Category: Love

A Handshake and A Smile

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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I saw a video that featured kindergarten students giving each other a handshake and a smile each morning before the start of class. It made me happy to see them and also to think of how such small gestures have the power of making a very big difference in virtually any situation.

My husband and I recently began attending Sunday mass at Mary Queen Catholic Church. Mike decided that he wanted to go there because a group of ladies there made him a prayer quilt shortly after his stroke. They sent the lovely item with a promise to pray for him regularly even though they had never before met him. He was quite touched by their kindness and insisted that he wanted to be part of a place that demonstrated so much caring love. Thus we drive a rather good distance each week to be part of that community. Amazingly the inviting attitude is continually apparent there. From the moment that we walk through the door we are greeted by smiling parishioners and priests who open doors for us and make us feel very welcome. It is a form of thoughtfulness that warms our hearts and brings us back again and again. As humans we are as attracted to love as tiny creatures are to light.

The schools where I most enjoyed working emphasized the same kind of attention to people as those kindergartners and my church. Teachers were in the hallways during passing periods greeting students as they walked to class and saying hello to those entering their rooms. It set a positive tone that made virtually everyone feel as though they were part of something quite special, and it didn’t require any extra time or much more effort to do so. In fact it felt so good that it became something that brightened everyone’s days.

One of the principals with whom I worked asked the faculty to catch students doing something good. It was a different take on vigilance that allowed us to notice the wonderful things happening in our school. We complimented the students who were being extraordinarily kind and gave their names to the principal who mentioned them at the end of each day and called them to the office for congratulations. We soon found that there was far more of a spirit of generosity taking place inside our school than we had ever imagined. By focusing on what our students were doing right we changed everyone’s attitudes. Going to the office was not just for getting into trouble any longer, and being nice was as important as making good grades. The environment became happier and happier simply because we chose to hunt for the best rather than the worst.

Watching the news might lead us to believe that our society is doomed and that we are surrounded by hateful reprobates. In truth there are some people who for whatever reason are inconsiderate and even criminal, but time and again the evidence points to a society that is mostly composed of truly wonderful folks whose desire is to live peacefully and happily with one another. Perhaps all we need to make that wish more likely to come true is to make just a bit more of an effort.

I am shy by nature. I have to psyche myself whenever I enter a place where I know very few people. I’ve trained myself to make the first moves toward friendship when needed, but there is noting quite like having someone else offer a hand and a smile before I do. I instantly feel better about the situation, and I suppose that almost anyone would. I return to stores with friendly sales people and make note of those with surly employees. Who after all wants to feel as though they are unwanted?

Children often naturally form groups with those that make them feel the most comfortable. When a new person arrives they may or may not extend a hand of friendship unless they have seen that kind of behavior being modeled. Being the new kid at school can be traumatic if there is not a warm environment. I’ve been there before and it is a horrible feeling. I’ve also been the recipient of efforts to make me feel wanted, and each time that happens I feel a sense of relief. Sometimes it takes practice to teach people the art of inclusion.

I wonder how many acts of violence might be thwarted by a handshake and a smile? Is it possible to change the trajectory of an encounter if the atmosphere is open and welcoming? I suspect that in most cases friendliness is a magical healer.

To this very day I see the faces of people who made me feel good about myself in times when I was anxious. It took so very little for them to quell the fears that were welling in my heart. They turned difficult times into memorable ones and sometimes even led to long time friendships. I seen Zerin asking me to sit with her on my first day at a new school. I recall Flo’s beautiful smile on the occasion of our meeting. I think of Virginia who stilled the tears that were threatening to fall from my eyes because of my nerves. I still smile when I think of Johnny complimenting a birthday dress on my sixteenth birthday when I felt so gawky and unsure of myself. These sweet individuals probably had little idea how calming there actions were at a time when I was worried and feeling not quite myself.

I’d love to see all schools encouraging a routine of shaking hands, smiling and reaching out to everyone, especially anyone who appears to be clinging to the shadows. Kindness should be as much a part of each day as the lessons. If we began when our kids are very young and continue such expectations for all of their lives we might begin to see far less ugliness. It’s certainly worth a try.

Broken Pieces

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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Have you ever had one of those horrific dreams in which you forgot something crucial and it affected your entire life? One of my recurring nightmares is that I somehow fail to remember to take a final exam in one of my college courses, thus losing credit for the class. Time passes and life is good until this error is discovered and I end up having my degree rescinded and I lose my job. The emotions that I experience in my sleep are so visceral that I wake up feeling anxious and even a bit stupid as though I really did do something as farfetched as forgetting to take care of a major responsibility.

