All It Takes Is A Little Love

My mother was rightfully loved by those who saw the scope of her generous spirit. She was spurned by those who did not understand the quirks of her mental illness. As her daughter I defended her from those who seemed unable or unwilling to view her as the remarkable woman she was. Nonetheless I admittedly experienced great frustration with her cycles of normalcy followed by deep depression and manic episodes that sometimes scared people into abandoning her. It bothered me that she was so misunderstood by people to whom she was always kind and understanding.  

I would often witness generally honored and respected individuals saying horrific things about people who thought them to be great human beings worthy of unending praise while my mother who never had an unkind work about anyone was often an outcast. The hypocrisy of it all left me angry and desirous of revealing the truth about the two-faced individuals whom most of society had embraced. The irony of my mother’s unconditional love being so often spurned confused me to the point of great distress. I often cried and wished that she had never been afflicted by an illness that so frightened people that they were unwilling to embrace her even as she continued to love them. 

My mother’s life was punctuated with great suffering which she always unselfishly set aside. Even in her darkest moments when her bipolar disorder was raging, her greatest worries were for the well being of others. Her paranoid fears were always concerns about protecting her family. She loved more intensely than anyone I have ever known.

Only the most discerning people were able to look past my mother’s illness and realize how saintly she actually was. My mother-in-law once proclaimed that Mama was the most incredible woman that she had ever known. Clerks in stores that my mother frequented cried upon hearing of her death and told stories of how delightfully generous she had been to them. Her files held dozens of letters from charitable organizations thanking her for contributions that may have seemed meager but were proportionately huge given how tragically low her income was. 

My mother was always the first to take small gifts to neighbors and friends. When she shopped for her groceries she often set aside cans of vegetables and soup to give to young members of the family struggling to make a start in the adult world. I know that I was often the recipient of her largesse even when I had become successful in my career. She was forever speaking of her obligation to share the blessings that she had. Sadly to so many others her life seemed so tragic and difficult that they failed to see how beautifully she had overcome her bad luck. Somehow she found the silver lining in every situation. She wanted nothing for herself.

When I was cleaning out my mother’s closet after her death I found gifts that she had set aside in anticipation of birthdays and Christmas. Each item was tagged with a loved one’s name. They were all practical and meaningful presents that she collected from sales that she encountered throughout the year. Sometimes they seemed to be more utilitarian than interesting, but over time the recipients almost always realized that were thing that they been unaware of actually needing. 

I sleep each night with the sound of a fan that Mama purchased for my husband. I thought it was an odd choice when he unwrapped it, but when insomnia haunted me one night it became a lifesaver. The hum of the blades whirring around and around was just the kind of white noise that I required to lull me into a deep slumber. We now use it every night and I sometimes think that it is magical. Like Pavlov’s dog it reminds me of my dear sweet mother and somehow makes me feel as though she is tucking me in and smiling down at me with the smile that assured me that she loved me unconditionally. 

Those who saw the inner beauty of my mother were blessed and they knew it. They were able to look past her affliction and see just how innocently loving and generous she was. They benefited greatly from knowing her because she was guileless. Her expressions of concern and compassion were as real as can be. Hate was only a word to her. She genuinely strove to understand and embrace even those who pushed her away. 

When my mother was alive I was obsessed with protecting her, so much so that I all too often became enraged with anyone who abandoned her. I spent far too much time being angry that she was so misunderstood. I wanted better for her, but she never seemed to notice or care that some people were being ugly. She simply carried on with being a messenger of tolerance and love. 

I have had many years to assess her life since she died. I no longer wish she she had been different and more like everyone else. I see now that she was a beautiful and special soul, unique in her ability to overlook the failings of others. What we all saw of her was exactly who she was. She never spoke unkindly even when nobody might have heard a catty remark. I wish I had told her how much I admired her. I wish I had not been so busy trying to shield her from the ugliness that I saw. From her I learned that people are wonderful even with their gaping flaws. She loved them in spite of themselves even as I suspected it hurt her deep down in her heart. She was love at its finest and a role model that I would do well to follow. 

