Category: Heroes

A Saint For All Mankind

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Mother-Teresa-of-Calcutta-to-be-made-saint-VaticanThis Sunday there will be a new saint in the Catholic Church, St. Teresa of Calcutta, A.K.A. Mother Teresa. Pope Francis didn’t just choose her as he might a staff member. Instead her canonization followed strict guidelines that have long been used to decide just who deserves the honor. First someone nominates a candidate. A group of clerics examine all of the evidence pointing to saintliness. Once they are satisfied that the individual was indeed holy they send the nomination to the Pope who decides whether or not to beatify the person. Once two proven miracles have been attributed to the candidate the Pope announces that we have a new saint.

Almost everyone in the world is familiar with Mother Teresa, an Albanian nun who worked with the poorest most forgotten people in Calcutta. She witnessed intense suffering that at times tested her own faith in both mankind and God. She was far from a perfect person but somehow she found the resolve to rise each day, mask her darkness with a smile, and bring comfort to the sick and dying. For decades she toiled among the most shunned and desperate people imaginable, often wondering how they had been so abandoned by God. She prayed for the strength to believe and to continue her work.

So great were her works of mercy that after her death she was beatified quickly. Then a woman with incurable cancer asserted that she was healed after praying to Mother Teresa. A man from Brazil diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor also prayed to Mother Teresa and the tumor somehow miraculously evaporated. In both cases doctors were unable to explain why the people were cured. Mother Teresa was given credit for the miracles.

I’m excited about having this new saint with or without the so called miracles attributed to her. The life that she chose to live would have driven most of us to despair. It is doubtful that we would have been able to survive in the circumstances that defined her daily life. She was a courageous woman who ignored societal rules and considered the needs of her fellow men before her own. She was driven to provide succor for souls who would otherwise have lived in isolated neglect and misery. She was a tiny but mighty woman who loved even the unloveable. The fact that she was also so humanly imperfect only makes her more inspiring.

Who among us has not experienced moments when we questioned everything sacred? How many times have our lives been so difficult that we raged at God? I know that God has always been a part of my life but there have also been times when I felt betrayed by Him. I wondered how He could possibly test me more than I believed I was capable of enduring. Ultimately I knew that He had been with me all along but I often felt intensely guilty and inadequate for questioning Him. Having a bonafide saint who experienced the same confusion and doubt is glorious. She will be not just the patron saint of the sick and suffering but also of those who stumble and lose their way.

I believe that saints are for everyone, not just Catholics. It is not in their natures to only serve those who share their beliefs. Mother Teresa in life was there for anyone who needed her, so she will also be as a saint. She was a practical person less concerned about theology than being certain that her patients received the care that everyone deserves.

Mother Teresa had a profound respect for all lives, including the unborn. She was outspoken about what she saw as the horrors of abortion even when facing powerful politicians who disagreed with her. She believed that eliminating a fetus was akin to murder and even went so far as to proclaim that the profligate use of abortion as a method of birth control was destroying the human family. In spite of the suffering that she witnessed in the crowded and overpopulated streets where she worked she still thought that killing the unborn was an horrific crime which all of mankind should detest. She was unafraid to voice her concerns and held tightly to them throughout her life. Nonetheless she also warned us that when we are busy judging someone we cannot love them. 

Mother Teresa was hunched over from continuously bending down to care for the sick and dying. In many ways she is both an unlikely saint and one who will no doubt become a powerful spiritual example for those of us whose imperfections daunt us continually. Through her we learn how to overcome our weaknesses and how to stand for our principles no matter how controversial they may be. According to her letters and diary entries there were times when it took every ounce of her energy to carry on her work and in spite of those reluctant times she never gave up. What a powerful message that is to all of us.

Each of us have our causes, things for which we long. Perhaps a loved one is battling a life threatening disease or a friend is dealing with crippling depression and loneliness. St. Teresa of Calcutta will be our go-to gal. She is the one who will understand our pleas and hopefully provide us with the courage to withstand the challenges that dog us.

I suppose that many people today laugh at the oh so unscientific and irrational idea that someone who is no longer alive has any remaining power. Still, even someone who  does not believe in God can be inspired and guided by the example of St. Teresa. It doesn’t require faith or a particular religion to realize that we are at our best as humans when we take time to minister to those in need. We can all be just a bit saintlike. Nurses bring compassion to the sick. Teachers enlighten those hungering for knowledge. A fair and just businessman services the people in the community with integrity. An honest politician who seeks the good of mankind rather than power works for the betterment of all of us. A doctor who cures disease performs miracles everyday. Each of us are called upon in so many ways to demonstrate kindness and to perform corporal works of mercy.

