Category: Friendship

Two Women of Distinction

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I was a Catholic school girl. I attended Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Elementary School from the second grade all the way through the eighth. The years when I was there were at the height of the Baby Boom, and so we had multiple classes for each grade and the classrooms were always crowded. I knew everyone’s name, but didn’t always have the opportunity to become close friends with all of the students in my grade. Still, there were certain people who stood out as being quite special even as children. Because I felt gawky and shy I found myself longing to be like some of the kids that I considered to be a cut above the rest of us ordinary souls.

In the eighth grade an annual ceremony honoring the Blessed Virgin Mary took place each May. We had the honor of voting for the one girl that we believed to be worthy of such a high distinction. We were instructed to consider our choices carefully, not basing them on popularity, but rather on evidence of impeccable character. Even though I only knew her from afar at that time, I did not hesitate to vote for Linda Daigle, a friendly and generous young lady who always appeared to be thinking of others more than herself. I saw her as the embodiment of the lessons that we were taught in our daily religion classes.

Eventually Linda and I matriculated to the same high school. I still only observed her from from admiration rather than a close relationship, but she only impressed me more and more over the next four years. Somehow she had a way of making people feel so comfortable and she was humble about her talents and her good nature. I continued to believe that she was someone whose character I wanted to emulate. Imagine my surprise when we ended up becoming fast friends once we had moved on to the same university. Over more the than forty years that we have shared a friendship absolutely nothing has changed my original assessment of Linda as a model of compassion and love.

When Linda and I first began to grow close I finally had the pleasure of meeting her mother, Rose Daigle. In Rose I saw the beauty that was the source of Linda’s attractiveness. I also found the same ever present welcoming nature and spirit of boundless hospitality. I loved visiting that house where we often sat at the kitchen table enjoying one of Mrs. Daigle’s special homemade treats. She spoke with a unique accent that is only found in the speech patterns of people born and raised in New Orleans, and I found it to be delightful. I always felt so special just listening to her.

Rose Daigle had grown up in New Orleans but eventually set up a household in Houston, Texas with her husband Bernard. Together they raised four very bright and well mannered children. Rose made her home quite lovely with her skills at sewing, decorating, gardening and cooking. I liked the atmosphere that pervaded her house and thought her to be as wonderful as her daughter Linda.

I’ve been friends with Linda for decades now. We raised our children together and somehow managed to keep in touch even if we only saw each other once a year. When we talk we are able to converse for hours, mostly because Linda is such a good listener and a truly sensitive and concerned person. I suppose that I have told her as much about myself as anyone knows, because I feel as safe with her as I often did when I visited her mother.

Rose Daigle lived quietly in her home long after her children had all left and many years beyond the time when her husband had died. Her life centered on her children, grandchildren, her church and her home. She loved to putter in her yard and always got a kick out of showing her handiwork to visitors and giving them cuttings of her plants. She began to slow down though as her energy waned and her mind became more and more muddled. Her children finally realized that she had reached the point at which she would no longer be able to stay alone at her house. They tried various solutions and ultimately found a secure place for Rose in an assisted living facility.

True to form Rose’s daughter Linda was completely devoted to her mother’s care. She lovingly visited her mother three times every single day, making certain that all of Rose’s needs were met. Linda did all of her mom’s laundry and created little celebrations not just for her parent, but for all of the workers who watched over Rose. She was steadfast in her resolve to make her mother’s twilight years as lovely as possible and she did a yeoman’s job in that regard. Over time Rose thrived because of Linda’s efforts and seemed to become even more beautiful and ageless than she had ever been. I loved seeing photos of the birthdays, the Mardi Gras celebrations, and the Christmas parties that put huge smiles on Rose’s face. She seemed to revel in the love and attention that she received from Linda as well as the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who religiously visited with her

In the past few months Rose’s health began to fail. She was 98 years old and becoming more and more weak. She had stays at the hospital and even received the last rites at one point, but somehow she rallied time and again. Sadly last week she seemed to have lost the old spark that had so defined her life. Linda continued to stand vigil over her mom while still managing to help Houston flood victims by washing mountains of clothing and linens as well as dishes, antiques and kitchen utensils. I suspect that she was just being wonderful Linda the way that her mother had so often showed her how to be, always giving in every regard.

Rose died this past weekend. She became another precious angel in a heaven that is being crowded with the parents of my generation. I suspect that she is free of pain and glowing radiantly like the vision of loveliness that she always was. She’s no doubt reuniting with friends and relatives and maybe even puttering in a perfect garden or creating a culinary delight. She was indeed a very good woman of distinction of the kind that all of us should strive to be. She loved with all of her heart and now she is receiving her just rewards.