We all know about the Holocaust that took place under the direction of Nazi fascists during World War II. Some among us deny that it ever happened. Some may even be vile enough to believe that the people who lost their lives in that horrifically evil moment were somehow deserving of their fate. Most of us struggle to understand the kind of evil that might have led seemingly ordinary people to participate in such a vile attempt to eliminate Jews and others thought to be defective. We simply cannot contemplate or understand such an atrocity and yet if we study enough history we see a dark side of our human natures rising again and again as though we are somehow tainted for all time with the sin of Cain who murdered his brother. 

The movie The Zone of Interest directed by Johnathan Glazer is one of the most powerful portraits of the nature of those who supported the genocide of Jews and “misfits” by Adolf Hitler’s Nazis that has ever been filmed. It is a character study of Rudolf Hoss, the commandant and major architect of Auschwitz, and his wife, Hedwig, both of whom lived just behind a wall next to the concentration camp with their five children. 

The Zone of Interest never explicitly shows us the horror that is taking place next to the idyllic garden that Hedwig so meticulously planned and developed with the help of prison labor. Nonetheless as we watch the family entertaining guests and enjoying their swimming pool we see the smoke from the crematoriums and hear the gunshots, screams and barking dogs in the midst of the family’s banal conversations. We instinctively know of the horror taking place literally right outside their home and instantly wonder how they were able to be so unconcerned by the killing that became known as “The Hoss Plan.” 

The contrast of the seemingly idyllic life of Rudolf and his family is stunning because of their ability to compartmentalize their egregious behavior. They have become able to live a materialistically rich life because of the forced imprisonment, labor and murder of people whose only sin was being of the wrong type. The calm way in which they celebrate and boast of their good fortune makes them so vile that those of us watching the film find ourselves wanting to take hold of them, shake them and demand to know what is wrong with them. The whole situation seems so unbelievable and yet it is so true that we want to turn away, to munch on our popcorn and sip on our sodas even as we feel a sense of shame for just sitting in our seats witnessing the degradation and inhumanity of it all. 

The Zone of Interest is a tough watch. It will leave you in an emotional state. It is not entertaining in the general sense of that word but it is something that we should all view. It is a warning of what happens when we see evil but look the other way. It is a reminder of our human tendencies to judge people based on stereotypical “isms.” It is what happens when we fall victim to propaganda and lies. It is our human way of justifying our prejudices and greed. 

The title of the movie comes from the word play that Nazis used to refer to the concentration camps. The places where they were located were called zones of interest. The characters in the movie remind us that Hitler’s plan was to rid Europe of the Jews and to overtake the rich land of Eastern Europe for farming and manufacturing. It was an ideology based on a eugenic belief that the Aryan race was superior and therefore deserving of enjoying the fruits of the world. It justified violence and murder by ranking entire races of people as undesirable and unworthy of even living. In Auschwitz alone it resulted in the murder of over one million, one hundred thousand souls. 

The Zone of Interest reminds us of the dark nature of humans who have historically enslaved, murdered and stolen from others while justifying their actions with claims of being superior. it shows us how evil can live with itself even in the homes of seemingly normal people. It challenges us to speak out against those who would subjugate and deprive others. It warns us that it can and has happened even in the seemingly most civilized societies. I grows from greed, materialism, prejudice, lies and a lack of empathy. It can consume even those with crucifixes hanging in their homes who say their prayers each night. 

The Zone of Interest is a true masterpiece of film that we should all see and discuss. Then we should ask ourselves what suffering in the world we are ignoring even as we see it unfolding. Truth sometimes hurts, but avoiding it leads to horror. We humans still have much work to do. 

The Zone of Interest is now showing in a limited number of theaters. HBO has purchased the right to stream it in the near future. Watch it with an open mind. Learn from it. Talk to your family about it. It’s something we all need to do. 

I don’t always believe that the results of surveys or polls or even personal anecdotes are representative of reality, but I sense that we nonetheless would do well to consider their findings when most of them are pointing to the same difficulties. In particular, a spate of studies seem to be indicating that members of Gen Z (those who are eighteen to twenty seven years old} as well as students from twelve to eighteen are feeling alienated from society. While disenchanted young people are nothing new, their concerns seem to be quite valid and we would do well to hear what they have to say. 