I suppose that in many ways St. Teresa of Calcutta is a someone who while on this earth understood and exemplified the beatitudes so well. She fought continuously for the poor in spirit, the mourning, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the persecuted and above all she was a merciful peacemaker.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.     

As we face an uncertain world that harbors evil and hate I implore, “St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us.”

The Walking Dead

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

the-walking-dead-zombiesI’m not exactly someone who might be called a trendsetter. I’ll be celebrating my sixty eighth birthday in November and attending my fiftieth high school reunion in October. Still I’m not a fuddy-duddy either. I eventually made it to Facebook albeit at about the time that many young people were losing interest in it. I even opened a Twitter account but still haven’t unlocked the secrets to participating in its fast paced chatter. I try to keep up with the happenings in the world and I have a somewhat modern tolerance for the outrageous. I even read the Fifty Shades of Grey books and disliked them not so much because of the storyline but because the writing was atrocious. I often get suggestions for staying with it from my younger friends and former students. They have guided me to some of my all time favorite movies and television shows.

I would never have seen Breaking Bad were it not for my younger consultants so when they also urged me to watch The Walking Dead I should have at least given the first episode a try. Instead through six seasons of one of the top rated series I held on to my smug belief that my intellect was far too superior to be drawn in by what appeared to be a silly plot about zombies. Even when my granddaughter insisted that I was misjudging the program I withheld my openness and mentally noted that she is only a middle school student who in spite of her intelligence still doesn’t fully understand the world and how it works. I reluctantly sat with her one evening to watch a selection from the sixth season and I was so hopelessly lost that my interest was not piqued in the least. It took a visit to Universal Studios and The Walking Dead house of horrors to plant a tiny bug of interest in my brain.

I became intrigued at the theme park as we walked through a recreation of the desolate atmosphere depicted in the popular series while the strains of The Walking Dead soundtrack created a realistic sensation of apocalypse and dread. I had to admit that I wanted to know more about this show after that experience so that I might understand why some of the most intellectual people that I know are huge fans, including my rocket scientist and totally rational brother. When a two week long rainy season kept me from venturing too far outside I found myself with some free time and a sudden desire to see what everyone was applauding. After viewing the first episode I was hooked and I have spent time here and there attempting to speed watch the series so that I might be ready when the seventh season airs in October.

Perhaps I am reading more into this program than is supposed to be there but my English major background has led me to think rather deeply about the story and its characters. It is a dark tale of a dystopian society that has broken down as badly as the island inhabited by the choir boys in Lord of the Flies. Those left to deal with the aftermath of a deadly disease that somehow both kills and brings people back to life have to embark on a complex heroes’ journey in which questions of right and wrong, good and evil are never easy to answer. The survivors are forced to revert to a hunter gatherer kind of existence where their lives are uncertain from one moment to the next. They have to reimagine the definition of life, political systems, the greater good. It is as though they are the first of our species who have been expelled from the Garden of Eden to fend for themselves, only this world is even more dangerous than the one that Adam and Eve had to face.

The Bible has a subtle but constant presence in the story. There are characters like Cain and Able, one time friends and brothers who differ on how to deal with the realities of the situation. We see a symbolic Moses who only reluctantly accepts the mantle of leadership and makes horrible mistakes in the process. We find both sin and redemption. It is as though the entirety of the human story is being replayed with challenges not unlike those that mankind has faced before, albeit without zombies.

We only get hints as to what may have caused the illness that so quickly overtook the world. In fact, since the story mostly plays out in a rather limited area where all communication has been lost we are never completely certain that the problems exist all over the world. A kind of hopefulness remains that somewhere, somehow the people fighting so hard to carry on will one day find the safety that seems so elusive.

I still have three more seasons to watch. I don’t want anyone to spoil the story for me and I don’t intend to give away anything to those who have not yet tuned in to this remarkable series. I have become emotionally attached to many of the characters but I keep thinking about something that one of my professors said when I was taking an education psychology class many moons ago. She remarked that it was not until the twentieth century that societies became so focused on issues of children. Sadly the mortality rate among the young had heretofore been so high that most parents understood that they might lose some of their kids before they became adults. My own grandmothers each lost two babies of whom they never spoke. They had steeled themselves against the realities of the way things were. We, on the other hand, more often have the luxury of modern medicine and conveniences to make death a less common part of our existence. We allow ourselves to become very attached to the people that we know and love believing that they will in all probability have long and fruitful lives. Those who die young have become the outliers. In The Walking Dead the possibility of death is as constant as the fight for life.

