Heroes

Published on August 5, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Wizarding-World-of-Harry-Potter The love of reading seems to be embedded in my DNA. For as long as I can remember books have played an integral part in my life. They bring me pleasure and contentment. I enjoy a multiplicity of genres and always have. I like fiction as much as nonfiction, poetry as much as prose. The truly great writers capture the essence of the human experience. They introduce us to heroes, real or imagined. They ask us to think and consider alternatives. They transport us to new worlds and ideas. Reading is by far mankind’s most magical experience.

When I was in high school I had the same English teacher for all four years. He required us to read a new book each week and then write a general critique of it. At the beginning of my freshman year he gave us a list of all of the books in our school library and suggested that we enjoy as many of them as possible during our time as students. He not only encouraged but required that we select a variety of authors and topics to gain exposure to many different philosophies and ways of expressing thoughts. It was at times difficult to find the time to meet his demands while balancing all of the other tasks that were part of my life but admittedly I was the most content whenever I was lost inside the pages of a new book.

I came to know many heroes and anti-heroes. I learned that even the most remarkable individuals in fact and fiction had moments of failure in their journeys as well as triumph. I lionized the people who stood for purposes greater than their own. Perhaps my quest to find the goodness in mankind had begun with the fairytales that my father had once read to me. At the time that I sat next to him as he related the stories of triumph over tragedy I had little idea that I would one day embark on my own hero’s journey. When he was gone I became addicted to stories of saints hoping to find a pattern in their sacrifices and the secret to living a good and decent life. It was not until high school that I finally realized that heroism is far more complex than I had once thought. As human beings even the greatest among us often falter. There is never perfection.

There are particular authors who seem to understand our human strengths and frailties. John F. Kennedy’s Profiles in Courage describes unique situations in which individuals had the choice of standing for their convictions or mingling with the crowd. None of the people whose stories he told had particularly demonstrated the characteristics of a hero until the defining moments in their lives when they decided to do what they believed was right and just. In some cases it cost them dearly. In others it elevated their status. In every example their actions took great courage.

Sometimes we seem to have a dearth of heroes. We shouldn’t have to watch a Jason Bourne movie to experience greatness. It is doubtful that we will find true bravery inside the pages of a Marvel comic book. We want to see the real thing and most often find that it is hiding in plain sight in the most unlikely places.

My grandfather traveled across an ocean to a new world and worked from early in the morning until late at night to earn the resources to buy land and build a home for his family. He toiled in a meat packing plant cleaning carcasses and bloody floors. He was wracked with pain in his legs that he stoically endured. He and his children were taunted for being foreigners with unfamiliar ways. He maintained his dignity and his pride in spite of the difficulties that plagued him. He taught his children to work hard, remain optimistic and take full advantage of life’s possibilities. He insisted that they ignore insults and remain strong and confident. He was a hero albeit with his own feet of clay.

The new installment of the Harry Potter saga comes in the form of a stage play. It is almost Shakespearean in its theme. As the story unfolds we see Harry as a middle aged man, married with three children. His days of adventure are seemingly behind him but his reputation marks him as surely as the scar that reminds everyone of his story. Like many fathers he struggles to communicate his feelings to his children. He is a victim of the inevitable gap that separates one generation from another. As a grownup his heroism takes a new and less romantic form. J.K. Rowling wisely notes that even the greatest wizard has imperfections that make life difficult.

Perhaps we are all guilty of expecting too much from those who would be the heroes among us. We cringe when they make mistakes or say the wrong things. We seem to take joy in noticing their missteps. We magnify not only their accomplishments but also their failures. We place someone like Tiger Woods on a pedestal when he appears to be perfect but joyfully knock him down when he proves to be as flawed as the rest of us. There is something that is not quite right about our hero worship. It is filled with unrealistic expectations that no human being will ever be able to meet. With the media lurking around every dark corner it is almost certain that even the most generous and outstanding individual on earth will ultimately be accused of being a fraud.

We have a terrible habit in this day and age of confusing heroism with a willingness to agree with us. We tend to disdain anyone who suggests that perhaps there is a different way of viewing things or solving the world’s problems. It is easy to bend and sway with the wind. It is far more difficult to adhere to integrity and endure the boos of the crowd. Sometimes it is that lone voice urging us to realize that the emperor has no clothes that holds the truths that we need to hear. Heroes are not always the most popular or the ones who make us feel good. Often they express truths that challenge our comfort and ask us to suspend our preconceived notions.

