just an okay thing to do, but a therapeutic release. When our minds and bodies urge us to set our tears free, we should feel comfortable responding to the instinct.

Of late I have been crying a great deal, but still not so much in front of other people. I’m in the process of becoming able to do that. It have been through a difficult three months as have so many. I find myself reliving the moment when my husband had his stroke, and I cry, mostly because I am relieved that he is still alive and thriving. I have cried almost every single day for the last month because invariably I see or hear something related to the horrible flood in my city, and I sense the struggles that so many are still enduring and will face for months to come. I can hardly watch the news reports of the conditions in Puerto Rico, a place that I recall being so friendly and beautiful. The images that flash across the screen are heartbreaking, and I feel helpless, so I cry. I have cried for my friends whose relatives have so recently died and for those who are reliving the anniversaries of such losses. I cried for my father-in-law who had an accident that has left him barely able to move. I shed twelve hours of tears while watching the Ken Burns series on Vietnam that ran for the last two weeks on PBS. The memories of that era of my life are still raw with emotion and the poignancy of the presentation brought long past feelings to the surface once again. I have cried for the state of our country today which seems as divided and angry and confused as it did back then. Problems that I believed to have been solved were evidently just festering beneath the surface. All of it has made me feel weary because I know of no magical solutions to make things better, and so I cry.

I am by nature a peacemaker. I have always wanted to help people to get along. I have loved living the role of a supporter, a motivator, an inspirer. I feel uncomfortable when people are angry and fighting. I suppose that this is because I learned so long ago that our lives are quite fragile. We simply do not know from one moment to the next how much more time we have on this earth, and so I believe that we must make the best of however many hours that we have. My heroes have been individuals like my Uncle William who was the epitome of kindness. I would be quite surprised to learn of even a single time when he purposely set out to hurt someone. He was a man who mostly set aside his own thoughts and did his very best to consider the wants and needs and dreams of everyone else around him. He was always willing to listen and to love. In that regard as a child I viewed him as the strongest person that I ever knew and my assessment of him has never changed.

I remember our neighbor Mr. Barry who everyone seemed to regard as a living saint. There was nothing wimpy about him. He had served in the Navy during World War II. He managed a large bank for years. He knew how to get things done, but he always accomplished them with an eye toward being sympathetic and good. He was one of those people who noticed the individual who was unseen by everyone else. He didn’t know it, but he was the male role model that I needed after my own father died.

There is a tendency these days to admire people who possess what I call a false bravado, individuals who bully, blame others for their mistakes and take pride in demeaning those who do not agree with them. I personally find such folks to be offensive and weak. They remind me of a student that I once had who found joy in hurting other kids. When he went after a blind girl in order to increase his own popularity I put him down with a vengeance that I never used on another student before or since. I was unwilling to allow him to parade like a champion when what he had done was so vile and cowardly. For that reason I have cried a great deal of late, because our society appears to be mesmerized by those who behave the ugliest. It is something that I can’t understand.

Social media was a lifesaver during our Houston floods. I kept my sanity because I was able to stay in touch with friends and family members during the long days and nights when the waters filled our streets and homes. Unfortunately there is a negative aspect of that same wondrous means of communication that is hacking away at our decency. I suppose that it is simply too easy these days to dash off a quick and dirty reply to any person or situation that offends us. When we don’t have to look someone in the eye it is more likely that we will be willing to vent in ways that are hurtful. Too often we forget to think about how our comments may affect someone else. Too many among us don’t take the time to consider the impact of our words. When I see the fighting that ensues among people who were once friends and family members it makes me cry. There is simply no reason for any of us to be hateful, and yet even some of our leaders are not able to control their basest tendencies.

I am weary of hearing epithets about snowflakes, commies, ingrates, sons of bitches, entitled kids, abominable people, fascists, racists, homophobes, rednecks, ignoramuses. I listen as we devour one another with words and accusations that often have little or no basis in fact, and yet we speak as though they are gospel. I grow tired of seeing memes and tweets that trivialize serious situations or poke fun at entire groups of people. We seem intent on boiling a pot of furor, and so I cry.

I remember a time when I went on a civil rights tour with my students. We sat in the church in Birmingham where little girls were murdered because of hate. We crossed a bridge in Selma where fire hoses and snarling dogs had once been let lose on protestors whose only crime was asking for the same rights as their white counterparts. I walked down the street toward the capitol building in Montgomery and remembered the hateful rhetoric of George Wallace. I cried as I looked at my students and remembered the violence and racism that I had witnessed when I was young. I stood in Dr. King’s kitchen and ran my hand across the very table where he sat and prayed for God’s guidance. I cried as I thought of his courage and wisdom and I knew that he too would always be one of my heroes.

I cry when I think of Jesus and the lessons He taught us, the sacrifices that He made. I wonder why it seems so difficult for us humans to follow His very simple message of love whether we believe He was God or not. What is it in our natures that makes us complicate and misinterpret His words? Why did we not learn how horrific hate can become from His death on the cross? What prevents us from being like my uncle or the man who was my neighbor?

As I grow older I find that I remember the kindnesses that were extended to me and I cry tears of joy and gratitude when I recall the people who touched my heart so beautifully. I also think of the ugly things that I have witnessed. They make me cry as well. I had hoped that we would be evolving toward a better way of living with one another by now. Unfortunately we are instead being taunted to take the low road, to dialogue with our fellow men and women with rancor rather than understanding. We give power to the rabble rousers instead of ignoring them and siding with those who would challenge us to bring out the good that resides in our souls. The fact that this is happening makes me cry.

I would so much rather cry over a beautiful sunrise or sunset. I want to shed tears when I see people helping people. I want to release those positive emotions when I watch a toddler so innocently embracing the world. I would prefer feeling a heave in my heart from listening to music or sharing a wonderful time with friends and family. I know that there will be uncontrollable events like natural disasters and deaths, but I am so tired of seeing the kind made by people. It really is up to all of us to begin to demonstrate the kind of understanding that was the hallmark of Uncle William’s and Mr. Barry’s lives. Those two men were so loved because they never hesitated to love.

Perhaps the most telling story about my uncle came when he was delivering mail along the route that had been his for years. He came upon the mother of a notorious serial killer and the emotion that he felt for her was unadulterated love. He spoke of how sad it must have been for her to lose her only son under such circumstances. He did not judge the woman nor consider that she might have somehow been responsible for how her son had become. Instead he simply cared for her, and worried about how she would be now that her son was condemned to prison for life. My uncle taught me how to love. I’m still trying to be as good as he always was, and while I am learning I sometimes cry.