Category: Friendship

East Meets West

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

captionI recall learning how to write a proper letter in elementary school. At the end of our practice the teacher surprised us by announcing that she had a list of children from Japan who wanted to communicate with an American pen pal. I immediately agreed to send a well written epistle if chosen for the honor of meeting a new friend in a faraway land. Happily I was one of the lucky ones who received the name and address of a Japanese girl who was waiting to hear from me.

My mother took me to a stationary store where I found some lovely lightweight paper with matching envelopes that would work well for sending an airmail post. It was a pale sea foam green and had tiny pink rosebuds imprinted in the background. It was the most beautiful parchment that I had ever seen. I was quite proud to have such a lovely means of getting to know my Japanese counterpart.

Following the instructions that my teacher had taught me and using my very best penmanship I introduced myself hoping that I would sound interesting enough to elicit a response. Once the letter was complete I carefully and nervously folded the sheets and enclosed them along with a school photo of myself inside the envelope. Mama drove me to the post office to be certain that there was enough postage on my letter to get it to Kyoto, Japan as quickly as possible. Then I waited and waited, checking my mailbox as soon I as got home from school each day.

It seemed like an eternity before I received a response. Some of my friends who had also written their pen pals had already brought letters from their correspondents to school to show the rest of us. I was beginning to wonder if I had sounded too boring to be worthy of a reply when a huge manila envelope came with my name printed neatly on it. Inside was a lovely book filled with exquisite photos of Kyoto. There were also multiple photographs of my pen pal who was a true dark haired beauty wearing a school uniform in one and traditional Japanese dress in another. She enthusiastically wrote about her excitement in receiving a letter from me and then told me all about herself. I was beside myself with wonder at the very idea of communicating with someone who lived so far away and in such a lovely place.

Over time we often wrote back and forth and made the kind of pledges that children often do that we would be best friends forever and that one day we would meet each other in person when we visited each other’s homes. I liked to imagine her walking through cherry blossoms and drinking exotic teas while she seemed intent on insisting that I must surely know lots of Texans who rode horses and did tricks with ropes. We both fantasized quite a bit and I suspect that we each became a bit disenchanted when we realized that life was actually rather mundane for both of us, filled with studies and the challenges growing up.

Eventually we hit our teenage years and became busier and busier and the letters came and went less and less frequently. Finally we were lucky to manage to write each other one time a year and then our longtime correspondence came to an end. I told myself that I would resurrect our friendship soon enough but I never seemed to find the time. What had been so much fun simply fizzled out but not without leaving a dramatic imprint on me. I had developed an enduring fascination with Japan that even decades later has not abated. I love to read about Japan, watch movies about Japan and I have even been known to have crushes on Japanese actors. In the back of my mind there has always been a dream of one day traveling there, especially to Kyoto.

I still have the book that my long ago friend sent to me. Sadly I did not keep the letters and time has erased my memory of her name. I have no address that might lead me to her again but I often think of her and wonder how her life has been. I’m curious to know if she married and had children. I try to imagine what type of job she may have held. She was quite artistic so I suspect that she did something creative. I hope that she has been happy and healthy and been able to accomplish her dreams. I’d like to think that she remembers our brief friendship and enjoyed it as much as I did. I feel guilty that I did not try hard enough to keep in touch and worry that something may have happened to her that prevented her from writing. I wish that I had inquired about her even if only in a brief message letting her know that I cared.

I never got to Japan. There were always other places to go and things to do. I was busy raising a family, taking care of my mother, working, sending my children to college. The years went by so quickly that I hardly noticed. I eventually rode horses now and again which I think she may have liked to know. I hiked to the top of mountains where it seemed as though I could see forever and I imagined her enjoying life somewhere off in the distance.

I did not forget her. How could I? Those letters from her gave me so much pleasure. They made me feel as if I had been part of a grand adventure. She and I shared our stories and our secrets and found that the east and the west were more alike than they were different. We were two girls who dreamed of conquering our respective worlds and I would like to believe that both of us did.

Searching for Love and Truth

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

normamccorvey6The world is filled with interesting stories, some more than others. So it is with Norma McCorvey, AKA Jane Roe. Norma grew up in the same era in which I lived. In fact she was very close in age to me. She was born in Louisiana to parents who seemed ill prepared to raise children. Her father was an abusive alcoholic and her parents’ union ended in divorce not long after Norma was born. Some women have a very unfortunate habit of falling in love with bad boys and so it was with Norma’s mom who forged a second relationship with a man who sexually abused Norma on a regular basis. By the time that Norma had reached her adolescence she was continually at odds with the law and ended up in juvenile detention centers and foster homes. Hers had been a confusing childhood without guidance, loving protection or opportunities. Little wonder that she was married and pregnant by the time that she was only sixteen.