I suspect that we are drawn to stories of dark dystopian worlds because somewhere in the recesses of our minds we believe that in spite of all of our progress it would not take much for society as we know it to collapse. History has shown us that once cultured and advanced nations are capable of devolving into horror. Our hope lies in the fact that when pushed to the wall the better spirit of mankind somehow finds ways to defeat the darkness. We are an imperfect lot that has warred and enslaved and murdered but we keep trying to get things right. Our lives can at times be brutish and we can feel as though we ourselves are surrounded by walking dead, unfeeling, unthinking creatures who bear only passing resemblance to humanity. Our challenge is to keep the lights of our better selves burning and we know how difficult that may be. Still we soldier on mostly attempting to do the right thing. That is what differentiates us from the beasts. 

American Memories

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

general-sherman-newWhen I was growing up in the south the mere mention of William Tecumseh Sherman’s name ruffled feathers. The stories I heard described him as a despicable general with a drinking problem who swept across the southern landscape burning and pillaging and destroying everything within his line of sight. Because I knew little about my own ancestry I assumed that at least half of my family connections were steadfastly rooted in the old Confederacy because my paternal grandparents had lived in Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, Texas and Arkansas for decades. Thus I blindly derided General Sherman for being so cruel to those I believed may have been some of my innocent relatives.

When I finally took a history course in college I came to realize that the reasons for General Sherman’s dramatic sweep were far more complex than I might have imagined. Both the Union and Confederate armies were exhausted and decimated from years of skirmishes that had destroyed the lifeblood of both sides. The country could ill afford to continue the war for much longer. President Lincoln had been searching for a military man willing to make difficult decisions and take risks that would end the conflict once and for all. General Sherman understood the need to break the resolve of the rebels. While his methods were harsh they were no more so than the steadily rising death count that ultimately took more American lives than any other war in its history. The ethics of his tactics have been the stuff of controversy ever since he burned Atlanta and cut his destructive swath across the Confederacy but others applauded his willingness to do what needed to be done.

I would later learn that from a familial stand point I was more closely connected to the Union and William Tecumseh Sherman that I might have believed. My great grandfather was an officer in the Union Army who fought at Corinth and Shilo among other battles. His predecessors had served in the American Revolution. When I finally discovered my family history I realized that I should have been singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic all along when I was foolishly whistling Dixie.

Imagine my even bigger surprise when I learned that my paternal grandfather’s legal guardian and uncle, John Little, was a graduate of West Point who had married General Sherman’s niece. While my official relationship to Sherman is tenuous at best it is still there because if John Little was an uncle to Grandpa then his wife would have been an aunt. The web of family relationships certainly brings surprises and I have had to rethink my own background.

Ironically I have a friend who now lives in a small town in Georgia that once served as the capital of that state. She is descended from German parents so there is little chance that she might have a link to either the north or the south during the Civil War. She is able to view the events of that sad time with more dispassion than most of us who have kin who were alive back then. She is attempting to learn as much about her new home as possible and in that spirit she came across a book about Sherman’s controversial tactics, Through the Heart of Dixie: Sherman’s March and American Memory by Anne Sarah Rubin. The story of his exploits is written from multiple points of view and it demonstrates in striking contrasts how differently we humans may see the exact same incident.

Sadly the majority of the history that we study tends to be taken mostly from the standpoint of the victors. We all too easily forget that without conflicting opinions wars would be unlikely. It is in our differences that our disagreements arise. It is rare that one side is all good and the other is all bad. Generally there are shades of innocence and guilt for everyone involved. When humans lose the ability to empathize and compromise situations usually end badly. So too when we meet with evil that refuses to budge we must at times flex our muscles. Knowing when to hold and when to fold often determines our strategies. Navigating through a dangerous and political world can become a high stakes game that requires hard choices that we would rather not have to make.