In the real world of wakefulness I generally take care of business without any close calls. I’ve missed a deadline here and there, but those moments were never fatal nor as costly as my dreaded dream. Most of my big mistakes have taken the form of accidentally breaking something or causing mishap because I have been day dreaming or thinking about some issue.

I once backed out of my garage with the gate on my SUV still in the open position. I was on my way to a funeral and not really feeling like myself when my thoughts were interrupted by a big bang and a neck wrenching jolt. I stopped immediately and as I exited my car to see what had happened I saw one of my neighbors doing his best to stifle his laughter as he considered the ridiculousness of what I had done. I felt so sheepish that I quickly closed the mangled part as best I could and continued on my way. Luckily my husband was infinitely understanding when I later explained to him what had happened. In fact, he suggested that it had no doubt occurred because I was in a delicate state of mind. He’s always known how to make me feel better.

Because my spouse is a very good man I wanted to do something special for him as we near the one year mark of his stroke and the many trials and tribulations that he has experienced in the months since that terrible day. I found a special way to celebrate when I saw that Joe Bonamassa was scheduled to perform at a nearby venue. I excitedly purchased tickets and announced that it was an early Father’s Day present for him.

Joe Bonamassa is a gifted guitarist and my Mike has listened to his music and watched videos of his playing for years. Once when we attended a graduation at Syracuse we saw that Bonamassa was performing in town that weekend, but all of the tickets had already been sold. I knew that Mike would be thrilled to be able to finally see and hear the artist that he so admired, and it was a grand way to put aside the health challenges he had faced.

At the time that I bought the tickets our house was literally turn apart and encased in plastic and grime from the repairs that resulted from a leaking hot water heater.  From start to finish it took around eight weeks to return to normal. During that time I carefully guarded the tickets lest they become lost in the mess that surrounded us. I watched over them as though they were the most valuable item in our home. When all of the dust finally settled and we had returned to a state of normalcy I still knew exactly where the tickets were, and I gleefully imagined how much fun we were going to have as I watched the days move ever closer to the date I had saved on our family calendar.

It seemed fitting that we would be going to do something fun on May 28, Memorial Day, because I have had a difficult time with that holiday ever since my father’s death on that day of remembrance over sixty years ago. I become anxious and admittedly a bit morose year after year. I find myself reliving that moment when I found out that he had died, but this year was going to be different. I was determined to put away my childhood fears and do something fun with the man I love. I anticipated our  glorious evening all day long on May 28, and when the time came I had a lilt in my step as I readied myself for our outing.

In his usual manner Mike decided that we would have dinner near the venue and so he went online to determine how long it would take to drive from the restaurant to the concert. His search lead him to the home page of the arena where he noticed that there was no mention whatsoever of a concert featuring Joe Bonamassa. He rushed from his office to our bedroom where I was relaxing a bit before our departure and asked to see the tickets. When I handed them to him he instantly noticed that they clearly listed the date of the performance as May 21. We had missed it entirely!

I went into a state of shock and disbelief. I could feel a storm of tears gathering in my heart but I showed only a stunned reaction. I kept looking at the tickets as though somehow I might magically change the printed date to the one that I had erroneously recorded on our calendar. The difference between a 1 and an 8 is rather clear, not like a 1 and a 7. I wondered how it was possible that I had been so discombobulated as to make such a mistake. I felt as foolish as I ever have. Not only had I ruined the wonderful evening that I had planned for Mike, but I had also just flushed a great deal of money down the drain.

As usual Mike came to the rescue. He insisted that we still go out to eat and he jokingly played some of Joe Bonamassa’s music as we drove to our destination. After dinner we walked around different shops for a time and then splurged by sharing a piece of cheesecake. He made no mention of his disappointment but instead kept us laughing and having a good time. Eventually we moved our party back home where we sat on our patio under a full moon enjoying glasses of wine and ending our evening with more of Bonamasssa’s music. The best part came when Mike sweetly announced that a good night was just being with me. That comment put everything into perspective and I didn’t feel as foolish anymore.

We’re all human and we do silly things, but when all is said and done they rarely become the nightmares that we so dread. Things break, fall apart, get lost and always they remain just things. People are all that really matter, and so we pick up broken pieces, throw them away, and move on.

