Category: Health

Rejoice

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Alec_200x300

His parents had dreamed of having a son and after three attempts their wish finally came true. Sadly before he was even born they learned that he had a rare condition commonly known as “brittle bones.” They were nonetheless undeterred by the dreary picture that the doctors painted for them. He was their child and they already loved him. They would do whatever they needed to do to care for him and show him how much they cherished him even with his physical imperfections. They named him Alec and convinced him that he should never be defeated by the challenges that his condition posed. They taught him how to be his best and to find optimism in the midst of his pain.

They sent him to the best doctors in Chicago where he found kindness and assistance from the Shriners who had worked to provide hospitals and care for children such as Alec. The boy grew to be happy and articulate and courageous even as he endured countless fractures of his fragile bones. Surgeries to mend and strengthen him became part of his routine as did learning how to maneuver his wheelchair so that he might play basketball with other youngsters with afflictions that left them unable to walk.

Along the way Alec became a spokesperson for the Shriners. His infectious smile and sincerely winning mays made him an instant hit and familiar face to millions of television viewers who stopped to listen to the precious boy who asked for help with the very worthy cause of sharing with youngsters who deal with crippling conditions, He possessed a natural charisma that was enchanting.

Alec is seventeen now and still a popular spokesman for the Shriners. He is small in stature due to his condition but his personality is gigantic. He is proud to represent the organization that has done so much for him and for his family. He admits that his life has not been easy but credits his parents for continually providing him with the motivation and love that keeps him moving forward with his life. He feels a sense of purpose in being able to bring attention to the children like him who continually struggle with their crippling illnesses. He has found multiple ways to enjoy the life he has without self pity.

Alec’s parents recently gifted him with a new car fitted out to accommodate his needs. It has a lift and hand controls that allow him to have a new sense of freedom. His voice is deep now but the same smile that made him a star as a child is ever present on his very recognizable face. He confides that he has suffered at times but he revels in the kindness that people have exhibited toward him again and again. He appreciates the gift of life that his parents gave him and the unending support that they continue to provide.

The story of Alec and his parents is uplifting and reminds us of our own blessings. It also demonstrates that the promise of life is not without challenges and suffering. How we face the pain that all humans endure is a measure of our understanding that each of us has the power inside our souls to endure even the most unthinkable. Our attitude determines how well we manage both the good and the bad events and Alec shows us that with determination and a will to find good wherever we go we indeed may find meaning and happiness in spite of difficulties that taunt us.

Depression is on the rise across the globe. Babies such as Alec are routinely aborted. Millions bury their sorrows in alcohol and drugs. We so fear pain and suffering that we attempt to run from it. When we have no other recourse we so often fill our hearts with rage, which is a very natural and human reaction that even Alec admits to having felt. The key to overcoming our inclinations to give up is to understand that while life can be overwhelming there are powerful alternatives to our sorrow. We only need keep the faith that each breath we take is a sign that we have something to give to the world even if it is just a genuine smile.

I have been blessed to personally know people who inspire me just as Alec has done. They have been beset with plagues of sorrow and pain and yet they soldier on, changing direction as needed but always surviving with determination to make the best of the hand that has been dealt them. My own mother was the consummate example of someone who might have given up but she remained one of the happiest individuals I have ever known through grave loss, debilitating illnesses and economic misfortune. The key to her happiness lay in her ability to find great joy in small things. She had an the wonder and appreciation of a child.

Take time each day to consider all the good things about the world rather than the bad. Think of the people who love you rather than those who hurt you. Be thankful for the talents that you possess and build on them. Each and every one of us is a precious and unique creation and the key to the contentment that we seek is first to cherish ourselves just as we are and then to do whatever we might to share our rejoicing with others.

Lazy Days

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Writing two hundred sixty blogs a year for at least ten years has stretched my imagination, and no doubt kept my aging brain from turning to mush. Much like a baseball player who participates in hundreds of contests during a season sometimes I hit homers and sometimes I devolve into a slump. I suppose on some days my humble offerings sound a bit like broken records and those who are faithful readers may even wonder if I’m reaching the end of relevance. As I’ve often noted I am like a hunter in deer season, constantly searching for that one topic that will resonate. Today I will embark on a new writing challenge given to me as a gift by my grandson’s lovely girlfriend, Araceli, whom I already view as a cherished family member. She presented me with a book of two hundred writing prompts which should serve me well whenever I sit staring blankly into the air attempting to generate a decent idea for my writing.

