Category: Gratitude

A Birthday Gift To Us All

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I have to pinch myself when I look at my husband, Mike. I still can’t believe how lucky I have been to have him as my husband. I tend not to notice that he is no longer the young lion that I met so long ago nor that his hair has grown white and thinner than it once was. I marvel that he is still with me after so many years, as loving and faithful as ever. I rejoice that we will celebrate another of his birthday’s together today, and I can’t quite believe that this will be his seventieth. As I look back over time I have so many wonderful memories of our life together, but mostly I marvel at the person that he has always been.

I have learned that he is the amalgam of lessons learned from his grandmother, his mother, his father and his education at St. Thomas High School. He was taught through example how to be a truly great man. His mother was a remarkable woman who was far ahead of her time with her independent spirit. If she had run for President of the United States I feel certain that she would have won. She always insisted that Mike treat women with great respect and who better to learn from than his father who has always been the consummate gentleman? In high school Mike was shown the importance of faith, loyalty and good character. He learned his lessons well but in many ways it was his grandmother who showed him the value of unconditional love. All of these factors produced a man who has always been kind and generous and guileless, but never naive. He is a strong protector but also an equal and supportive partner.

Mike has a brilliant mind that allows him to digest and synthesize information readily. Conversations with him are beyond interesting because he draws his comments from a library of information that he has somehow managed to catalog in his brain and pull up at a moment’s notice. He is one of those lifelong learners who reads and watches continuously. He has made our life together so much more exciting because of his encyclopedic knowledge on so many topics. In many ways he is a true renaissance man with his abilities to do and discuss almost anything. He is as good at wiring a house as discussing history or business. He is a truly delightful person to be with and I have had the honor of walking at his side for almost fifty years, never once growing bored with our companionship.

Mike often tells people that he was thunderstruck when he met me, but I don’t mention enough that the feeling was quite mutual. I remember telling my friends at the time that I thought I had just met the man with whom I was going to spend the rest of my life. I had no idea then just how exciting our journey together would be. When people see me today they are encountering a woman who was much different when I first met Mike. He has been my mentor, my muse, and the one person who encouraged me to take risks to become who I am today. No matter what I have wanted to accomplish, he has been my cheerleader, telling me that I have the power to accomplish anything. I suspect that I would not have been nearly as happy or successful in life had it not been for our chance meeting so long ago. I thank God for him every single day.

This particular birthday for Mike is of especial importance to me because of my understanding that I might very well have lost him this summer when he had a stroke. In true Mike fashion he has been the rock who has helped me to deal with our new reality. He has prepared me for any eventuality and insisted that I will do well with whatever situation arises. That is the kind of person that he is, always thinking of me and our family. He loves with a passion that is immeasurable and he has always been willing to sacrifice for the well being of me and our girls.

Mike is a humble man except for when it comes to our children and grandchildren. Then he puffs out his chest and fairly glows with pride. He has quietly watched them grow in wisdom and age and grace and it brings him great contentment to see how well they continue to do. His love for them and for all of the members of our extended family is boundless. He is always at the ready to open his home and his heart to any one them who may be in need.,

Perhaps my greatest admiration for Mike is related to the way that he treated my mother. Her bipolar disorder often created very unlikeable symptoms. When she was in the throes of a manic episode she sometimes said horrific things to him. Somehow he always remained steadfast in understanding that it was her disease speaking and not her true heart. He continued to show her kindness even as she insulted him in every possible way. When she came to stay at our home at the end of her life he was welcoming and enjoyed being able to provide her with a touch of security as she slowly became more and more ill. At the very end he sat holding her hand and promising to take care of me and my brothers with all of the powers within him. He and my mom shared a bond of mutual understanding on the day that she died. They expressed their love for one another and it made my mother comfortable to know that he would indeed watch over her family in her absence. Like me, she had witnessed his steadfast strength and love.