I once led my students through a discussion of the beginning of the American Revolution by reading different accounts of that fateful day on the village green when somebody fired the shot heard round the world. We looked at a letter from a British soldier and an affidavit from one of the colonists. There were eyewitness renderings from people who just happened to be present but who had little desire to become part of a rebellious movement. The incident was described by both men and women, political prisoners and historians. It is stunning how different the accounts are. The crux of each description is totally dependent on the beliefs and allegiances of each individual. All of this of course points to the reality that we have unique world views powered by the totality of our experiences. The way we react to or participate in events is rarely as straight forward and simplistic as it may initially appear.

To this very day the majority of Americans herald the Revolution as one of the most amazing moments in history, a glorious cause, but I often wonder how it might have been viewed if the British had ultimately been the victors. Would we hear of patriots or rabble rousers? Would the efforts have been seen as being heroic or foolhardy? Would the Tories now be considered the wise men who understood the folly of fighting the best equipped army in the world? How different would our history be?

I suppose I am reflecting on such ideas because I have lately been watching biographies of many of our twentieth century American presidents. A common theme for each of them is the interplay of the human strengths and weaknesses that drove them. Not one of them was either all good or all bad. Each had fatal flaws as well as remarkable characteristics. Sometimes they were blamed for events over which they truly had no control or heralded for triumphs that they had not actually achieved. The accidents of timing often made them appear strong or weak. Those of us who lived through their tenures regard them based on what did or didn’t happen while they were in office. Our individual circumstances color our thoughts.

The lens of history often attempts to create winners and losers. The truth usually lies somewhere in between. Knowing my family connections with the Union cause has filtered my thinking in new ways and has taught me the valuable lesson of suspending judgements and attempting to instead seek truths. The only way to do that is to be open and honest, something that seems increasingly difficult but not impossible to do in today’s partisan supercharged political atmosphere. I have learned to truly listen to alternative points of view, something that I wish more of the electorate were willing to practice. Once I accepted that each of us is sometimes right and sometimes wrong I have been able to see through the deceits designed to attract blind loyalty. I now rarely agree with anyone on everything. I have learned to consider each proposal and observation separately. It is a truly freeing experience albeit messier than accepting a single point of view. It is the kind of critical thinking that we must teach our children to do. Only then will we as a nation make choices that favor the good of our country rather than victory for our own personal needs.

The Simones

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

simone-biles-simone-manuel_mq9r77ikg0jq1jtwm8xlwuccrThe Houston Metropolitan area sprawls over more than five hundred square miles. It’s as flat as a pancake making its resemblance to a patchwork quilt rather striking. It is home to the most diverse population in the United States partially because of its proximity to a busy port but mostly due to an abundance of jobs and moderate housing prices. Even with its humid sub tropical climate, air conditioning makes it a great location for living and working so that people from all parts of the world have chosen it as a place to raise their families.

On any given weekend Houston area parents are out in force watching their little ones participate in sporting events. The sound of cheering resonates from soccer fields to baseball diamonds, natatoriums to gymnasiums. As a grandmother and godmother to very active children I have traveled from the Houston suburbs of Sugarland to Magnolia to watch the youngsters compete. I’ve watched them race around a track and get their noses crushed into the dirt of a football field. I’ve sat through days long swim meets and on occasion carted them to and fro from practices. I’ve watched them grow and mature into the sports of their choosing as they specialize and become more and more adept.

I have two grandsons, Benjamin and Eli, who have excelled at every athletic effort they have tried. They have been outstanding swimmers since they were barely five years old. Early on they were members of the Greatwood Gators summer swim team in Sugarland along with their older brothers who taught them all of the strokes and the secrets to diving into the pool. The two boys showed such promise that they decided to join the First Colony USA swim team where they now practice at least five days a week rain or shine, hot or cold. Their calendars are full as they participate in meets and camps across the region and the state along with the friends and role models that they have made along the way. It was in this way that they met another swimmer who was like a big sister to them. Her name is Simone Manuel and she has at times both helped and inspired them as they have slowly risen through the ranks of competitive swimming.

Benjamin and Eli understand as well as anyone how much dedication and hard work is needed to become a champion. They strive continually for the possibility of shaving hundredths of a second off of a race time. They compete not so much with others as with themselves. They are individuals and members of a team that encourages one another and celebrates victories together. Last night one of their own swam in the Olympics in Rio. They and their whole family and all of Sugarland and the Houston area were cheering Simone Manuel as she won the gold with an Olympic record, becoming the first African American woman to medal in swimming. I can only imagine how breathtaking and motivational this moment was for them. Simone had shown them that a hometown girl can become the best in the world. 