Historically those of us who have weathered the storms of adolescence, teen years and early adulthood generally scoff at the angst of the younger folks among us as being simply phases that we all endure until we have a bit of real life experience under our belts. Even ancient Greeks complained about the lassitude of the young, but somehow the issues that they describe in today’s world ring true and should be more of concern to all of us. They earnestly and honestly are attempting to tell us what is wrong and we tend to blithely suggest that they might do better if they simply switch off social media, computer games and television. In other words we ignore what they are telling us because it seems to be just a modern day version of growing pains. We forget or possibly never knew that the Founding Fathers of our nation were not all older men.  James Monroe was eighteen, Alexander Hamilton was twenty one and James Madison was twenty five among other revolutionary voices of our American revolution who were in their teens or twenties. 

Our youngest citizens and voters are indicating that they are in fact intensely interested in the current issues of our country but feel that most adults are ignoring what they have to say about them. They also point to problems that don’t appear to be of concern to much of the electorate. As such they feel a sense of abandonment by the older voters and politicians. They are looking into the future while the rest of us seem to be mired in the present. So what is worrying voters aged eighteen to twenty seven?  

Many of them believe that the American obsession with guns is making virtually every public and private venue unsafe. Most advocate for some form of gun control but instead witness more gun sales and more mass shootings. The idea of ever reaching consensus or even logically discussing this issue seems remote and so they feel ignored and perhaps even unimportant as they attempt to voice their concerns. 

Our young also worry about the advance of climate change and the impact it will have on their lives. They see themselves as ultimately holding the bag of the mistake of pretending that we don’t have to make some tough sacrifices now to prevent worldwide climate related chaos and tragedy later. Some even wonder if they should bring children into a world that might one day feel apocalyptic. 

This group feels that educational systems need to be continually updated to correspond with the times rather than returning to methodologies of the past. They expect truth, not protection of their egos, which means that they want to study difficult topics and be taught how to critically analyze them. They know that they will need both academic and practical skills to navigate the problems that seem to be looming while the cost of gaining them continues to grow beyond their ability to afford them. Those who make the investments in time, effort and money have been left to juggle enormous debts before they even start working on their first jobs.

They look into their own future in the face of looming wars and political parties unable or unwilling to work together with a goal of solving problems rather than being elected. In their estimation systems are breaking down because older adults would rather bicker than compromise. They see their freedoms being diminished one by one while nobody asks them what they would like to see happening. The world appears chaotic and if they voice opinions about it that older adults do not share, their voices are stilled and ridiculed. 

The results is that more and more of our youngest emerging adults are filled with anxiety and sometimes a lack of hope that leads to depression. The numbers reporting such feelings are unprecedented and all too often the response from the rest of us is to call them “snowflakes” or to insinuate that they are lazy and ignorant of reality, a familiar response to those who grew up fighting for what they saw as justice during the Civil Rights movement or the protests of the war in Vietnam. 

Every nation needs a conscience and often that self analysis comes from the young who have not yet become so tainted that they are much more able to see the problems that most need to be addressed. It would be quite wonderful if we would take the time to listen to what they have to say and respect their right to have a stake in their own futures. We would do well to know who and what inspires them because one day we will hand over the reins to them and hopefully they will have something more to work with than the problems we have left them through inaction. 

I believe in the wisdom of Generation Z. There are Alexander Hamiltons and James Madisons among them. We should tap into their discernment and earnest interest in tackling the problems that are most affecting them. They have the kind of pure wisdom that we desperately need. Let them into the discussions and they will help us to revolutionize the future.  

There is nothing like a random journey, those times when you just drive around seeing whatever comes into view. We experienced one of those the other day and it was glorious. It began in a very banal way when we drove over to Alvin, Texas to meet up with a young man who repairs window screens. We had two badly damaged screens and were struggling to find replacements when a guy at our local Ace Hardware store told us about Tanner who specializes in exactly the kind of repair that we need. So early a few mornings ago we set off in search of the help that we needed. 

We ended up at another Ace Hardware store in the middle of the Alvin, Texas business district. Alvin is a small town just outside of Houston which was made famous as the birthplace of Nolan Ryan. It was once a sleepy little place until the encroachment of the Houston metropolitan area made it more of a suburb of the fourth largest city than a municipality in its own right. While it still has the feel of a small town there are signs of incredible growth that include new neighborhoods and a Town Center that is slated to bring stores, restaurants and medical facilities to the area. For the moment though, the central business district is still quaint and home town friendly. 