I can only hope and pray that there will be many more birthdays with Mike, but I have most recently learned just to appreciate the moments that we have without overthinking and worrying too much about the distant future. He is a most extraordinary man and I celebrate that our world has been lucky enough to have someone of his caliber working day after day to make our little corner of it a better place. It’s funny how on his birthday I am reminded that he has been a gift to all of us who know him. It is so typical of him to be the giver just by his existence even on his birthday.

An Honorable Day’s Work

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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He is one of the most faithful people that I know. I depend on him to arrive each weekend and never once has he let me down. He has come to my home over and over again for twelve years, leaving his mark of excellence as visible proof of his efforts and making me feel quite happy. He is my yard man, Jose, an individual with a work ethic as strong and unwavering as any that I have ever known. I find him to be quite noble and I am awed in observing that his labors begin at the crack of dawn and do not end until the last light of day. When I see him hard at work I think of my two grandfathers who brought a consistent level of pride to their work in spite of the fact that it was often back breaking and punishing. Like them, Jose does not complain nor does he require praise or extra perks to leave his mark on the work that he does even though he is quite deserving of more than just the weekly pay that I leave for him on my door. I find his services to be extraordinary and I see him as an exemplar of what our expectations for a job well done should be. His is an honorable day’s work in every sense of that idea.

As an educator I always encouraged my students to become as well educated as possible and to aim for their dreams rather than settling for less than they might achieve. Nonetheless I wanted them to understand the importance of the sacrifices that their parents made for them. I recall a time when one of my students was embarrassed upon seeing his mother coming to a meeting at the school wearing her McDonald’s uniform. He literally avoided her notice by dashing in the opposite direction. When I confronted him regarding his behavior he expressed anger that she had not disguised her profession by changing clothes before coming. He also noted that whenever teachers ridiculed a student for a lack of ambition they always seemed to note that without some effort people end up working for a fast food restaurant. He did not want to be associated with his mother’s job because it embarrassed him.

It hurt my soul to hear this young man denying the importance of his mom’s hard work, but it also worried me that we teachers sometimes unwittingly expressed our hopes for our students in ways that demeaned their parents. In this particular situation I felt compelled to insist to my student that he and all of us should honor the fact that his mother worked so hard to provide him with a secure home. I reminded him of how difficult it must have been for her to balance all of the demands in her life, and yet she was so concerned about his welfare that she came straight from a long day of work to take an interest in his education. I remarked that her uniform was not something of which he should be ashamed, but rather that it was a true badge of honor that he should embrace. He listened intently to my arguments, but I was never certain that he had actually heard the full import of what I was saying. It was many years later that I learned that he had indeed understood what I was attempting to convey.

I had all but forgotten about this particular incident when my former student returned to the school where he and I had spent so many days together. He was all grown up, a very fine looking young man who was well on his way to earning a college degree. He told me that he had come back to thank me for setting him straight on the value of his mother’s efforts in his behalf. He had learned over the years just how remarkable she was, and he had eventually been able to understand how much he had benefited from her labors. He said that he had eventually seen her as a paragon of wisdom and generosity. Mostly though he was quite proud of her hard work and the care that she had always put into being the best possible employee. She had taught him the importance of showing up on time, ready to work. He had followed in her footsteps and with her guidance had accomplished more than either of them had ever thought possible.

As a society we don’t always give the proper respect to all forms of work. We somehow mentally rank occupations based on level of education rather than on efforts expended, and yet it is truth that we need every skill, trade and degree in order to function well. The young man who keeps the Panera Bread restaurant spotless creates a pleasing environment that provides us with a greater level of comfort as we eat. Ken who smiles and greets us each time we visit Cracker Barrel makes our dining experience more personal and pleasurable. Big John who provides us with an honest deal when we have a plumbing problem instills confidence that we are getting the best possible service. Miguel who climbs on my steep roof to fix a minor leak brings me a sense of security that I will be fine when storms rage overhead, as indeed was recently the case. Mr. Nguyen who makes my home cool with an exceptional new air conditioning system gains my respect and my thanks.