My heart is heavy for Linda and her family. No matter the circumstances it is always difficult to lose a parent, especially one as remarkable as Rose Daigle. I pray that Linda will find peace and comfort in her heart and that she will also get some much needed rest. In my estimation Linda is as close to being a living saint as anyone I have ever known. I suppose that I will continue to be in awe of her forevermore.

Rockstar Friends

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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It all began with Eric. I was working at Revere Middle School when our principal hired him to be an English teacher. He was immediately popular. Many of the single women were enchanted by his friendliness, good looks and winning smile. Those who had known him from a previous campus warned everyone who was falling for him that he appeared to be a confirmed bachelor who didn’t seem destined to settle down any time soon.

Eric was a super and experienced teacher, so there was little need for me to spend much time mentoring him. We generally just passed one another in the hallway and exchanged hellos until a dear friend of mine died. One afternoon when Eric and I were both in the same area monitoring students during a passing period I blurted out that I was feeling guilty and maybe even complicit in my friend’s death. Eric listened intently as I explained the situation. I had called my friend after school one day to check on him because his wife was in the hospital. I knew that he was an alcoholic but also a diabetic with heart trouble. I had asked him if he wanted me to swing by his house to make sure that he had everything that he needed. He assured me that he was fine and that he preferred to be alone for a time because he was quite tired. Something in my mind told me that he was not doing as well as he insisted. I pushed him a bit more and then reluctantly drove home, but not before urging him to check his blood sugar and let me know if there were any problems. Later I learned that he had died from a heart attack about forty five minutes after my phone call. I felt that somehow I might have saved him had I ignored his protests and gone to his home anyway. I had been unable to shake the feeling that I had made a terrible and deadly mistake.

Eric immediately erased my guilt. He noted that because my friend was an alcoholic he had created the situation for himself, and that his death was no doubt inevitable whether or not I had been present. He assured me that nobody was going to be able to save my friend from the abuse that he was piling on his body until he decided to change his ways. From that moment forward Eric and I were fast friends and the intensity of our relationship only grew over time. Somehow I believe that it was destined for me to choose him to reveal my secret, because I truly doubt that anyone else would have been able to understand my predicament as well as he did.

One summer Eric returned from vacation to announce that he had met a very special woman named Jenny. He proceeded to visit her as often as possible even though she lived in California. The so called confirmed bachelor was obviously thunderstruck and he came to my office now and again to discuss his plans and the ever growing love that he was feeling for this extraordinary woman. Ultimately he announced that he and Jenny were going to marry and that she would be moving to Houston. He wondered if she might procure a job at Paul Revere.

I spoke to our principal, and he worried a bit that Jenny’s background was in elementary school. He asked if I thought that someone with that kind of resume would be able to transition to middle school. Since I had taken the same career pathway myself I assured him that anyone capable of working well with little ones would be just fine with older students. “Well I hope she is as much of a rockstar as Eric,” he noted while agreeing to give Jenny an opportunity to demonstrate her teaching acumen.

Of course Jenny was also a rockstar teacher and as soon as she came to the school everyone understood why Eric was so in love with her. Together they became a power couple who was beloved by students and faculty members alike. Their openness and generosity defined them as well as their adventurous  spirits. Happily the friendship that I had begun with Eric only grew with Jenny in the picture. She and I seemed to be kindred spirits and I felt as though I had known her my entire life.

After I left Paul Revere for a job at KIPP Houston High School I missed all of my former colleagues, but especially Eric and Jenny. I was exhilarated when they joined me at KHHS and brought their charisma and skills to that campus. My feelings for them developed to a point that they became family in every sense of the word. We have shared hopes, dreams, disappointments, frustrations and so much love. I have rarely encountered two people who are always so sensitive to the needs of others. They are truly beautiful souls who have enhanced my life far beyond the power of words to express my feelings.

I was crushed to learn that Jenny and Eric’s home was flooded by the rains of hurricane Harvey. I felt so far away and helpless in their hour of need. In usual fashion the two of them remained optimistic and as worried about others as they were about their own situation. It didn’t surprise me at all that they were instantly surrounded by friends. It’s not possible to be around Jenny and Eric without falling totally in love with them. They do so much for everyone that they know that it was inevitable that people would want to return the favor. For now they seem to be on their way to a return to normalcy and they have even reached out to others who had water in their homes.