Tanner was quite busy as it seems tha thet word is out regarding his skill with window screens but he promised to repair ours at one fourth of the price of purchasing brand new ones. He told us that he would call us when he had completed the job which he believed would be only a matter of hours so we decided just to enjoy the sunny day with an aimless excursion.

We stopped for lunch at a Kelly’s Country Cooking restaurant that offered daily specials for lunch that included one entree and three sides for around ten dollars. The place was packed with mostly older people and the waitress was like a character out of central casting with her uniform and references to my husband and I as “honey” and “sweetheart.” She nodded and smiled when we chose the chicken fried chicken breast and the chicken fried steak.

The food was exceptional, as was the service. It all tasted like the kind of meal that my grandmother might have cooked back in the long ago. The portions were twice as large as either of us were able to consume. We were stunned when the waitress told us that she had given us the “senior” helpings that were not as large as the regular fare. We left with two take out boxes filled with enough leftovers to feed both of us and my father-in-law for dinner that night. Then we headed out in search of the apartment where we had lived before purchasing our first home. It had been located in Pasadena, Texas, another town adjacent to Houston. At the time it was brand new and even had that never been used before smell that comes from paint and virgin carpet. We were excited by it’s size and the layout of the rooms. It felt luxurious with its swimming pool, game room, huge laundry rooms and garden areas. 

After driving all over a very different Pasadena than we remembered we found our place which had not worn the fifty years since we had lived there very well. It was only half the size it once was and luxurious would have been the last work anyone would use to describe it now, Nonetheless I smiled at the memories of our time there when I met incredibly interesting, wise and strong women like Debbie, and Rosie and Diane who taught me so much about people and life. I came into my own as a person under their tutelage and as I looked at the remnants of that once grand place I could almost hear and see all of us sitting in the courtyard watching our children play while we talked and laughed and learned from each other. 

I remembered where my eldest daughter first took dance lessons in one of the buildings of what was then one of the largest Episcopal churches in Pasadena. The buildings are still there but they now belong to a non-denominational church with a name written in Spanish. Not far away are the boarded up remains of what was once a mall where I spent many a time shopping for Christmas gifts and just browsing with my friend, Pat. 

So much had changed that my husband and I both lost our bearings a few times. Only the street names seemed to have remained the same but there was still a new kind of vibrance with stores and eateries in strip malls up and down the roads. Both of us spoke with so much joy about how wonderful our time had been there and the memories that came spilling out of our conversation.

Since we still had not heard from Tanner that our screens were ready for pickup we decided to journey to the first home that we purchased after we moved from the Pasadena apartment. It was located within walking distance of Hobby Airport and we so loved it there that we literally raised both of our girls inside those walls, not finally leaving until we had spent over thirty years there. It was exciting to see that our home not only looked wonderful but it was apparent that the owners had taken care to make it even better. They had added more rooms, replaced the old windows, installed a wooden fence where the chain link one had once been. 

The trees that we had planted were now fully grown and well trimmed. Near the front door there was a sign announcing that a St. Thomas High School student live there which warmed my husband’s heart because he was a graduate of that school and had always maintained that if our children had been sons we would have sent them to the all boys school that dates back over a hundred years. 

Again we thought of how incredibly happy we had been in that house that my friends Linda had told us about when we were looking for a place to live. The names of the people that we loved rolled off of our tongues. We thought of Carol and Bob and their five sons, Betty and Dave with their beautifully blended family, Traci and the Washburn family, Lynn and Missy and so many others who had enchanted our lives with incredible friendships and so much joy. 

Perhaps it was because the sun was shining or maybe it was the fullness in our bellies but we both felt recharged by our little journey and the memories we had recalled that were filled with people who had been so important in our years of becoming. When the call came from Tanner that our screens were ready we zipped over to Alvin with smiles seemingly tattooed across our faces. Sometimes it’s good to make a return to the past to be reminded of our good fortune. It was certainly one of those days for us and as ordinary as it may seem, it was glorious.    