We certainly know that college degrees might sometimes bring a higher level of economic success, but merely having a job that requires one does not guarantee that the quality of work will be even close to someone like Jose who puts so much effort into being the best he might possibly be. We need to remember such things whenever we speak to our young about the expectations that we have for them as they move toward their own futures. What we really want from them is mastery and pride in doing a job well. That is the true secret to living meaningfully.

Jose began manicuring our lawn when we first moved into our home. Since that time he has secured contracts with five other residents on our street because they have observed that he has never let us or anyone else down. We also sent him to do my father-in-law’s yard several years back and that has led to more jobs in the Heights. I know that he keeps busy each evening after he completes his day job and all weekend long. He is a paragon of the work ethic that we should be encouraging all of our young to emulate and honor.

We need to be mindful in our enthusiasm for helping our young men and women to achieve the highest possible educations that we do not inadvertently give them the impression that the hard work of laborers and skilled craftsmen is somehow less than that of professionals. We cannot get along without those who do jobs that we either can’t or don’t want to do. it is up to us to praise any form of hard work because it is the true key to greatness.

A Wedding, Two Funerals, and A Hurricane

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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This summer has left me forever changed in ways more dramatic than I might ever have imagined. It began innocently enough with a visit to New Orleans with grandson Ian. He saw my favorite city with a new set of eyes that were innocent and inquisitive. It was the history of the place that fascinated him more than even the food and entertainment. He was particularly entranced with the World War II Museum which filled him with wonder and so many questions. I suppose that in many ways the day that we spent reliving the drama and importance of that era when was the beginning of a circle of life that left me profoundly different by the end of my journey through the warm lazy days that have heretofore represented fun and frolic to me, but would no longer be so simple to consider.

After our sojourn in New Orleans we travelled to Cancun for the wedding of two of our favorite friends, Tim and Dickie. We learned just how powerful love can be and that how it cannot be narrowly defined. We also went on a journey back in history to study the Mayan people and their glorious civilization that had been quite advanced in its time. It humbled us to learn of the ingenuity of mankind, but also to understand that the upheavals of life and how we humans react to them have the power to take down or raise up even nations.

We had scheduled so many more amazing travels for July and August when our world was shaken to its very foundation. My husband Mike had a stroke on July 3, and it was as though the earth itself had stood still. Nothing really mattered to me other than Mike’s health and I was thankful that he was still alive and that I would have more time to convey my feelings for him. I suppose that from that exact moment forward I quit taking anything for granted. I became more attuned to the colors and sounds and people all around me. I rejoiced each day when both Mike and I arose. I reveled in even the smallest bits of joy that came our way. Somehow I found myself caring little for things and greatly appreciative of relationships and love.

Mike and I shared a viewing of a partial eclipse of the sun rather than than the total one that we had planned to witness. I suppose that I should have been disappointed that we were not able to travel to Wyoming for the event, but having the pleasure of sitting with Mike in a park watching the little piece of wonder that we were given was more than ample for me. I felt that our day together was truly glorious just because we had the gift of being together. Whenever I thought of what might have been, I felt frightened but mostly grateful for my blessings. Each new day was glorious, but I had little idea that an even greater test of my endurance lay ahead.

As the summer drew to a close my two eldest grandsons readied to go off to college. We celebrated at our favorite Cuban restaurant, El Meson, in the Village area of Houston near Rice University and the Medical Center. It was a beautiful night in which we enjoyed knowing what fine young men our Andrew and Jack had become. It was yet another reason to be thankful and our hearts were filled with joy.

Later we had the privilege of having our twin grandsons Ben and Eli at our home while their parents helped their older brother to check into his dorm at Texas A&M. I was charged with helping the two boys to complete a project for their English class and we worked quite hard for an entire Saturday. I woke them up early on Sunday so that we might finish and still have time for some fun before their parents returned. Just as I had hoped we found ourselves with enough free hours that we were able to go bowling at the Main Event. Later that evening we played a rousing game of Scrabble with no holds barred, and Eli literally blew us all away with a remarkable score. We laughed and felt so good that I once again found myself silently saying prayers of thanks for such precious moments.