The history of the world demonstrates over and over again that we seem to get our heroes just when we need them most. They bravely guide us to be our own best selves. They may do so quietly and without fanfare or with great flourish. They may live next door to us or in the halls of power. We never quite know when we will encounter them but we recognize them when we see them. They show us how to muster our hopes and dreams into a better reality if only for a brief moment in time. They are Mother Theresa and the woman who brings a casserole to the sick. They are Martin Luther King, Jr. and the man who helps a stranded motorist to change a tire. They can be the child who stands up to a bully or a senator who refuses to endorse a questionable political candidate. Our heroes are not just found between the pages of a good book. They are all around us and in the end they almost always set the world aright.

Bad Moms

Published on August 4, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

bad-moms-trailer-tease-03-160503_354f27e1f5010db26fc76e6faefdda9c.today-inline-large I have many women friends who are highly accomplished professionals. They are lawyers, doctors, engineers, educators. They have risen through the ranks in their respective careers. They have made important decisions as part of their duties, sometimes involving life and death situations. They are unafraid of hard work and challenging problems. They stride through life with confidence. It is only when they have accepted the role of mother that they falter just a bit. To a woman they each admit that parenting is the hardest job that they have ever held.

The demands of being a mom begin with the first signs of pregnancy. A woman’s body begins to change to accommodate the life growing within. For me the first sign that something was happening was the most extreme heartburn that I have ever experienced. Not long after those first symptoms I was afflicted with morning sickness, a general feeling that I was going to puke my guts out. The sight of certain foods made me even more ill. My high level of energy seemed to become diminished with each passing week. I never strayed far from bathrooms because my bladder seemed to be continually full. Different body parts became sore and I slowly but surely grew to feel like a beached whale. My fingers and ankles swelled to three times their normal size and I developed a limp with my left leg because the baby was lying on a nerve. In spite of all of the aches in my body I was always delighted whenever I felt the flutters and kicks that told me that I was carrying a life inside my body.

I had my children when I was in my twenties. I was thin and wiry back then, a healthy woman who had no problems either carrying my babies or birthing them. So many women are not nearly as fortunate. They have to spend weeks immobilized by bed rest. They require the surgery of a Caesarian section rather than a more natural delivery. By the time that their children are born they themselves are in need of recovery time but instead they are thrown into the whirlwind of routines required to care for an infant. They must awaken for feedings even in the middle of the night. There is little rest. Even with help the tasks of mothering are often daunting in the first weeks and months of a newborn’s life. So many things can and sometimes do go wrong. The mother experiences a roller coaster of emotions, often caused by hormonal imbalances that render her unable to maintain control. It is the best of times and the worst of times.

Those early days when mother and child bond are forever etched in a mom’s memory. No matter how many years pass she always recalls the unmitigated happiness of holding her tiny baby. Those sleep deprived nights become beautiful moments. The chores that were at first exhausting evolve into a routine, her way of life. She begins to react to the demands of her children with love. It is what a mother does. She learns how to snatch a bit of rest here and there in between the caring and the teaching and the loving. She juggles hundreds of tasks in a single day but still worries that she may not be doing enough. Her children become the driving force of her life and even as they become more able to fend for themselves she thinks of them constantly and always will.

The years go by at breakneck speed. The first day of school comes all too soon. The child begins to slowly but surely push away to gain independence. All moms want this for their children but still feel twinges of regret that their roles and relationships are ever changing. They lie awake at night wondering if their actions are building strong and healthy children who will be able to navigate the world. They chastise themselves for the wrongs that they believe they have inflicted. They are their own worst critics.

It is little wonder that the summer comedy hit Bad Moms is resonating so well with mothers across the country. Entire theaters are filled with women laughing hysterically and relating to so many of the over the top jokes. I went to see the film last week with a group of twenty ladies of all different ages and each of us found moments in the movie that spoke to us. The truth is that we are often judged the most in our roles as moms. Society in all eras has inflicted its mores and customs on mothers, often resulting in making them feel inadequate to the task. The truth is that human beings cannot be perfect all of the time. None of us have the fortitude to be without flaws and somehow when we exhibit them in our parenting they are magnified.

Bad Moms points to our tendencies to compare ourselves to others and to standards that may actually make us feel uncomfortable. It also draws back the curtain on the realities that each of us struggles to overcome. Our children are not automatons. They are individuals just as are we. As mothers we have to understand when it is right to curb our ambitions both for them and for ourselves. We have to know when it is okay to pamper ourselves and when we must be available for our children. Raising children is a continual balancing act that requires wisdom and sacrifice but not a total surrender of ourselves.