The first challenge in the book is to describe my favorite way to spend a lazy afternoon. It’s more difficult for me to speak of such a thing than one might imagine because in truth I don’t often allow myself to just be lazy. When I do, however, it is quite glorious and no doubt rather good for my general health. While I’ve enjoyed a purpose driven life, it’s grand to be aimless now and again, to throw determination and routine to the wind and momentarily live the life of a slug.

I have to confess to enjoying junk food and movies of the kind that turn the body to fat and the brain to mush. Staying in my pajamas all day long is my idea of heaven on earth. Sitting in an easy chair watching rom/coms or mysteries while munching on cheese dip and Doritos is a sinful but glorious pleasure in which I don’t often indulge, but when I do it feels so delightful. On those days I don’t bother with healthy meals or taking out the trash. My mantra becomes, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

When I was growing up my mom had to run a tight ship to keep things running smoothly. As a single parent she played multiple roles. I could almost set my watch based on what my family was doing at a certain time. We followed a strict routine with the exception of Saturday afternoons and evenings. My mother was insistent that we have a time devoted solely to having fun. That might mean indulging in a shopping spree at the local five and dime store with a whole quarter to spend on frivolous items like bubbles or coloring books. Other times it would be an evening sitting in the dark watching our favorite late evening television programs like Weird while munching on banana pudding or chocolate pie. It was always fun and relaxing and a way for all of us to recharge our internal batteries before tackling the new week of challenges.

As my mother grew older and perhaps even wiser she expanded her lazy interludes to include a bit of time each day. That’s when she would indulge in watching her favorite soap operas, or spending time at the nearby mall window shopping and talking with other older folk who got their exercise and social contact by walking in a big circle around the circumference of the stores. I used to think of her pursuits as a sign that she was running down, but now I know that a bit of laziness is actually good for the soul.

I find myself more and more often realizing that there is no need to rush. I will manage to get things done even if I just sit for a time daydreaming or gazing at the sky. The dust on my furniture will return with regularity but I don’t have to wipe it away each time it appears. A thicker patina will bother no one. In my quest to focus more and more on what is important such tasks gain less and less priority while slowing down to enjoy moments has become a more worthy cause.

I like listening to the sounds of my neighborhood for no reason other than to hear them. I enjoy wandering through antique stores, not in the hopes of finding a treasure, but simply to imagine who might have once owned the trinkets that line the shelves. I might easily spend the rest of my days on earth reading all sorts of books. I can set my little robot to sweep across my floors and let my microwave oven do my cooking. A swish of some Clorox wipes accomplishes as much cleaning as I actually need, so why not increase the number of lazy days? I suppose that I have surely earned them and I know firsthand how invigorating they can often be.

I become the laziest whenever my husband and I take our trailer to a scenic state park. On those days I like to sleep in and casually dress for the day. I enjoy being serendipitously led by whatever I opportunity I chance to see. Sometimes my road map on those days takes me to wonders that I had never before considered, and sometimes they only mean sitting in a comfortable chair under the awning watching the antics of squirrels, raccoons, deer or wild turkeys.

I suppose that we all need more lazy days, not fewer. Somehow we often feel guilty for indulging in moments of aimless bliss when in truth we are more likely to find our inner bliss when we slow ourselves down. So here’s to lazy days however we may choose to spend them.

Our Horrific Infinite Loop

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

infinite loop

There has been another school shooting in Santa Clarita, California. A sixteen year old brought a gun to school inside his backpack, fired it before entering at the beginning of the school day, and killed two innocent bystanders as well as himself. Once again we are stunned and worried and left wondering what had driven a young man to do something so egregious on his sixteenth birthday.