That’s Jenny and Eric. Two rockstar friends and amazing human beings whom Mike and I are so fortunate to know. The world would be so remarkable if it were peopled only by individuals as wonderful as they are. I hope that life will continue to pay them back for all of the wondrous favors that they have given literally everyone that they know. I also pray that we will remain fast friends, or should I say family, forevermore.   

Five Stories and More

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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My nephew estimates that each Houstonian knows at least five people whose homes or businesses flooded during the downpours of Hurricane Harvey. I found that I easily thought of that many and realized that there are doubtless many others from whom I have not yet heard. Just to give you an idea of how widespread the destruction of that storm actually was herewith is a short description of the situations of which I am aware.

Early on my friend Priscilla was fleeing her Pearland home. She is the same age as my two daughters and used to spend hours at my house when she was a little girl. Through the miracle of Facebook we found each other once again and I’ve enjoyed reading about her exploits with her family. She hasn’t been in her current dwelling for too long. She moved there after decades in another location. She has been quite proud of her place and often posts images of her gardens and the improvements she has made. She was the first person that I know to announce that she and her family were going to have to evacuate because water began pouring inside her house. She took refuge in a hotel and waited out the conclusion of the storm in surroundings that she hoped would stay secure. She was able to return home fairly quickly and has managed to clean out the offending sheetrock and flooring and to begin the drying process. I’m hoping that her home will be put back together sooner rather than later because she definitely needs some rest.

A few hours after Priscilla announced that she was taking on water, my very dear friends Jenny and Eric were forced to leave their Katy abode. I’ve known them both through our mutual connections with two different schools. Over the years we’ve become exceedingly close and I think of them as members of my family. I was so sad to hear of their predicament because even the process of navigating through the water to leave the impending danger was precarious, and I worried for their safety like a mother hen. Thanks to good friends they made it to a safe haven where they kept us updated throughout the ordeal. Jenny and Eric are rather adventurous souls who actually met each other while they were independently vacationing in Japan, so it didn’t surprise me that they were willing to wade through water to check on the status of their home as soon as possible. Once the water had receded they were able to begin the mucking out phase of recovery. An army of friends came to their rescue and within a fairly short time the process was completed. A few days ago a contractor had already put up walls and it appears that they are well on the road to reclaiming their house. When they returned to work at Katy Taylor High School this week their fellow faculty members greeted them with cookies, gift certificates and cleaning supplies. Hopefully they now have a better understanding of how much we all love them.

I next learned that my cousin Andy who lives in Spring had also taken on water. We’ve spent so many wonderful times in his house. He and his wife Terri are two of the most loving and generous people I have ever known. Their son and daughter are grown and gone but they are such good kids that they immediately called out a posse of friends to help with the cleanup project. By this past Sunday the first phase of the work was complete and the fans and humidifiers were buzzing away to dry up the moisture. I still felt a great deal of sorrow for them because they have lived in that dwelling for decades, and their loving touch was evident in every inch of decor. They worked so hard to make their home a welcoming refuge for everyone that I am certain that it will become a gathering place again.

On the third day of rain my cousin Paul began asking for prayers because the water from Cypress Creek was encroaching on his Spring home of forty years. Not long after I had read his plea his daughter Jan called me to find out how to safely turn off the power to the house because water was licking at the electrical outlets. She and her family had huddled in the safety of the upstairs, but they were beginning to realize that they needed to leave while they still had a chance and while their cars were relatively unscathed. They hurriedly threw a few changes of clothing into suitcases, gathered their two dogs and made to the highway which they followed first to Madisonville and then Dallas. When they returned home last Saturday their worst fears were realized. Their house was filled with the remains of foul smelling flood water. They were stunned and shocked by what they found. Once again through the kindness of a virtual troop of kind souls their home was also cleared of the debris and the ruined walls and flooring. They now await the drying process and pray that they will soon be living in the comfort and familiarity of their home once again. The generosity that they have always shown to others is being paid back by family and friends in the hopes that their wait will not be too long.

My niece’s sister had almost made it through the torrential rains without incident when the water rather suddenly began flooding into her Pearland home. The irony of her story is that the storm ended only a few hours afterward. She was so close to being safe and dry that it was particularly sad. She hasn’t been married for very long and she and her husband were very proud of their place. Now the entire neighborhood bears signs of destruction as far as the eye can see. Her family and friends came quickly to her aid however, and even though it is difficult to see right now her house is on its way to healing. She even has a nice RV in which she can sleep and relax while the process of putting her home back together begins.