When I was a young mother life was admittedly a bit simpler. I thought nothing of allowing my children to enjoy free range time around the neighborhood. Nobody was going to judge me for telling them to play outside on a hot summer day. I did not feel any pressure to entertain them or to enroll them in a never ending schedule of activities. I gave them swim lessons and took them to the park. They learned how to roller skate and ride bicycles. When they expressed an interest in dance I found a teacher for them. I purchased art materials and let them experiment. They ran around in their bare feet and often had dirt on their faces. If anyone was thinking ill of me for being lax they never mentioned it. My biggest concern was always that I might be spending too much time on my teaching job. I worried that my girls might think that I cared more for my students. All in all I felt comfortable that I was doing my best but it involved far less than the requirements that I see being placed on today’s young mothers. Bad Moms addressed the pressures that are now overwhelming so many women who are striving to give their children the best possible environment. Sometimes today’s mothers are losing themselves in the process.

Parenting is admittedly difficult. Those of us who agree to accept such a responsibility would do well to support one another rather than constantly critique. We all want our children to do well and that means that we should suspend our judgements and competitive spirits so that we might work together. We don’t all have to rise before dawn to run around the neighborhood track so that we might remain thin. Sometimes that extra hour of sleep does way more for our well being. Our meals don’t have to be ready for the Food Network. Sometimes microwaving some chicken nuggets gives us more time to sit and talk with our kids. If the house is strewn with toys and laundry we can make a game of quickly placing everything into neater piles. Our children do not need to have the latest phone or the most stylish shoes but they do need us. Moms have enough to worry about without including the insignificant in the agenda.

I am more proud of being a mother than anything else that I have ever done. I know without anyone telling me that I was as imperfect in that role as anyone who has come before or after me. I woke up each morning and did my very best. I had to learn how to forgive myself for all of the mistakes. My girls are now in their forties and I am still their mom. These days I have to remind myself that my new job is to support them as they raise their own children rather than to tell them how to do things. They are incredible mothers so I guess I did something right although I’m not sure that I should take full credit. The reality is that all of us are the product of our mothers, our fathers, our extended family members, our teachers, our churches, our entire histories. We are all in the game of life together. Bad Moms reminds us to focus on the things that truly make our families strong.

You Just Might Get What You Need

Published on August 1, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

davis-mountains-night-sky Fort Davis, Texas is a tiny town nestled in the shadow of the Guadelupe Mountains in the far western reaches of the state. It is a place with so little human footprint that it is home to the MacDonald Observatory and the annual gathering of the Texas Star Party. Here the stars at night truly are big and bright. Without the lights of more populous areas it is possible to see the nighttime sky the way it was once viewed by our ancestors. It is a place where it becomes easy to sense our place in the universe and in turn to shed the baggage of stressful times. In Fort Davis, particularly when the day is done, the stars, the planets and the creatures of the night remind us that we are part of a vast expanse of history that has come before us and is still yet to happen. It is a humbling and healing experience to be there.

Fort Davis came to be in the middle of the nineteenth century when the California gold rush led to an unprecedented western movement. The journey was long and treacherous, moving through deserts and land belonging to Native Americans who were becoming increasingly more concerned about settlers claiming property as their own. The fort was not just a way station for travelers but also a means of protection for safe passage. It was home to officers and their families as well as the famous Buffalo Soldiers, Black recruits so named by the Comanches who were fascinated by the dark skinned men. It was a rough and tumble society on the outer edges of civilization where everyone had to work together to keep things from falling apart.

The fort and its purpose lasted only a brief time. When the Civil War broke out it was used as a western outpost for the Union Army until the Confederates defeated the troops there and used it for their own purposes. After the war it once again became useful but not for long. It was abandoned late in the nineteenth century and sat that way for decades. Luckily there weren’t many people in that part of the world and so the buildings were never completely destroyed. They simply sat waiting for someone to notice their historical significance and to restore them to their former glory.

Today they are a living record of an era when many citizens of our country were seeking futures for themselves and their children. It takes little imagination to understand the difficulties of their journeys. The post is four hundred miles from San Antonio which now as then was the only major city in any direction. At a rate of five miles per hour, the wagons that carried the families were excruciatingly slow. Travel took more than ten times longer than it does today and that was if all other conditions along the route were perfect. I thought of how long it had taken us to pull our trailer from San Antonio to Los Angeles on our vacation and began to understand the sacrifices that the travelers had to make. I thought of the heat and the uncertainty of the road ahead and marveled that anyone might have felt adventurous or desperate enough to consider such a daunting expedition.