Accounts indicate that authorities were initially baffled about the motive. The young man was an athlete who gave no signs of having a grudge or being bullied. He was quiet and generally thought to be a nice young man. Sadly there were indeed indications of trouble that may not have been adequately addressed. The clues were there but putting them together in the environment of a large public high school where teachers and students are often overworked can be difficult if not seemingly impossible. There are young people falling through the cracks across the nation and their fates are too often going unnoticed.

The puzzle pieces of the shooter’s life were there if anyone might have had reason to suspect that he was about to blow. His father died in December two years ago when he was only fourteen. His dad had been an alcoholic who often fought with the boy’s mother. Eventually the ravages of alcoholism caused the father to die of a heart attack and it was the sone who found his father’s body. The father and his boy had gone hunting together in happier times. The dad had a collection of guns and even made his own bullets, none of which is horrific in and of itself but it indicates that the shooter had access to weapons. The sixteen year old lived with his mother, a single parent who was no doubt stretched to her own limits both emotionally and physically. His life was a powder keg just waiting for the moment to blow, particularly given his age. Sadly I find myself wondering if anyone ever took the time to talk with him, counsel him, make certain that he was psychologically sound.

We humans have a tendency to be stoic in public. We hide our suffering, pretending that nothing is wrong even when we are dying inside. We are all too often afraid of uttering the truth. We worry that people’s perceptions of us will change if we reveal the hurts we are experiencing. We have all had experiences in which we trusted someone with our deepest thoughts only to be hurt by them, or even worse to be asked not to talk about such things. It sometimes seems that our society wants everyone to put on a happy face and pretend that all is well.

My happiest times as an educator took place at KIPP Houston High School mostly because so much time and financial investment was dedicated to have a fleet of counselors along with caring teachers who were encouraged to get to know every one of their students. For a student body of just under five hundred individuals there were six counselors, two Deans of Students, grade level teams that met weekly to discuss concerns about their pupils, and four Grade Level Chairpersons. At any given time there were multiple adults ready to help each student through troubles. We watched carefully for changes in personality, unusual behaviors, fluctuations in grades, lethargy or mania. When we saw worrisome signs we provided intensive counseling for both the students and their parents. We knew and loved our kids. Their well being came before anything in our focus. While we did not have a perfect record, I believe that we demonstrated how much we cared to the benefit of the entire student body.

One of my daughters recently noticed that an Advanced Placement elective was causing great stress for her son. She immediately contacted the school and set up a meeting with the teacher, an assistant principal and a counselor. She voiced her concerns and requested that he be reassigned to a history class that his twin sister was taking since he always enjoys learning about the past. The switch would have taken place within the first six weeks of school and would have required no major overhaul of his schedule since the elective and the history class were at exactly the same time. The history class only had eighteen students so it would not have burdened the teacher who had expressed excitement of having my grandson in his class. It seemed to be a grand solution for a young man who makes good grades and is generally happy and relaxed about academics, but just felt a disconnect with the elective.

The powers that be at the school not only refused to make the change in schedule, but they did nothing to address the issues of anxiety that my daughter had revealed to them. Instead they took a defensive stance making my daughter feel as though she was a trouble maker rather than a concerned parent, and embarrassing my grandson with insinuations that he wasn’t tough enough to take the heat even though he was doing well with advanced classes in Pre-Calculus and Chemistry. In other words they shoved the problem under the rug and moved on without consideration of my grandson’s individual needs.

I suspect that many mega high schools operate in such a manner with disregard for students’ unique requirements. I understand the limited resources of time and energy for teachers because I have been in their shoes. What bothers me most is that schools so rarely have the budgets to hire enough auxiliary staff to provide intensive support for every student. With dedicated professionals and a restructuring of the campus to create small groups of students who become members of a school within a school, it is more likely that someone will notice those who are troubled and become advocates for them before they reach a breaking point. I have seen such a system work miracles in leaving no child behind.

As a larger society we also need to be willing to hear things that make us uncomfortable. At a recent collegial gathering of individuals who had just completed a college level class together the topic of the California shooting entered the conversation. The usual thoughts about guns came to the forefront and sides were quickly defended. Ultimately there was no resolution because one of the participants yelled out, “Can we change the subject! I don’t want to talk about this!”