I have searched everywhere for a photograph of my great grandfather, John William Seth Smith. He served in the Union Army during the Civil War so I expected to find at least one picture of him somewhere. I have seen images of his wife and many of his children, but nobody appears to have a single picture of him and I can’t really say why. Perhaps he was simply one of those souls who avoided cameras or maybe nobody ever bothered to take his picture. Not a soul in the family ancestry group seems to know why there is nothing to show how he looked. 

It’s interesting to me how much photography has impacted the world today. Even the most ordinary among us snaps photos with our phones to record our milestones and celebrations. We take pictures of our families, our friends, our pets, the places we have been. There is so much visual representation of the world around us documenting our time on this earth. That fact makes me wonder about the vast majority of the people who once inhabited this earth who will forever remain faceless to us. In fact, most of their stories will never be known. We can only intuit what life may have been like for them based on general knowledge of historical periods.

I remember taking an educational psychology class in preparation for becoming a teacher. The professor pointed out that never in all of time had humans been as focused on children as we have been since the twentieth century. For much of history the odds of a child surviving to adulthood were quite small. Women may have had countless babies but few of them lived past their childhoods. Some died within days or weeks of being born. Because of that reality people understood just how frail their grasp on living actually was. Their daily struggles just to stay alive bore down on them. They no doubt never imagined the plenty that most of us now enjoy. 

Our times are luxurious compared to what our many ancestors experienced.  At least here in the United States we have access to medical care unimagined in the past. Women are more likely to have proper pre-natal care  They have the ability to plan their families. Once babies are born they generally make regular visits to pediatricians to insure that they are meeting their milestones properly. Clean water is taken for granted. Educational opportunities are free. Ours is a world that did not even exist for kings or lords in times past. Certainly nobody back then even imagined many of our modern conveniences that we now demand as our right.

I find out how my family and friends are doing from day to day with my phone that has more computing power than the room full of machines used to monitor the journey to the moon. I can talk with a friend in India and call for help if I have a flat tire. I am able to instantly memorialize any occasion with a few commands from my fingers. I see people traveling to the ends of the earth within minutes of their posts. Artificial intelligence even creates images of how famous historical figures might appear in today’s modern world. 

I’ve been sitting with my daughter’s dogs while she is on a trip. She sends reminders to me and checks to see how we are all doing. I entertain myself with my laptop and games on my phone while the puppies sleep peacefully around me. It’s all rather amazing when we stop to think about it, but all too often we simply take such things for granted.

I hear a great deal of grumbling about how hard the times are and I hark back to stories I have heard about my great grandfather. I have official paperwork from his wife, my great  grandmother, describing how his health was affected from serving in a terrible war. He along with so many others endured terrible conditions that affected them for the remainder of their lives. Even after the war life was difficult for my great grandfather. He had many children to feed with few resources to help. There was no doubt little time for frivolities like sitting for photographs. Life was serious business. 

I think that instead of complaining about what we seem to think that we don’t have we would all do well to take note of our many many blessings. Lately whenever I get grumpy or feel sorry for myself I remember that I am not in a war torn country. Neither do I live in poverty or want. My address is not in the middle of a medical desert. I can find a doctor within minutes not far from my home. The stores around me are filled with delights and people buying them. I know that not everyone in the world has such good fortune. In fact there is great suffering that we all too often do not wish to see or discuss. 

I wish that we were all more amenable to sharing our wealth without deriding such an idea by insinuating that all instances of collective cooperation are some terrible form of communism. There is such a thing as conflating virtue with taking care of our fellow humans. There no doubt is more that many of us might do to spread comfort and joy to those in need and it should not only happen at Christmas time. Our pictures of celebration should also include many random acts of kindness that become as much a part of our natures as posting photos of our adventures. A little bit of generosity multiplied billions of times over can make a huge difference.

My goal is to become more like a friend who has dedicated much of her life to traveling to Africa whenever possible to help build schools and hospitals. She uses her teaching talents to educate people and show them how to transform their lives. She has adopted entire families, sending them gifts of understanding and sharing of her largess. I think of how much better the entire world would be if we all attempted to be more like her, one kind act at a time, each and every single day. Think of the many faceless people we would begin to see. We have the power and the means to change the face of the earth.