Then came the threat of hurricane Harvey. It seemed that because the eye of the storm would be so far away we would be in little danger. There were predictions of massive rainfall but somehow that didn’t seem to be much of a problem, and so we decided to stay in our home. On the first day after the hurricane made landfall we spoke of the hysteria of the forecasters because their promises of floods appeared to have been premature. We were much more saddened by images of the devastation in Rockport, Texas, one of our all time favorite camping spots. It was not until the evening that the rains began and kept going and going and going for three solid days leaving forty three inches in our neighborhood alone.

We began to hear dire reports of friends and family members whose homes were taking on water. The television stations showed us live pictures of familiar places that looked like ocean front property. More and more people that we knew were evacuating, sometimes in the middle of the night. Suddenly I became fearful because it was apparent that if my husband had another stroke there would be little that we might do to get the help that he would need. Those three days became a kind of terror for me. I watched the rain and the street in front and the yard in the back, ever vigilant and unable to sleep lest I might need to get Mike to a medical facility. I cared not about any of the things in my home, but only about my husband and his safety. I realized that I was going to do whatever it took to get him through.

When the rain finally stopped and moved away from our city after dumping fifty one inches across a one hundred mile wide area I was emotionally drained and filled with conflicting emotions. I cried for all of the souls whose worlds had been turned upside down. I sobbed for those who had lost their lives and their homes. I felt lucky that Mike had made it through the days and nights in good condition. I laughed that we had stayed home from camping trips and the eclipse lest he be in a situation in which he might not be able to receive immediate medical care, and ironically for three days we had essentially been trapped on a kind of island with so much happening all around us that we were actually quite alone. I had to praise God for caring for us and for giving me the strength and the calm that I had needed to weather the storm.

Last week our city began to attempt a return to normalcy in earnest. Children returned to school. Adults went back to work. There were actually days that felt so much like the glorious beginning of fall that has always made Houston a kind of Chamber of Commerce postcard. Only rides around town reminded us of the horror of what had happened. Still we had to be happy that we were able to meet with great friends for a brunch on Sunday. We were grateful that we got to visit Mike’s father on Monday and see that he was doing well. Then our week was punctuated with the sorrow and celebration of the lives of two incredible women who had died. I think that perhaps more than any other event their funerals impacted me with a realization of what is truly most important as we live out our days.

Both of these beautiful souls had lived through those harrowing events of World War II that we had studied in New Orleans with Ian. One of them had resided in England. She met her soulmate during that conflict, an American GI. The two of them fell in love and he took her back to his home in Texas where they had seven children that they raised in a home filled with love and goodness and faith in God. The other woman had been born in Italy but eventually immigrated to New Orleans where she too met the love of her life. They also wound up in Houston in the same neighborhood where I grew up. They had four children who would become dear friends of mine. Both women were devoted to their families and required very little in the way of possessions or wealth to be happy. They sacrificed for family and felt honored to do so. In the end they were in turn loved and adored by their children and their friends.

When I attended the two funerals I was accompanied by people that I had known since I was quite young. We had each accumulated a lifetime of stories and memories, but somehow we knew that those women had demonstrated to us how to truly get the most out of life. I felt a sense of peace and a feeling of understanding that has all too often eluded me as I have fought to accomplish rather than to relate. I saw that these women had always realized that titles and bank accounts and possessions were not the things that define a life well lived, but rather the moments when we touch hearts. Somehow I understood that in spite of the topsy turvy nature of this summer, it had been magnificent because it had opened my eyes to how I need to embrace each moment that I have. Somehow I am all the better for what I have learned from that wedding, the hurricane and those two funerals.