It’s time that we forced ourselves to have those very difficult discussions. Problems do not go away simply because we refuse to speak of them. In fact, they only grow more dire the longer we ignore them. It’s time we get our priorities straight. It’s time we make it easier for troubled individuals to find the help they need. Turning away from troubles, quibbling among ourselves and changing the subject will only cause us to experience horror in an infinite loop.   

We Will Persist

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

da vinci

We hear about wars, violence, poverty and other ills almost instantly these days. The problems that people face with health and relationships are openly discussed. We debate how to deal with them while also feeling a sense of satisfaction that we are becoming a more “woke” society even as some cling anxiously to old ways of thinking and doing things. We are so anxious that we consume medications, alcohol and even illegal drugs to still our pain. We begin to wonder if we are somehow mucking up our own existences and those of our children. We believe that surely we are capable of doing far better in our efforts to make the world safer, kinder, more peaceful. We believe that we have the tools but somehow fall short. We hear lectures about our imperfections and feel guilt. At least we are led to believe that we have somehow been complicit in the demise of all that is good.

Now that I am retired I have time to indulge in classes in history, travel to places whose evolution of thought shaped the world in which we live today. I have learned that if there are any strict conclusions to be drawn about the state of the society in which we now exist it is that we have come a very long way from the darkness that once ruled. In centuries of old not even kings and queens were immune from travails that were devastating and deathly while the common folk were at the mercy of the whims of a ruling class into which they had little hope of gaining admittance. Slowly but surely the marvelous imagination of humankind has changed all of that.

Queen Anne, of the Stuart line in English royalty, endured seventeen pregnancies only one of which resulted in the successful birth of a child. That son died at the age of eleven. At the close of the seventeenth century life was often brutal even for the wealthiest. Families toiled with little hope of reprieve from their labors. It was not uncommon for a worker to earn less than twenty pounds in a year. The idea of freedoms was only beginning to take hold and would burst forth in the next century in an imperfect but revolutionary form that would slowly but surely change the trajectory of potential for all people.

I think that we all too often underestimate the miracles that are all around us. While we have yet to achieve human perfection in any of our social constructs we have come farther than even our most courageous and enlightened ancestors dared dream. Women still lose babies but not to the extent of long ago times. When a child is born there is a sense of assurance that he/she will grow into adulthood, a luxury that we take for granted in ways that would astound the parents who came before us. We complain about injustice, just as we should, without celebrating enough that we already have so many freedoms that did not exist in the long ago. In other words we may be living in the best of times without even realizing it.

That does not mean that we should be content with the status quo. There is always room for improvement, but our guilty breast beating may be overly dramatic. The truth is that most of the evil and want in the world is an anomaly rather than a way of life. When I drive down a crowded freeway in my city I notice the jerk who weaves in and out of the traffic without regard for safety because he is the exception, not the rule. Millions of people across the globe are living with a sense of decency, thus we take note of those who are cruel and unjust. We see them because they are so unlike what we have come to expect.

I only need sit in the room where I write to witness the ingenuity and glory of humans. I hear music coming from a device that brings the greatest talent of the world into my home. I work by the lights that were unknown for thousands of years. I tap my fingers on the keys of a computer that holds more knowledge than the great library of Alexandria. I am immune from cruel diseases that my grandfather saw firsthand. I have works of art hanging on my walls that might have once been only the possession of kings. I am warm in the winter and cool in the summer because machines that keep me comfortable whir away. I hear the buses conveying the neighborhood children to schools where they receive educations that were at one time only the purview of the wealthiest. I am free to worship and think as I wish and even to openly tell people my thoughts without fear of being imprisoned. How can I not be thankful for my many privileges when I think of how wonderful life has become for an ordinary soul like me?

No, we are not yet perfect, but we are far from being deplorable. We are moving forward continuously and often at a pace more rapid than at any time in history. We will no doubt see many more great wonders that are products of our human capacity to think and invent. There are geniuses and thinkers and visionaries among us who will lead us forward and past the turmoils that threaten our well being. It is our way and I have every confidence that we will persist.