Norma, like her mother before her, made many bad choices and was left by her husband to raise the child on her own. Realizing that she did not have any of the resources needed to care for herself much less a youngster, Norma gave the little girl to her mom. After that her life became a continuing series of unfortunate events. She became pregnant again and decided to give the little one up for adoption. She repeated her mom’s mistakes, seeming to be unlucky in love and life in general. When she became pregnant a third time she wanted to have an abortion but it was still illegal to do so in the state of Texas where she resided. A couple of lawyers who were looking for a test case to challenge the law took Norma under their wings and fought all the way to the Supreme Court for her rights and those of others to abort fetuses that were unwanted, claiming that particularly because Norma had been raped she should not have to have the baby.

The court case took well over three years to complete so Norma was forced to bear the little girl that she carried all the way to birth. She gave that child up for adoption just as she had with the earlier baby but ultimately won her case in the famous Roe vs. Wade decision that forever changed the way many women would view unwanted pregnancies. Norma never again became pregnant nor did she ever require or receive an abortion but she nonetheless became a celebrity in the pro choice ranks and even worked for many years in an abortion clinic. She seemed to find finally find her footing when she settled down with another woman in Dallas continuing to fight for women’s rights on a regular basis.

Along the way Norma met members of a Dallas pro-life group. They discussed with her their own beliefs that a fetus is a human being with its own rights as a person. Initially she scoffed at their arguments and in the feisty way that was her trademark made fun of their religious thinking. Somehow in an unlikely alliance they began to respect one another and Norma was taken by the way in which her opponents seemed to love her in spite of their differing opinions. Nobody had ever treated her with so much respect. She began to listen to what they had to say and to consider the possibility that perhaps their thoughts were valid.

She found herself feeling bothered by what she saw happening in the abortion clinic where she worked. Finally she renounced her pro choice position claiming that she had been used by the two lawyers who represented her in the landmark case. She even insisted that she had lied about being raped in order to make her situation appear to be more worthy of sympathy. She was baptized and in a stunning reversal became a spokesperson for the pro-life movement. Eventually she even left her long term partner and became a Catholic.

Norma was living in Katy, Texas not far from where I live when she died a couple of weeks ago. She never again saw the two children that she had given up for adoption but she is said to have thought about them often. The daughter that her mother had raised was by her side as she breathed her final breaths.

I was particularly taken by the sadness of Norma’s life. I encountered so many young girls like her when I was a teacher, sad souls who were forced into adult roles long before they were ready because their parents were unable or unwilling to care properly for them. I have taught twelve year olds who were raped by family members and became pregnant. They were angry, confused and fearful over what had happened to them. Their children became more like younger brothers or sisters than someone for whose life they were responsible. They were totally unprepared for the difficulties that lay ahead of them.

I have seen the loving results of children who have been saved from such situations through the process of adoption. When paired with genuinely caring adults they generally thrive and lead incredibly wonderful lives. There is something quite special about the realization that they have been chosen that helps them to grow to be strong and confident. I’d like to think that Norma’s adopted children found happy homes and that they were able to break the cycle of poverty and abuse that had been the definition of Norma’s lifestyle.

The question of abortion is a complex one that will not soon go away. There is much disagreement about when an unborn child becomes a person. We are inching further and further into the developmental cycle of the fetus in determining where the line is drawn in determining what state defines viability.  There are now places where abortion is permitted all the way up to twenty four weeks. Many consider it a form of birth control and each year millions of women end their pregnancies not because they have been raped or have health issues but because they do not want to have a child.

On the other side of the argument are those who believe that conception is the defining moment of personhood and that abortion is murder of a human being. They find the practice to be barbaric and morally wrong and fight continuously to outlaw the abortion once and for all. Many consider such individuals to be little more than religious zealots but they see themselves as soldiers in a battle against an evil that must be stopped.

Ironically Norma McCorvey was the face of both sides during her lifetime. She believed that she had seen the light in her later years when she became a pro-life advocate. She felt that she had been used and abused for most of her life and that it was within a community of faith-filled individuals that she finally found the love and respect for which she had been searching since she was a child. She died convinced that her part in Roe vs. Wade was flawed and terribly wrong.

It appears that Norma somehow found a modicum of peace and even built a loving relationship with the one daughter with whom she still had contact. She found friendships that she enjoyed and her life became bearable. I would like to think that she is now enjoying the peace that had been so elusive for her for so much of her existence. Hers was a search for love and truth that is now at an end. May she forever rest in peace and may those of us still here find the answers to the questions that she posed and the strength and wisdom to work for what is right just as Norma tried to do.