It Takes A Village

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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Fit pitching seems to run in my family. If you’re not sure what that means, it refers to over the top defiant behavior by a child between the ages of two and five. My eldest daughter was quite adept at creating embarrassing scenes both at home and in public. One summer she wore fur lined reindeer slippers everywhere because she refused to put any other type of shoe on her feet. Not even two of us were able to hog tie her so that we might force a more appropriate type of footwear onto her tiny feet. I used to marvel at her strength and wonder if perhaps I had given birth to a superhero. I finally gave up deciding that once her little toes got sweaty enough she would surely eschew the footwear designed in Norway for harshly cold winters. With a mind of her own that is evident to this very day she persisted, and I endured shaming looks and unwanted advice wherever I went.

My niece was not to be outdone. She is the child of an Anglo father and an Asian mother, a beautiful girl who very much resembles my eldest, but has definite Asian features. My mother, my more grown up and matured daughter, this niece and I were once on a shopping adventure together. My niece was still a toddler, but with three of us to help keep her happy we were certain that there would be no problems. I don’t recall what set her off, but something did and she began carrying on like a demon possessed. Her cries and screams became exponentially more insistent with each passing second until my mom wisely decided that we had no recourse but to leave the shopping behind and get her home for a nap. My niece had other ideas and resisted our efforts to move from the spot where she was entertaining a crowd of critics with reproving faces. Picking her up was a bust because she wiggled from our grasp each time we tried that maneuver. When we attempted to get her to walk she lay down on the ground challenging us to drag her if we wished to move forward. Somehow we ultimately got her to the car but not without worrying that we were going to end up in jail for kidnapping as she yelled, “You’re not my Mama! You’re not my Mama! Go away!”

My eldest grandson was not to be outdone by the ladies in the family. On one particular outing he repeated his mother’s propensity for footwear after he saw a pair of very expensive tennis shoes that he wanted to take home. When we denied his request he went into an act of rebellion that outdid anything I had ever seen. It got so bad that I actually whispered to my daughter that I would spring for the shoes if she didn’t mind. Thankfully she stood firm because she was a good mother, insisting that he had to learn that we would not be moved by a tantrum. Having grown weak as a grandmother I wasn’t as sure of her reasoning in that moment, but I ultimately felt proud of her strength of character.

The good news is that all three of these children turned out to be quite remarkable. They did exceedingly well in school and were often complimented by their teachers and other adults for being exemplary young people. My daughter graduated from the University of Texas with a business degree and now balances an accounting job with caring for a household of four young men. My niece is a Pediatrician and works at Texas Children’s Hospital while mothering three boys of her own. My grandson was an honors graduate of his high school and is studying at Texas A&M University and serving as head coach of his neighborhood swim team. All three outgrew the behaviors that had once made them appear to strangers as spawn of the devil.

I have more often than not found that very inquisitive children sometimes become intractable, especially when they are tired. They want to freely explore the world and learn for themselves without barriers. Since we adults have to guide and protect them we sometimes have to inhibit their native curiosities and desires for their own good. We find ourselves locked in a battle of wills that is exhausting and might even make us look bad to passersby.

I feel great compassion for a parent who is attempting to deal with an angry child. Sometimes the struggle becomes so public because the little one does not care that he/she is creating a disturbance. It is apparent that the adult is doing everything possible to quell the situation all to no avail. I always want to help but know that my interference will undoubtedly make things worse. All I can do is quietly send signals of support to the harried adult.

There is a hilarious video circulating on Facebook in which a quite funny woman tackles the issue that mom’s everywhere have endured. She vividly describes the scene of a mother dealing with an uncooperative child in a public place. She wonders why there always seems to be someone in the crowd who signals unrelenting disapproval for the mama, even though we all know that sometimes these things happen. She notes that our inconvenience is temporary while the parent will continue dealing with the problem at home. She wonders why we can’t all be more supportive, especially given that this is supposed to be the era of solidarity with our sisters from all over the world.

In the age of Pantsuit Nation women are doing their utmost to break glass ceilings and join one another in #MeToo moments. Why can’t we also demonstrate a bit of understanding and compassion for anyone who is dealing with a difficult toddler moment? Why do we so often become judgmental rather than helpful, when anyone who has been a parent honestly knows that there are many times when we feel totally inept and defeated by the tiny creatures that we are working so hard to raise.