These are only brief stories of five people whom I know whose houses and belongings were swallowed up by the storm, but there are more. A friend in Beaumont had just enough water to require major repairs. A high school buddy from Spring had jokingly commented that we needed rain when the storms first began. Unfortunately there was a bit more than he had anticipated and he too ended up with damage to a home that had been just fine for decades. Another high school friend essentially lost the office for his business in Pearland. He’s already in the rebuilding process but it was quite a disappointment to come home from a glorious vacation to find his place of work in a shambles and the homes of many of his neighbors in a similar condition. Luckily his house was spared so he didn’t have to deal with a double whammy. Yet another friend who worked with my husband for years had destruction in her house in South Houston. She viewed a heartbreaking video of flooded homes in Friendswood that we posted on Facebook and noted that her neighborhood looked just as bad.

I suspect that there are many other people that I know who did not fare well in the wake of Harvey. I just have not yet heard of their plight. Our city is pocked with damage in all directions and all areas. No place completely escaped the tragedy which is why all of us in Houston are still in a kind of grieving process even as the sun shines so beautifully today. We mourn for one another and for our city. Our stories did not end with the death of the storm. They have only begun. We will be busy caring for one another for a very long time and new memories of the storm of 2017 will bury tuck themselves away in our hearts.

The Kindness of Strangers

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

135625464_14719069605411nMy cousin and his family were alone, wandering around their yard with dazed expressions on their faces. They had just returned home from an evacuation to the Dallas area because their home had begun to take on water during the heavy rains from hurricane Harvey. When it threatened to reach the electrical outlets they knew that they had to flee. They quickly grabbed a few articles of clothing from upstairs, turned off the power, and drove away while they still had a chance to at least save their cars and their lives. Now they were estimating the damage and attempting to make sense of what had happened. The looks on their faces told their stories without explanation. They were dazed, weary, worried, devastated.

They moved slowly in our direction and hugged us when they saw us walking up the drive way. They had little to say because there were no words to adequately describe what they had encountered. They had lived in this house for forty years. It had been the place where all of their joys and sorrows, ups and downs had played out over a lifetime. They still vividly remembered the feeling of elation they had experienced when they chose the lot and the elevation for their home and watched their dream becoming a reality. They had brought their baby girl to this home and lovingly witnessed her growing into a lovely young woman. The place had never flooded in all of those years, even when there had been heavy rains brought by other storms and hurricanes. They felt safe and sound inside those walls and would not have believed that they would find themselves in such a predicament, but it was Harvey who had come to visit, a beast of a storm that dumped fifty one inches of rain on the city. This time was different, historical, and the creek that usually meandered nearby became a raging river that first filled their yard and then the rooms that were so familiar to them. Now they would have to clean out the waterlogged mess and somehow find the grit and energy to begin again. Still they wondered how they would find the wherewithal to accomplish such a daunting task. They were older now. This was supposed to be a time to retire and enjoy the fruits of their labors, not a moment of beginning the most difficult work of their lives.

We had come to help and to map out a plan of action. We had called on our children and grandchildren to converge on their home the following day. We were determined to set them aright again no matter how challenging that might be, but a tour of the damage shocked us. Somehow we felt defeated before we had even begun. We worried that our crew of mostly older folk was not going to be up to the task, but we said nothing to my cousin. There was no need to further discourage him, so we simply set to work removing debris that blocked the doors and passage ways one item at a time until we had filled one garbage bag after another. It was a start, but the hours felt like days and we left for the night feeling exhausted even though we had hardly made a dent in what needed to be done.

I used to be very a private person. I hid the fact that my family struggled after my father died when I was still a small child. I rarely spoke of my mother’s mental illness, thinking that nobody would want to know about such a thing. Because I was keeping so many emotions locked inside my heart I began to feel anxious and barely able to cope. I finally allowed other people to see my imperfections and my concerns. I found them to be loving and compassionate rather than judgmental. I realized that people are mostly kind, and so I turned to them once again in this moment when I knew that we needed more people to help my cousin to reclaim his home. I put a post on Facebook asking for ideas and my wall was flooded with suggestions and offers of assistance. I gave the task of contacting the many groups to my husband. He had endured a stroke only two months ago, and I realized that it was dangerous for him to be part of the work crew. His job was to find someone, anyone who would be able to provide us with the energy and strong backs that we needed.