There is a hospital in the fort that holds records from the doctors who worked there. The stories tell of horrors such as the family that lost seven children in two weeks to diphtheria. The primitive nature of the treatments are as frightening as the injuries and diseases that found their way so far from the rest of humanity and yet the daily lives of the people who came here were often as routine as anywhere. They wrote to friends and family back home and celebrated the coming and going of the seasons. They drilled on the parade ground and periodically defended themselves against cattle rustlers and thieves. They watched the comings and goings of the pioneer families and no doubt observed the same stars at night that continue to brighten the skies. When they were gone they seemed to have been forgotten for a time but today thanks to the National Park Service they are remembered by people like me who walk in the shadows of their history with a kind of awe.

Fort Davis is now mostly a destination for tourists and astronomers. Those seeking refuge from the hurly burly of our modern times like to sit on the porches of the inns on the main street of town and listen to the silence. An old time drug store offers a daily menu of breakfast, lunch and dinner along with a soda fountain featuring banana splits and root beer floats. Fort Davis State Park has tent sites and full hookups for campers. The Prude Ranch which hosts the Texas Star Party offers horse back riding and a vicarious ranching experience. The MacDonald Observatory is a scientific wonder that hosts tours and star gazing opportunities for the public even while it studies the heavens and learns more and more about our universe.

There are things to do in and near Fort Davis for those who like to keep busy but it is also the consummate location for simply relaxing. We spent an entire evening just gazing at the stars which were so plentiful that it was breathtaking. Some people actually sleep during the day and stay awake all night long to watch the changing spectacle in the sky as the earth spins on its axis.

Being in Fort Davis is a priceless experience that puts life so clearly into focus. Somehow out where mankind has such a small footprint it is easier to understand that our days and our nights will continue in much the same way that they have for eternity and none of our worries will change that. It reminds us of the beauty of nature and the cosmos and urges us to realize that we owe it to ourselves and to the future to honor the miraculous magic of our world. It tells us to learn from both the courage and mistakes of our past. It challenges us to become protectors of humans and nature lest we lose what is most important.

We know more about how things work than at any other time in history but I suspect that just as our ancestors, we still have much to learn. We need not berate ourselves for the ignorance of those who came before us but instead should celebrate the knowledge that has allowed us to become better. Somehow both our history and our future converge in Fort Davis in a way that makes our path as the human race seem so much clearer. It is difficult to visit this place without changing just a bit. It is both spiritual and scientific, reaching into the head and the heart. You won’t find raucous and artificial excitement here but you just might find what you need.

Dream Vacation

Published on July 4, 2016June 30, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Amboy, Kalifornien, USA, Hist. Route 66 By this time tomorrow Mike and I will begin a twenty one day junket to California in our travel trailer along with two of our grandchildren. We are either excitingly adventurous or stunningly crazy. The potential for problems when pulling a tiny home thousands of miles behind a truck in abnormally hot weather is high. We’ve already experienced a number of unexpected kinks in our plans on short hops in the past. We’ve practiced our camping skills time and again. We have overcome violent thunderstorms, excruciatingly long roadwork delays, appliances that failed to work properly, attacks by tiny insects and a host of other difficulties that shall remain unspoken. Now comes the greatest test of all. We will either demonstrate our mettle or fail miserably.

Mike and I both have ancestors who braved the unknown to travel to a new world. The earliest among his arrived on the Mayflower. Mine were latecomers to Jamestown. Over decades and then centuries our family trees grew more and more complex and the branches took our people from Massachusetts to Nebraska, Virginia to Texas. The hardy souls who were our third, fourth and fifth great grandparents sailed across oceans in cramped quarters that make our trailer seem like a grand palace. They pulled wagons into dense forests and over mountainous roads. They lived without electricity or running water and somehow survived. They learned how to adapt to the environment and willed themselves to overcome hardship and disease. I suspect that we still bear some of their traits and thus will be just fine in our full hookup campsites with wifi, swimming pools, laundries and grocery stores.