Never Let Go

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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So much has been said about the examples of heroism and unconditional love that were exhibited in Houston, Texas both during and in the aftermath of hurricane Harvey. Suddenly the entire world is beginning to understand what it is that we love about this place that is as flat as a pancake, a perfect breeding ground for mosquitos, and has very little in the way of scenic views other than a downtown skyline that is quite beautiful on an autumn day. For years I have tried to explain our town to those who have never been here, and I suppose that I never truly made my point that this city is all about people. The view of who we are has suddenly changed as Houston has become the symbol of what is right with the human spirit.

Sure we have some basic problems with flood control and such, but what the attraction to Houston comes down to, is to be found in the generosity and determination of its citizens. As I travel from place to place I see so many wondrous sights and I find that the people that I encounter are generally welcoming, but nowhere do I feel as accepted for who I am than right here where I live. I always find myself feeling a sense of relief whenever I reenter the city limits. The outpouring of courage and unity and pure love that we have witnessed in the past few weeks has proven my lifetime contention that there are many great places to visit, but Houston is one of the best places to live.

I’d like to think that if any real good comes from this disaster that has so horrifically impacted so many in Houston, it will be the reminder that when all is said and done we are all brothers and sisters aiming for the same comfort and security in life. In the middle of the night during a storm when floodwaters forced a family onto the roof of their house the background of the savior who drove up in a boat to retrieve them from danger mattered not a wit. The reactions that we have when we don’t have time to think are often the purest and most perfect. The reality is that nobody who endured the terrifying days when fifty one inches of rain filled our streets even thought to consider differences. We were all just human beings lashed together in an horrific situation. Our only goal was to survive and to help others to make it to safety with us.

I suppose that politics raged on as usual during those days, but we weren’t even aware of the day or the time much less who was arguing with whom. My neighborhood received a bit more than forty three inches of rain. My only worry was whether or not the drainage system for my street would continue to operate. I silently prayed that my husband would not have another stroke because I suspected that we would not be able to reach the hospital that is only five minutes away if he did. I constantly checked to be certain that my neighbors, family members and friends were okay. When I heard of people who had flood waters entering their homes I was not able to rest until I knew that they had reached a safe and secure refuge. Mine was a scene that was taking place a million times over throughout the area, and we were all hoping for the best for one another. 

I’m not known as a fan of Donald Trump, but I was happy when he came to survey the damage and worked to speed the funding for the recovery of our city. He seemed sincere in his concern, and somehow my animosity toward him didn’t feel appropriate given the situation in which we found ourselves. I am thankful that he seems to understand our plight and that he is willing to do something about it. I have no criticism of his willingness to help.

I have been moved to tears by the outpouring of love from all parts of the country and the world. Our brothers and sisters in Louisiana were some of the first to render aide. The people of New York City understood our pain. Again and again I have heard of volunteers from Israel, Saudi Arabia and countries that may not have heretofore even thought of Houston, Texas. It has been simply amazing to me how wonderful we humans truly are and my faith in mankind has been bolstered.

I watched the Hand in Hand telethon earlier this week and when I saw the genuine concern of the arts community hoping to help us in some way I found myself shedding tears once again. There was Oprah Winfrey manning a telephone line. Tom Hanks and George Clooney and Leo DiCaprio  were there to help the people of my city. Usher and Blake Shelton sang so beautifully. Matthew McConaughey spoke eloquently of the road forward for the citizens of our city. Dennis Quaid wore his Bellaire High School shirt. George Strait led some of the best country artists in a beautiful rendition of Texas. I don’t think that I will ever again see any of the many people who gathered together for this cause without wanting to hug them in thanksgiving. They became as one with my city and they earned the key to my heart.

Beyonce, a native Houstonian, said it best when she noted that we have seen far too much violence and hatred of late. Houston has shown the world that love still exists. Houston has demonstrated that race and politics and social standing don’t matter as much as a willingness to stand toe to toe with one another in an hour of need. In our darkest and most frightening days it was the best of humanity that rose to the occasion. Let us pray that we will not let go of that ideal now that it has come to the fore. We need to join hands all across the world and never again let go.

  

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.