It was an exceptionally emotional moment for Simone and the rest of us weren’t that far removed from her feelings. Many of us cried along with her. We knew full well how much courage and effort it had taken for her to reach this pinnacle. We understood how much sacrifice she and her family have made. We also knew that she was a champion for our city as well, representing the true spirit of our town. It was a stunning victory that lit up Facebook and Twitter all across the city of Houston.

Simone Manuel’s feat of daring might have been reason enough to celebrate had she been the lone winner from the Houston area but on the very same day another Simone  was also in contention for a medal. Simone Biles lives in Spring, a northern suburb of Greater Houston, with her mom and dad. She is a tiny five foot eight ball of strength and delight. Since she was a small child she has been tumbling and honing the skills of a gymnast. She demonstrated a natural talent early on but it was her fierce dedication to the sport that made her a standout. Slowly but surely she rose through the national and then the world rankings until she had become known as perhaps the greatest gymnast of all time. Yesterday she proved once and for all that she is indeed the best of the best. She easily clinched the gold to be named the best all around women’s gymnast in the world.

Just as with Simone Manuel, all of the Houston area was cheering unabashedly for Simone Biles. We marveled at her athleticism and the sheer poetry of her skills. She seems to fly higher than any of her competitors. She is a whirling dervish who is able to leap and spin and twist and turn as easily as the rest of us walk from one spot to another. She is a miracle in our midst, a tiny but mighty young woman who seemingly defies gravity and all the rules of physics. Mostly though she makes us all so very proud to be Houstonians and Americans.

Simone Biles and Simone Manuel, the two Simones, represent the very best of who we are as people. We certainly need them at this stage of history. Of late it has been all too easy to become cynical and discouraged about the future of our country. When we witness two such remarkable individuals we recall all that is so very good and important about our nation. We are reminded by them of the work ethic that makes us all great. We realize the love and support from their parents that helped them to reach the pinnacle of their endeavors. Yesterday we witnessed irrefutable evidence that the future of our city and our country is still in very good hands in little corners all across the land. We celebrate with the two Simones not only because they are indeed great but also because they have restored our faith at the very time that we may have needed it most.

Last night’s Olympic games were “must see t.v.” I can’t think of another time when I have felt so elated by a sporting event. I cried with Simone Manuel as she won and as she stood on a pedestal while the national anthem played and our flag was so proudly flew. I cried again with Simone Biles when she realized the dream of a lifetime. I cried for the happiness that spread like wildfire through my hometown. Greater Houston was on the map and bigger than ever last night as two of its most remarkable citizens showed the world what the people here are really like.

I have always maintained that Houston is perhaps the very best place to live in all of the United States. What it lacks in scenery and good weather it makes up for in its people who all in all are a grand bunch of loving and hard working individuals. We live and work together here. We are focused on our children and our neighbors. Ours is a big city with a little town feel. Now we have two heroines to make us even prouder of this crazy wonderful place we call home.   

Finding the Gold Within

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Olympic-Rings-large_trans++X9gqeEfKXQcqd954t2rXzvTSL8SM4yNVj_ZSDGesqAMEvery four years we become divisive and we also come together. The coincidence of our Presidential election and the games of the summer Olympics creates a kind of love/hate situation in living rooms, at dinner tables and in neighborhoods across our nation. On the one had we speak of issues that divide us into camps and on the other we join together in cheering the best among us. There is a kind of irony in the magnitude of our difference and our sameness that fights for dominance over who we are as a people.   

The Greeks were one of the first nations to experiment with democracy. Theirs was a far cry from the present day government of the United States but the basic elements were there, at least for a handful of the citizens. Women were excluded as were many from lower economic classes and those believed to be outsiders. There were no representatives. Instead it was a system based on one vote for each eligible person with a simple majority determining the fate of any proposal. It was democracy in its purest form. It was the start of a grand experiment that would evolve over time and undergo many iterations. It would be hundreds of years before the grand idea of democracy morphed into a less chaotic and inclusive way of running a more just and fair system.

The Greeks were innovative people who instituted the Olympic games to celebrate the power and beauty of the human body and to bring the people together in harmonious competition. Back then the games were rather simple and the participants performed their athletic feats in the nude. Citizens gathered to watch the events and to cheer for their favorite contestants. The games provided a nice distraction from the hardships of daily life and the continuous discussions and battles that were an inevitable by-product of human attempts to live in harmony. 