A Good Ole Gal

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

buffalobayousunriseHouston is a good ole gal with a heart of gold. She’s a hard worker who doesn’t mind getting dirt under her nails but she also has an inventive mind. She’s had some crazy ideas that actually worked, like building a channel from the Gulf of Mexico to her landlocked home creating one of the busiest ports in the world. She got it in her head to establish a university that would rival Harvard, a medical center that would attract the best doctors in the country and a space center that would explore the universe. Her ideas came to fruition even as her critics laughed at her. She is fearless, unafraid to risk everything. She is exciting.

Houston is a chameleon. Sometimes she appears to be very plain, maybe even a bit homely, but then she flashes her brilliant eyes and suddenly becomes quite beautiful. Perhaps it is her undaunted spirit that makes her so attractive or maybe it is her generosity. She provides opportunity and security to anyone willing to work with her. She offers a shoulder to lean on when times get tough. She will be there to help after storms devastate or tragedy steals joy. She is ever faithful, always willing to lend a hand. She welcomes strangers and provides succor to her ever growing family.

She angers us with her unpredictable moods. It’s difficult to know what to expect from her from one day to the next. She may cry enough tears to fill our streets and our homes and then respond with a smile of brilliant blue skies and sunshine. She wears her lovely bayous like silky ribbons in her hair and then strangles us with their fury. She bears down on us with her fiery heat and just when we think that she is unbearable she brings us a day so lovely that we fall in love with her all over again.

Houston has many faces. She is a wealthy patrician with deep roots in her aristocratic heritage and a newcomer with dark eyes and brown cheeks filled with hope and optimism. She loves the rodeo and the opera, a honky tonk bar and a symphony hall. She likes ballgames and art museums, fast food and fine dining. She’s quite accommodating which is perhaps her most enticing quality. She wants to please and works hard at making everyone happy. She is the quintessential hostess.

Houston is always so busy, sometimes to her own detriment. She invites everyone to her party but doesn’t plan for all of the traffic and commotion. She seems unaware of how aggravating her haphazard tendencies can be. We wonder how someone so bright can also be so clueless. She is wild and unfettered, tendencies that we both enjoy and loathe. She is a whirlwind, a tornado, a contradiction.

Houston is a conundrum to those who do not really know her. They can’t imagine what her appeal might be. She seems simple and unattractive to the unschooled. She is a mystery that confounds reason. Her detractors wonder why any of us give our hearts to her. She seems so unworthy of our affection and yet we feel an unflinching loyalty to her. We love her even though we are sometimes hard pressed to explain why. Our feelings for her are among the grandest mysteries of life.

We sometimes consider leaving Houston and her irritating ways. We may even temporarily act on our emotions and take a break from her, seeking another to satisfy our needs. Somehow we find ourselves thinking of her in our absence. We actually miss her with all of her quirks and idiosyncrasies. We recall her openness and uncomplicated ways. We remember all of the culinary feasts that she provided us. We call to mind how unselfish she generally was to us. She was there when we needed her most with offers of education, work, and solace. We enjoyed her welcoming nature and her willingness to accept us just the way we were. She never put on airs nor did she expect us to do so. She worked her way into our very souls and no matter how far away we have travelled we find ourselves wanting to see her again, to be with her. She has a power over us that we somehow can’t escape and so we return, lingering near her and feeling the calm that being with her seems to revive in our souls.

Houston is a good ole gal, the salt of the earth, the joy of our lives. We love her and always will.

Memories of Another Time

Published on by Sharron Burnett2 Comments

cristoreyhoustonI return to the neighborhood where I grew up at least once a week to tutor high school students in math. The area has changed more than a bit since I once walked the short blocks from my home to the high school that I attended. I suspect that only a few if any of the people who once lived there are still around. It was a working middle class suburb back in the day with a mix of blue collar types and professionals. The entire subdivision centered on the Catholic Church and school that most of us attended. There were other denominations and public institutions as well but Mt. Carmel was the main attraction. Everybody knew everybody and the community spirit was probably the best aspect of living there. It’s not an exaggeration to boast that it was heaven on earth for kids.

Our parents were quite active in providing us with a faith filled life, a great education and lots of after school activities. There was always something wonderful happening and the whole neighborhood felt like a combination of “Leave It To Beaver” land and an episode of “The Wonder Years.” My mother was quite wise to find us a home there after my father died. Our little place provided us with a sense of stability as we were growing up as well as hours of fun.