I always loved my mother-in-law because whenever either of my daughters behaved badly in front of her she would smile impishly and suggest that maybe they had taken after her. She would then recall multiple stories that her elegant mother had told her about her own childhood missteps. One involved a scene in front of a downtown department store which became so heated that her mother had to give her a little swat on the fanny to get her back in line. When my mother-in-law shouted that her mother was embarrassing her the reply from her mom was, “If you embarrass me, I will embarrass you.” My mother-in-law repeated this tale rather proudly as if it conveyed the strength and conviction of her mother that she believe inspired her to become a great woman in her own right.

Next time you see a parent dealing with a seemingly bratty child, try not to judge. Instead send a vibe that let’s the weary individual know that everything will one day be amazingly good if they just hang in there and do what is right. Show that we are all in this parenting thing together. Hillary was right. It takes a village.

Love For All Time

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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Prince Harry has been quite open about the intense trauma that he endured from the death of his mother. He has admitted to undergoing therapy after struggling with debilitating feelings in the aftermath of his loss. He was twelve when Diana died, so he vividly remembers the shock of that moment, but also treasures his recollections of the wonderful mother that she was. Her influence on him is quite apparent and his feelings for her are as strong as ever. Her spirit permeates his life and the choices that he has made.

The death of a parent is difficult regardless of whether it happens when we are adults or children. A sense of being without the very essence of who we are lingers long after the beloved is gone. For a child the suffering often goes unnoticed and untreated because young ones have difficulty expressing the hurt they are feeling. The emotions become internalized in so many varying ways that they are not always apparent. Harry acted out by being a goof ball and sometimes bad boy. He appeared to simply be a silly and rebellious young man, but he was actually reacting to the fears and hurt that he was enduring. Luckily he eventually found the help that he needed and channeled his angst into purposeful pursuits by emulating his mother’s example.

I find myself feeling a kind of spiritual connection with Harry because of our shared experience of losing a parent at a young age. There are many parallels between our stories. His mother died, and for me it was my father. Both of our parents were in car accidents. Both events occurred around the time of a holiday. Harry was twelve and I was eight. We both endured emotions that we didn’t quite understand after the tragedies. Harry became rowdy, and I became shy and withdrawn. Eventually we managed to come to grips with the what had happened and to better understand ourselves and the frightening feelings that had plagued us. Ours were successful journeys that ultimately lead to happiness and dedication to causes that help people, but for so many things do not turn out so well.

I think of my father quite often, and particularly on the anniversary of his death, May 31. I find myself wanting to know him and talk with him as an adult. Instead I have to rely on tidbits of childish conversations that I had with him. I borrow stories from adults who knew him as well. I have painted a picture of him that is admittedly idealized. I know that he had many flaws and I have wondered about them and how they might have impacted me without my ever realizing. I also recall the wonder of him, and know without a doubt that I am very much his daughter. He lives in me, and I see him in my brothers, and children, and grandchildren as well. Through him my ancestry reaches far back into the history of Great Britain just as Harry’s does, although mine is not quite as illustrious. I am an amalgam of many genes and influences, but his reign over me as much as if he had lived to walk me down the aisle and celebrate all of my milestones. I was old enough when he died to know with certainty how he might have reacted to the continuation of my history.

It is the knowledge of my father’s goodness and his love for me that has sustained me whenever I have felt a bit shaky. I suspect that Harry would say the same about his mother. We made it in spite of the horror of losing our parents because they had already undeniably imprinted their undying devotion on us. Once the love of a parent is imparted it becomes a fountain of strength whose healing waters stay with us. It is our shield from all of the terrors of the world. Like Simba in The Lion King we grow to understand that our parent never truly leaves us. Through some cosmic force they become our spiritual guides. We feel their presence, not in a supernatural way, but in our hearts.

The remaining parent and family members also play a critical role in raising a healthy and happy child. My mother filled our home with a strong sense of safety and  comfortable routine. She went out of her way to surround us with caring family and friends. She religiously kept us in touch with our paternal grandparents. She often told us tales of our father and remarked whenever we did something that reminded her of him. She kept him very much alive in our minds, so that it sometimes felt as though he had merely gone on a very long journey from which he would soon return. Of course we understood that he was gone forever, but it helped to be able to speak openly of him and sometimes even to cry about him.