I drove back to the injured home on Sunday. My cousin and his family were already there, and they were still struggling to internalize what had happened. I hoped that a cavalry would be on its way, but I had little hope at that moment. When one of my brothers arrived, he and I continued the task of creating pathways so that we would somehow be able to get the largest pieces of furniture outside into the pile of debris that was already beginning to grow even with our feeble efforts. Then my phone began to ring again and again. A group from West Road Church of Later Day Saints and St. Maximillian Catholic Church was coming in thirty minutes with twelve young people eager to work with us. Then came a response from Lakewood Methodist Church members who promised to arrive in the afternoon. Friends of my cousins came one by one as did the members of my family and two dear friends from my childhood. Everyone donned gloves and masks and set to work with abandon.

We set up places to rest under the shade of trees that my cousins had planted years ago. We had tables of food and ice chests filled with drinks. Strangers stopped to give us extra gloves and masks to wear. The work continued and the numbers of people contributing to the cause grew and grew and grew. Young people brought us hamburgers and hot dogs that tasted so good at that moment. Others came with bags of fruit and water. We did not know any of these Good Samaritans. They smiled and blessed us and did their best to provide us with succor and hope. More people called to find out how we were doing and to let us know that they were sending checks for food and supplies. The mountains of ruined clothing that I had removed the day before disappeared as loving volunteers filled bags and took them home to wash. Boxes of dishes and pots and pans were taken away with promises that they would be renewed and cared for. A miracle was unfolding right before our eyes and all of us were so moved that we struggled to maintain our composure. Mostly we gave in to the tears of gratitude that flowed from our hearts and our eyes.

By the end of a very long ten hour day close to fifty souls had worked on the house. The fouled sheetrock and insulation lay inside a mountain of garbage bags along with the family possessions that were hopelessly ruined. It was difficult to even see the front of the home because the yard had become a graveyard for furniture and appliances, but the good news was that the house was on its way to healing. The seemingly impossible had been accomplished. The foul waters had been removed and somehow even as we saw the visible evidence of the destruction that had befallen the house we sensed that it would become a home once again. A ray of hope shown down and renewed our energy and our optimism.

There is still much to be done before my cousins, will feel whole and secure again. The shock of what they are experiencing is being repeated hundreds of thousands of times all over the Houston area. It is almost impossible to imagine how horrific the damage actually is until seeing it in person. There are millions of individual stories associated with this disaster that will never be forgotten even as we all begin the journey back to our daily routines a sense of normalcy. The Houston area now houses two distinct groups of people, those who were lucky enough to dodge the destruction and those whose lives have been so horrifically turned upside down. Sadly the rest of the world is often fickle. They will move on to the next big story and forget the tragedy that has befallen so many souls, but those of us who have seen the unseeable will never forget. We have experienced the kindness of strangers in a very dark hour and these selfless people have forever changed our lives and our outlooks. Nothing will ever be quite the same again.

If you want to help someone who has lost so much in this tragic event here are some wonderful ideas:

  1. Volunteer to do some laundry or wash some dishes for someone whose home was flooded. There are a number of good recipes for how to do this properly online.
  2. Babysit the young children of families who have to work on their houses.
  3. Bring food, water, snacks, gloves, masks and cleaning supplies for the workers.
  4. Make a phone call or send a message of encouragement.
  5. Have someone who was affected over to your house for dinner or just an enjoyable evening.
  6. Don’t wait for those who have lost so much to reach out to you. Many of them are in such a state of shock that they don’t even know how to proceed. Take the initiative and suggest what you would like to do.

So many wonderful people are working to make Houston and its people whole again, but we have to remember that we are all in this for the long haul.

We Are Real!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Back in the days before computers and the Internet were as commonplace as they are now, I used to provide my students with instructions regarding the safe use of the then fairly new medium. I reminded them that not all sources are reliable or even true, and that they should check the veracity of statements before believing them. We tend to take the wide world web a bit more for granted that we did when we were still in awe of the information highway, and because of that we have become easier prey to charlatans who would fool us with stories and even photographs that are manufactured. We have also become victims of a constant barrage of opinions that may or may not be based on fact. In spite of my own warnings to beware, I sometimes fall for the shenanigans of imposters myself.

The recent tragedy wrought by hurricane Harvey has created a minefield of outright fabrications, and among them was a fake tweet that supposedly came from President Trump in which he displayed a cavalier attitude toward the victims of the storm. Someone with a creative mind had spliced together ideas from actual Trump tweets to make it appear that our Commander in Chief was almost giddy about the prospect of seeing such an historic tragedy and even more excited about a rally in Maryland afterward. I was incensed upon reading it and posted it on my Facebook wall with a snarky comment. When a couple of my friends insisted that the tweet was not from Trump I did the research that I should have already completed and learned that it was indeed a counterfeit. I deleted the post sheepishly knowing that I had already done damage.