Of course things never seem to stay the same. Once I was grown and gone the whole area began to change as the old timers moved to newer homes in newer parts of town or to land they had purchased for retirement. It was just never quite the same. The new folks who moved in stayed mostly to themselves and my mother lost her sense of security. Her home was burglarized so many times that on the last break-in the thieves left without taking anything. We joked that we were surprised that they didn’t feel sorry for her and leave something behind. All of her valuables were long gone. Because she was alone and no longer had old friends on whom to depend nearby she became more and more frightened. Each time that she came home to discover an invasion of her property she was less and less willing to stay in the place where we had all shared so many memories. She decided to sell.

It was truly a shame because she had managed to pay for the house in full. She enjoyed having the extra income to make repairs and purchase a luxury now and again.  Because the area had generally deteriorated, at least on our street, she was unable to get a good price for the place. Essentially she had to start all over again making payments on a home that was little better but at least felt more safe. It stretched her already small income to the breaking point but she was always optimistic, believing that the good Lord would work things out, and somehow He always did.

I don’t think that Mama ever went back to see how our old homestead was doing which was actually for the best. The people who bought it did little to keep it in good condition. By the time that I finally drove by a few years back it was a sad broken down property. The roof was sagging and it looked as though it hadn’t been painted since the last time that Mama and me and my brothers had put a fresh coat on it. Mama had always taken pride in having a nice garden and had planted trees, bushes and flowers over the years. Literally all of that was gone. There wasn’t even much grass growing in the yard. It was stark and ugly in the saddest imaginable way. It literally hurt to see it like that. I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or just to cry.

I haven’t dared to go back again. I really don’t even like to think about how battered and neglected the house looks. I drive to my tutoring sessions from a direction that doesn’t take me near the old place. That way I keep only the positive memories of my youth that were so delightful. I picture our home at its best when it represented love and safety.

On sunny days when the temperature isn’t too hot there is a certain kind of breeze in the neighborhood that gives me a strong sense of deja vu. I can close my eyes and listen to the planes flying overhead as they approach nearby Hobby Airport and feel transported back to a time when the subdivision and the school were among the best in town. The sounds of the birds are just like they were when I was a kid and I can almost hear all of the old neighbors laughing and living inside their homes at a time when people still left their windows open and their doors unlocked. For a moment I find myself believing that they are all still there and that I might go see them after finishing my tutoring, but then something always stirs me back to reality and I remember.

The school where I was once a student has a new name now. It used to be Mt. Carmel but the Carmelites and the School Sisters of Notre Dame left and over time there wasn’t enough interest or financial help to keep things afloat. The school began to operate in the red without enough students or help from the diocese and finally was forced to close its doors. It was threatened with destruction until the Jesuits purchased the property and renovated the inside, creating a whole new high school called Cristo Rey. They brought in wealthy individuals willing to help support the education of students who might not otherwise have the privilege of an exceptional private school education. I now tutor some of those same kids and I have to admit that I am quite impressed with how well the hard working teachers and administrators have revitalized things for them.

It sometimes feels quite strange to be back in my old school fifty years after graduating. I tell my tutees about my own adventures there and they stare back at me as though I have two heads. I suspect that it is difficult for them to imagine an old lady like me as a young person with all of the same hopes and dreams that they have. I somehow feel that I am supposed to be there helping them. I have a deep connection and respect for the history of all of the wonderful things that happened inside those walls over the years. So many lives have changed for the better in the classrooms and the laboratories. I feel the spirit of all of us who launched our own lives there with the knowledge and confidence that we developed under the guidance of teachers and parents who truly cared about us.

As I walk through the hallways toward the library where I once devoured the words from books that opened whole new worlds to me I see the newest students experiencing the same emotions of joy and fear and discovery that were once mine. I know that we are somehow brethren. Some things like the freedom and wisdom and growth that come with knowledge never change. Whether they realize it or not those young men and women are part of the same long red thread of learning that wove through my mind so many years ago. We are bound together and no matter how different the world may become that red brick edifice will always represent the everlasting power and beauty of education.

Lemonade

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

lemonade-012.jpgWe humans love a good party and manage to find excuses for having one on a regular basis. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, new jobs, weddings, retirements. Our yearly calendar includes festivities for the New Year, Valentine’s Day, Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving and of course the Big Daddy of them all, Christmas. We call friends together to view special events like the Academy Awards or the Grammys and we have elevated the watching of major sporting events to a form of high art in our quest for the perfect gathering.

In our efforts to find distractions from the routine of our daily lives we go to great lengths to make our occasions special. We decorate our homes and prepare special recipes. We don appropriate clothing and take photographs so that we might record our joy for all time. It’s all quite fun and plays to our natures as social beings. Mostly such times make us quite happy, but because we are each highly complex individuals such well intentioned galas sometimes also have the power of creating problems for us.