Our plan is to pick up our youngest grandson William in San Antonio tomorrow along with his sister Abigail. Our first stop will be at South Llano River State Park for a good night’s rest before navigating through west Texas to Carlsbad Caverns. We plan to spend an entire day inside the magnificent cave that is truly one of the world’s wonders. From there our journey will take us to Santa Fe. In a stroke of luck we will be in that cultural mecca during the International Art Festival that occurs only once a year. We hope to venture to the Anasazi ruins of Chaco Canyon while we are nearby area as well. After three days and nights we will continue moving west to Sedona, a place that is reputed to be so beautiful that we may be tempted to forego the rest of our trip so that we might enjoy the scenery and the welcoming environment for a longer time than one evening. If our timing is perfect we may even go north for the afternoon to catch the sunset over the Grand Canyon, a sight that we have already experienced but which can never be seen too often. Continuing on we will spend a night in Needles, California within striking distance of our ultimate goal, Los Angeles. For the next seven days we will enjoy the multitude of scenery and entertainment in both LA and San Diego. The return trip will take us rather quickly down I-10 through Arizona and New Mexico until we reach Fort Davis where we will tarry for a time before returning to South Llano River in Junction and then back to San Antonio to drop off the kids before returning home. It will either be a dream vacation or a horrible nightmare. It all depends on the vagaries of nature and the unexpected behaviors of our fellow human beings, not to mention the multitude of possible problems that may occur with our mechanical equipment.

I laugh when I think of how soft we modern souls have become compared to our forefathers. On this day I often think of them and the incredible sacrifices that they made in the hopes of improving their lives. Passage across the ocean involved traveling thousands of miles with only scant knowledge of what lay ahead. It meant never seeing family and friends again. Every moment of every day was fraught with problems and no luxuries as we think of them today. Even the old homestead of my great grandparents spoke of the hardship and depravation that was their reality only one hundred years ago. We have advanced to an extent that truly boggles the mind. The pioneers who stretched out across this continent so long ago would be stunned to see us going from Texas to California and back in only twenty one days. They would think it amazing to learn that we can watch movies inside our “iron buggies” as we move rapidly down a concrete road and that we are rarely far from conveniences that they never considered even in their dreams.

The first colonists in the United States of America came to a rugged and dangerous land. So many of them died before they even took their steps off of the ships that brought them. Some grew and prospered and others merely subsisted. After two hundred years generations of people had lived here under the auspices of a king and a country that they had never seen. Being ruled from afar by a government that little understood their unique situations became untenable and they rebelled. Theirs was a revolution against one of the most powerful countries in the world and on July 4, 1776 they brashly declared their independence and intent to form a new kind of government. It was a moment that was viewed with skepticism in the halls of power around the world and yet somehow almost two hundred fifty years later our nation stretches from sea to sea across a continent that still seems to be working out the kinks of determining its identity.

We were guided by humans to this very moment in history when all the world looks to us either with profound admiration or seething hate. We understand our flaws and continue to strive to correct them. We are desirous of being a kind nation but wary of being too soft. We struggle to strike a balance between love of country and understanding of our role in a global community. The old questions and disagreements that plagued our founders stalk us even today. Still we are remarkable and I suspect that our ancestors would be quite proud of our accomplishments. They would no doubt caution us to proceed into the future with an eye to preserving the foundations upon which this nation was built while adapting to the realities of a time that they might never have imagined.

Somehow it seems fitting that Mike and I will be taking our grandchildren to see the wonders of this glorious country of ours during the month that sparked our independence. Wish us godspeed as we travel and help us to find McDonald’s for our breakfast, Walmart for our provisions and Starbucks to quench our thirst and keep us alert. We are venturing into a modern day version of the wild. Let us hope that when we think of our trip in the years to come we will remember it as our dream vacation.

It’s About Time

Published on June 28, 2016June 27, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Glenda Jones13516264_10209578242793605_5124992074342233422_n Back in the eighties my eldest daughter, Maryellen, was a member of the Janette Dance team at South Houston High School. She had taken ballet and tap lessons from the time that she was five years old, first at a church in Pasadena and later from Patty Owens near our home in southeast Houston. Our family budget often tended to be stressed beyond our means but we somehow managed to find the funds for the classes that she loved so very much. Over time it became apparent that she had a natural talent for dance, most likely inherited from my mother who had her own reputation for being light on her feet and as graceful as a swan. When Maryellen earned a coveted spot on her school’s dance team it seemed to be a reward for all of her hard work and determination. Our family time began to revolve around practices, performances at football games, cotillions, competitions, camps and shows.