There are far too many folks writing today who tell us what their followers want to hear without taking time to gather the facts before setting their words on paper. The current sport for some is to rain down their wrath on my city of Houston which is suffering mightily. They have written columns that range from insisting that our courage and kindness in this dark hour is a fleeting anomaly to the even more horrendous idea that karma has finally punished us for our political sins. I truly can’t imagine how anyone would think it appropriate to be so cruel, but I am coming to realize that fanaticism of any sort knows no bounds.

Because I was born and raised in Houston, Texas I think I know it as well as anyone. I’ve spent very close to sixty nine years watching it grow and change. I remember seeing the headline announcing that the population had risen to one million. Now there are over six and a half million souls in the metropolitan area. There was a time when the now booming suburbs that extend miles away from the center of town were sleepy farm villages. In the decades during which I followed my life dreams, raised a family and retired to a slower paced lifestyle I have witnessed remarkable changes. Among them is the amazing diversity of our population. We have welcomed people from all over the world. We work and play with them and hardly notice our differences, if anything we celebrate them. We have traveled a long way from being a sleepy segregated town.

My cul-de-sac in the suburb of Pearland which is part of the big metroplex is the perfect example of how culturally mature we have become. We have whites, blacks, Hispanics and Asians all living happily together and watching out for one another. Our neighborhood was quite fortunate not to have any damage during the storm, but we still gathered during the small breaks in rain to be certain that everyone was doing well and to see if anyone needed anything. The little girls next door made cookies for everyone. The man across the street texted important news. We are a family in every sense of the word.

Most people do not understand the enormity of the Houston metropolitan area. It is literally the size of some states. It encompasses at least five counties and a host of smaller towns that are far too many to list. Suggesting for example that the floods were caused by a lack of zoning by the Houston city government is a bit ridiculous because the vast majority of the flooded areas lie within the jurisdiction of other municipalities, all of which think of themselves as being independent but also satellites of the big city of Houston. Most of us live in areas that are a short drive to downtown Houston but which have nothing to do with the government of the city. I, for example, live in Pearland which lies about thirty minutes south of downtown Houston. I am in Brazoria County rather than Harris County, but my area was still heavily featured in television coverage because everyone in the metropolitan region understands that we are an integral part of the bigger picture. Still, we do our own thing here as fare as government, and thus it is in the many places that ring the actual Houston city limits.

The most hateful comments about Houston have alluded to our politics. The irony is that even the satirists at “Charlie Hebdo” created a cover that was shocking both for its outright cruelty and its total lack of factual evidence. The cartoon featured drowning bodies and floating Nazi flags with the headline, “God Exists. He drowned all the neo-Nazis of Texas.” While I’m as willing as anyone to enjoy satire, I’d like to explain to whomever created this cartoon the reality of the situation. The facts may shock them.

There are most certainly a few white supremacists and Nazis in the Houston area. We have people of every other stripe, so it stands to reason that we also have some bigots, but these fringe groups do not in any way represent the vast majority. Houston has a black mayor, an Hispanic police chief and an Hispanic fire chief. It is a city that leans left and votes democrat. In the last presidential election it went overwhelmingly for Hillary Clinton. Admittedly some of the suburban areas are more Republican, but again we are talking about a diversity of philosophies and cultures that are not easily described by generalities. I think of a photo of my eldest grandson in kindergarten that explains the true nature of the Houston area better than satire. He and his buddies are arm in arm with huge grins on their faces. Among them is a boy from Pakistan, a Black, a Chinese, and my little white grandchild. That crew of young men has grown up together in this place that is so misunderstood and thought to be a haven for racial animus. As they attend college and turn twenty one years of age they are still as strongly bonded with one another as they were back when they were five or six years old.

As for questions of whether or not we Houstonians are really courageous and generous in spirit or if our good actions are only a passing phenomenon, my only comment regarding that is that the impression that is playing out on the screen for all the world to see is one hundred percent real. If you don’t believe it, just come live here for a time. You will fall in love with this city and its people. Our kindness is not a fleeting thing. It is our way of life. We are exactly what we appear to be, a loving and giving group of people. Houston is strong and compassionate not just in its darkest days but 24/7, 365 days a year. We are the real deal! That is a fact!