The modern day Olympic games attract challengers from over two hundred countries and feature a variety of sporting events that the Greeks of old would not recognize. The athletes come with an array of coaches and specialized equipment. They train for years and rise through the ranks to become contenders for gold medals in their specialties. Just as in days of old there are national heroes among them as well as those deemed so extraordinary in their abilities that they are cheered as heroes by everyone.

The road to the Olympics begins in ordinary ways. A young child joins a neighborhood swim team or runs across a field with the speed of a deer. Somewhere an adult notices the talent and suggests that perhaps a bit of training may help the individual to improve. The most gifted youngsters demonstrate not just natural aptitude but a willingness to devote inordinate amounts of time and money to both learning and competition. Everyone can see that there is indeed something quite special that differentiates the best athletes from their peers. They and the adults who guide them are willing to work long and hard. They do not allow challenges to defeat them. Their quest for excellence becomes a focus for them and their families. Everyone sacrifices. Eventually they excel in the neighborhood, in the city, in the state, in the country and the world.

Few of us have the talent, the inclination, the support or the resources to embark on a journey to the Olympic games. It takes a very special set of circumstances indeed to be among the best in the world and yet every four years we are fascinated by the variety of stories that each of the participants bring to the games. From them all of us become inspired to achieve just a bit more in our own lives. The heroes of the Olympic games are the stuff of legends, human iterations of the gods of old.

My fascination with the Olympics began when I was still in elementary school. I watched an old black and white movie about Jim Thorpe and I was hooked. It told the tale of a native American who seemed able to perform any sort of athletic feat more ably than any of his peers. He came from poverty and want but on the field of competition he was glorious, winning at seemingly anything that he tried. Eventually he found glory and gold at the Olympic games. Sadly, different rules of the day and his own ignorance of them eventually resulted in a decision to strip him of all of his medals simply because he had once played on a semi-professional team to support himself. I remember feeling crushed by the unfairness of what happened to him but still regarding him as amazing.

Perhaps the greatest Olympic story of all is that of Jesse Owens who dominated the games in Munich at a time when Adolf Hitler was intent on spreading the myth of a super race of white men so perfect that they would be able to dominate the entire world. It visibly angered the dictator to watch a black man disprove his theories and served as a reminder to everyone that there is potential greatness in all of us regardless of background or race. The Olympic games have served time and again as the great equalizer that disregards the often faulty thinking of mankind.

During the next couple of weeks we have so many opportunities to watch the most remarkable men and women doing their best not just to represent their respective countries but to demonstrate the power of the human spirit. It is a time when we might teach our young that no worthy goal ever comes easily but with determination we all have the potential to realize our dreams. The games demonstrate, as one of the relentless commercials says, that all of us have gold inside our veins. We were born with abilities just waiting to be released and it is up to each of us to find out what those skills are and how we might use them to better ourselves and the world around us.

I watch the swim competitions and think of hot summer afternoons when I witnessed my grandsons earning multi-colored ribbons in the neighborhood pool. I see the track stars and recall cheering the same boys as they ran in weather so cold that all of the spectators were covered in coats and heavy blankets. I think of the young people dunking basketball after basketball at our local park. I see the bicycle riders struggling up mountain roads. I know that none of the competitors reached the pinnacle in their respective sports without a work ethic that would shame all of us and I applaud each and every person who showed up again and again and again.

I’m not much of an athlete. I grew up at a time when girls were rarely encouraged to pursue sports, especially in my particular family. I never had the kind of coordination needed to work with a ball of any kind. I mostly ran and rode my bicycle and twirled my baton. I practiced tricks on roller skates and learned to swim only enough to save myself if needed. I focused my time and attention on academic pursuits, a worthy cause but one that left me sometimes feeling incomplete. I have come to believe that we humans should develop both body and mind to be whole. I suspect that this is what the ancient Greeks were thinking when they offered their citizens philosophies, innovative political systems, art, literature, mathematics and athleticism. They understood that we are incredible creatures most especially when we strive to use all of our capabilities.

Genius of mind or body is found even in the farthest corners of the world. There is potential for greatness everywhere. Each of us needs to spend more time becoming our personal best and less criticizing those who look or feel or act differently. We are all part of the same team, the human race. When we face our own challenges and embrace everyone around us we all become better. We all find the gold.