I was a fairly young mom, only in my late thirties, when I joined forces with other mothers in providing costumes, decorations, food and other kinds of support for our beautiful young girls. We were all caught up in the joys of our children’s teenage years. We ladies often met to build sets or design programs. We became expert seamstresses who made intricate pieces of clothing. I still recall almost tearing my hair out while sewing the game day suit that Maryellen had to wear on Fridays during football season. It was a complex project but well worth the effort in the end. I recall volunteering to work long hours in those days and at those times I got to know the other moms who were as lovingly devoted to their children as I was to mine. There were dance competitions that demanded whole days of our time and summer camps that required long drives and funds that we might have used otherwise. We sometimes joined in the fun by performing in hilarious dance routines that made us the laughing stock of the audience but also demonstrated just what good sports we were. Those were some of the best times of my entire life and the memories of those days remain precious even today.

Maryellen advanced through the ranks of the team to become one of the military officers, a Lieutenant. She worked hard to meet all of the requirements of the honor, including choreographing original dances and designing costumes and props. Because she so loved the experience, so did I. Those were the wonder years in which her confidence and abilities grew under the watchful eye of her always committed instructor, Glenda Jones Bludworth, a loving woman who taught her dancers how to present themselves with grace in any situation. She was more than just a teacher. She became a friend, mentor and counselor to each of her students. Because we parents witnessed her devotion to our children, we loved her as much as our girls did.

As is usually the case with good times, they flew by all too quickly. Soon Maryellen was attending the University of Texas and focusing on more serious academic goals. She had little time for dancing as she studied constantly to earn the grades that would allow her to be accepted into the McCombs School of Business. The days of visiting Southern Imports in search of fabrics, feathers and sequins were gone. The worn section of carpet in our den where Maryellen had practiced all of her dance routines was the only reminder of those lovely days. I lost track of the women with whom I had spent so many hours. Time raced by and I too turned my attention to new challenges and adventures, forgetting for a moment the joys of being a dance mom.

It has been almost thirty years since Maryellen donned her leotards and dancing shoes. In the interim she earned degrees in Finance and Accounting, worked, married and became mom to four boys who find the stories of her days on the stage to be strangely confusing. Now she is the one who spends almost every free moment supporting her sons’ hobbies and talents. She is the one who now juggles the family budget to find all of the funding for equipment, camps, classes, trips and college so that her boys will be able to enjoy their youth as much as she did hers. Like I once did, she has a circle of friends whose commonality is based on swimming, scouts, theater and school activities. She keeps books for the teams and creates end of season slideshows. Her world is hectic but wonderful. She rarely thinks back to those days when she was an extraordinary dancer who riveted the attention of her many admirers. The memories seem to be both long ago and just like yesterday.

A group of Janette Dancers recently decided to host a kind of reunion of the classes who had been members of the team under the direction of their beloved Glenda Jones Bludworth. The “girls” are now in their forties and some are even knocking on the door of the fifties. Like Maryellen they have children in college, high school and middle school. They have enjoyed marriages and careers and evolved to a time in their lives when they more closely resemble their mothers and me were back in the day. They are beautiful women who learned their teacher’s lessons well and carry themselves with the poise and self respect that she instilled in them.

Happily they did not fail to remember their mothers in planning this event. We were invited to celebrate the life of Glenda Jones Bludworth along with them. I enjoyed sitting at a table with ladies who had been my constant companions so many years before. We bragged on the successes of our daughters and exchanged photos of our grandchildren. We recalled our own sacrifices of money and time and how we would not have changed a thing. We laughed at some of the silly things that we did and grew saddened as we remembered ladies who had been part of our mother brigade who are no longer alive. Mostly we each had remarkable stories of the wonderful influence that Glenda had on our children. We all agreed that she was one of those once in a lifetime educators who goes well beyond the requirements of her job. She reached into the very hearts and souls of her girls and helped them to find the strengths and talents that defined them as unique and outstanding individuals.

It was grand to once again be reminded of a time in life that was so happy for all of us. I found myself amazed that our time together had been so long ago and yet seemed so near and dear. I was particularly happy that all of the delightful young women whom I had watched grow in wisdom and age and grace had remembered and appreciated their amazing teacher. She had so truly earned the attention and praise that they heaped on her. All too often we become so busy with the demands of daily existence that we forget to show our gratitude to the people who did so much to make us who we are. We let the clock tick and tick until it is too late and our hearts are filled with regret that we never took the opportunity to voice the thanks that we always meant to convey. Somehow Glenda’s Girls understood that they needed to stop the passage of time for a few hours so that they might demonstrate how truly important their moment with her had been. It’s about time!