Our lives are never simply smooth transitions from one era to another. None of us are immune to the slings and arrows of misfortune. We all experience illnesses, loss, heartbreak, loneliness, fear. It is part of our destiny to be up one day and down on another. Challenges pop into our lives without warning. That special person to whom we have given our love proves to be disloyal and hurtful. The phone rings and we hear unbearably bad news. A routine visit to a doctor reveals an unexpected and frightening diagnosis. Our personal world is turned upside down from time to time as inevitably as the rest of humankind celebrates. Suddenly we view all of those lighthearted images on Facebook from a different perspective. We wonder how it is even possible for so many to be so happy when we are so down. Our pain can be quite real and disabling.

There are angels among us who notice such things. Even in the midst of their own revelry they think of people who are less fortunate. While they are buying the hot wings and beer for the Super Bowl party they also take time to contribute time and donations to the Super Bowl of Caring. These are very good people like the little Cub Scout that I know who spent his entire Saturday gathering food for the hungry in the city that hosted this year’s football extravaganza. Perhaps he has learned his generosity from his grandmother who quietly visited her elderly mother in a nursing home on Sunday night while the rest of us were cheering at parties and sports bars. Such gentle and unselfish individuals remind us to be aware of the suffering even as we have a good time.

I think of life as a joyful experience and I believe that it is good for us to find ways to celebrate. I went to two wonderful parties yesterday. The first was for a little boy who turned one. He is both a blessing and a miracle. Before he was even born doctors worried that he might have major heath problems. His parents were counseled to be ready for some rather frightening possibilities. They are faith-filled and were determined to trust in the will of God. They believed with all of their hearts that they would be able to handle whatever challenges lay ahead. Gloriously the baby boy has flourished and enjoyed good health but in an ironic twist his mother has spent much of his first year of life being treated for cancer. She and her family have approached her ordeal with the same level of hope and faith that they exhibited during her pregnancy. At this moment it appears that her treatments are doing exactly what they should and that she will one day be restored to good health again. Yesterday’s party was more than just a milestone for the little boy. It was a celebration of life and hope and never ending love evidenced by the smiling faces of adults and children pausing just long enough from their own trials and tribulations to show their gratitude for the wonders that they have witnessed in this remarkable family.

The second party was centered on a birthday for my sister-in-law Allison. Each year she invites family and friends to enjoy her special day while viewing the Super Bowl which invariably takes place right around the day of her birth. I have always suspected that Allison was born with a big smile on her face and that she filled her family’s home with laughter from the very beginning. She is one of those truly optimistic souls who bring joy and sunshine into every room that she enters. It would be easy to believe that she has somehow been immune to the sorrows and tragedies that stalk the rest of us but that would be false indeed. She has had many crosses to bear, maybe even more than most, but she manages to do so with a determination to continue her journey without becoming overwhelmed. She does whatever she has to do to stay upright and rarely allows her optimism to fade. I suspect that her secret is that she almost never focuses on herself even at her own birthday party. She is always thinking of everyone else and it is in her generous spirit that her true essence resides. It is the stalwart that keeps her from crashing into a state of despondency when her world goes awry. The people at her party all love her because she is a giver who makes each person that she encounters feel special.

It is good and right that we find reasons to celebrate. God knows that we are surrounded by much sadness and want. We don’t have to feel guilty for being happy and nourishing our souls. We need not don hair shirts and beat ourselves for being fortunate. There is a special beauty in a gathering of souls connected by a bond of friendship and love. It is from these small communities of caring that the power of all that is right and just eventually grows. The goodness that we all want for the world begins in living rooms with people smiling and cheering and sharing common bonds. If it takes a ballgame to create such moments, so be it.

For a few hours yesterday many of us forgot about our problems and our differences. We enjoyed the amazing talent of individuals who are among the best at what they do. We tapped our feet as Lady Gaga showed us how to come together by remembering who we are and what we have in common. We sat with people that we love and sent posts to friends who were with us even as they were far away. It wasn’t just about the food or the decorations or the game itself. Somehow we all knew that it was mostly about our humanity and our hopes and our dreams. Sometimes it is a truly good thing to stop in our tracks and allow ourselves to just enjoy the moment. It’s how we renew our energies and mend our divisions. Perhaps the best advice that any of us might follow is to seize the day. There is something quite lovely about making life a party in which we honor the best of ourselves and the people around us. Finding reasons for happiness is not an ignoring of reality. It is a celebration of it. So when you find yourself losing hope gather all of your lemons, make some lemonade and have a party.