A Fall Tradition

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

pumpkin

Fall is filled with a number of traditions for me. I don’t ever see leaves turning glorious colors unless I travel away from my home near Houston. Everything stays green here until the leaves eventually dry into a crispy brown and fall to the ground, so I bring out all of my artificial wreaths and garlands to remind me that somewhere the colors of fall are glorious. I decorate with pumpkins, acorns and pine cones, festooning my home with shades of orange, yellow, red and brown. It’s quite lovely and in many ways I enjoy the decorations of the fall season even more than those of Christmas.

I take an annual fall pilgrimage to The Cheesecake Factory to share a piece of pumpkin cheesecake with husband Mike. The treat is only available for a short time each year so I make careful plans to be certain that I don’t miss the opportunity to enjoy the creamy goodness while I can. I used to purchase an entire pumpkin cheesecake for my birthday but the days when I might eat entire slices without adding inches to my waist are long gone. Sometimes it feels as though simply looking at a slice of pumpkin cheesecake adds a pound or two to my girth. Now I eat sensibly and sparingly, but always include at least one shared slice of my favorite taste of fall.

I rearrange my closet each fall to bring jackets and sweaters within reach in case the weather finally turns cool. I store shorts and sleeveless tops farther to the back. It’s like getting a whole new wardrobe and I always find myself feeling a bit giddy about the way that the clothes hide a multitude of sins in my eternal fight to maintain a healthy weight.

So much about fall makes me incredibly happy save for one tradition that never fails to come around. Ever since I can remember there is a time when my throat begins to feel as though it is going to close up so tightly that I won’t be able to swallow. Almost without warning I am unable to speak in a normal tone of voice. My laryngitis forces me to weakly whisper any communication that I wish to convey. No lemon or honey or medication seems to help until it has run its course. For a few days each and every year I learn what it would be like to be trapped in a state of muteness.

Now that I am retired I am able to simply stay home until my body adjusts to whatever allergic reaction I have had to things floating in the air. When I was still teaching my problem was far more serious. I never felt so bad that I need to retire to bed or stay at home, but attempting to teach a lesson in mathematics with a voice so small that it sounded as though it belonged to a tiny mouse was almost impossible. Sadly each school year of my career I found myself attempting to manage students while keeping them in a learning mode without the aid of my voice that would carry across a room. It was always a challenge.

Amazingly my students always rallied to help me. They immediately sensed my predicament and rather than taking advantage of my inability to actually control the situation they resorted to extreme kindness toward me. No matter how rowdy the group of kids might have been under ordinary circumstances they rose to the occasion and proved themselves to be helpful in my time of need. It was as though their natural tendencies to be good overcame any temptations to use my illness against me. I always let them know how much I appreciated their efforts once my voice finally returned, and they assured me that they would save their shenanigans until it was a fair competition.

I find that all people, not just my students, trend toward kindness. This year when my annual bout of laryngitis came I was scheduled to have my driver’s license renewed. Upon my arrival the workers at the DPS were determined to be as surly as they are known to be until they realized that the squeak in my voice was real. Each person suddenly became incredibly helpful and even smiled at me. They actually seemed to enjoy having an opportunity to be nice. Instead of barking orders they treated me gently and even made suggestions as to how I might treat my illness.

On an evening when I was slated to help my grandsons review for a Pre Calculus test I stopped at a Starbuck’s to get some hot tea in the hopes that it might keep my voice going long enough to be of use to the study process. The barista was quite patient as I attempted to squeak out my order. The expression on his face told me that he was feeling my pain. When I was searching for the change I needed to pay my bill he anxiously waved away the few pennies that I was unable to locate and wished me godspeed and a quick recovery.

I suppose that my point is that each fall when my allergies wreak havoc on my system I am reminded that people are truly good. It’s always been that way and I am certain it always will be. It’s easy to focus on the ugliness in the world but it is the exception, not the rule. That’s why we notice it. What we often fail to see are the thousands of moments when we humans take care of one another without even being asked to do so. Being nudged to remember this each fall is just one more reason that I so love this time of year.