A child instinctively responds in a vigorous and healthy way when surrounded by the unselfish love of good parents. While losing one of them leaves a ghastly scar that hurts from time to time, with good memories and the care of those who remain things will ultimately turn out fine. Harry and I are both happy people because we were lucky enough to have a beautiful start in life that did not end with our horrific losses. His mom and my dad had already given us tools and examples that were ours to keep for all time. Theirs was love for all time.

Being Leonard

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

10246301_10205604543090004_3263112611847433681_nIt’s graduation time, and when it rolls around each year I can’t help thinking of my own commencements from junior high, high school and college. So much hard work, angst and happy memories lay behind those glorious moments, and so much hard work, angst and happy memories lay ahead. Graduation day itself was somewhat like a wedding, a blur of people and speeches and congratulations that went by so fast. It somehow didn’t seem right for the culmination of so much effort to come and go so quickly, but that’s the way good times always seem to be. What strikes me most as I think back to those glorious moments of achievement is that each time I was surrounded by a core of my friends and family who took the time out of their busy lives to celebrate with me. While so many variables have challenged me in my life, such people have been a constant source of stability and love.

Graduations always make me think of my cousin Leonard. He’s the elder statesmen of our raucous bunch of cousins who is almost as close in age to our parents as he is to those of us who played Hide and Find each Friday night at our grandmother’s house. He was married and raising children while I was still happily engaged in the loveliness that was my childhood. When we saw him, he was far more interested in conversing with my mother and father than getting on the floor to entertain me. I always looked up to him not just because he was the first of our long line of cousins, but because he always appeared to be so happy and wise and confident.

Anyway, Leonard became known as the one person who never missed a single graduation. No matter what the timing was, or how bad the weather had become, Leonard would represent the whole family with his presence at one commencement after another. It almost became a game for us to scan the crowd at such events to find our own “Waldo” in the crowd. We always knew that we could count on seeing him just so long as we had sent him an invitation. While we joked about his perennial presence, I suppose that we never really took the time to think of how remarkable his devotion to family actually has been over the years. Little wonder that his own brood that has grown to gargantuan proportions is such a loving and tight knit group. With a kind of superhuman energy Leonard has managed to quietly take the helm and demonstrate to us the importance of finding time to honor members of the family as they pass through the milestones of life.

We Americans are a chronically busy and productive bunch. It doesn’t seem to be in our DNA to slow down even after we retire. There is nothing quite as shocking to us as someone who chooses to chill for a bit too long. We join organizations and volunteer and fill the nooks and crannies of our calendars so tightly that when we receive heartfelt invitations we quite often have to beg off, send our regrets. We’d love to be with family, but there is just so much to do that forces us to decline. Such has never been so with Leonard, a man who worked hard at his career, raised four delightful children, helped at his church and within his community, and still found ways to pause just enough to demonstrate his love for his us time and again. He has been as dependable as they come.

I suppose that if I were to give one single bit of advice to graduates it would be to follow Leonard’s example. As I look back on my life a sea of faces and experiences fill my head. Jobs and honors have come and gone. People entered my life and exited never to be heard from again. Many of the things that I labored to purchase have broken or gone out of style. The one aspect of my life that has continued to sustain and support me has been family and a circle of special friends who have stayed by my side. I have learned that when someone is as continually faithful as Leonard has been, it is due to great sacrifice and genuine concern. It is not easy to be as responsible and dependable as he is, but somehow he has made it his mission to be so. He is a rare gift in a day and age when behavior such as his is becoming less and less common. He has not allowed the rat race to become the focus of his pursuits. He has found balance and purpose in a life well lived.

There are so many stories of people on their deathbeds voicing regrets, being alone, realizing that they in their quests for riches, power, glory they forgot to remember the people who might have loved and remembered them most. When we hear such tales we marvel that someone who seemed to have it all actually had so little, and yet we also have tendencies to expend all of our energies chasing people and things that may ultimately leave us lonely and forgotten. Leonard on the other hand is a man who is beloved because little that he does is only about himself.

I attempt to emulate Leonard. He has demonstrated to me the importance of showing up again and again. He may not be able stay long but he always manages to demonstrate that he cares enough to be part of our most important milestones. That is all that we need to see. He has been our immutable constant in a world that seems ever less dependable, but he is growing older and time is taking its toll on his health. He won’t be able to carry the family banner forever, so its up to the younger generation to accept and honor his lead. He has shown us how its done. It would be a terrible shame to forget the importance of his efforts. It’s time for all of us to be more like Leonard.