All It Takes Is A Little Love

I see so many people striving to be happy without much success. There is of course legitimate clinical depression which is a health issue, but many folks seem to be on unfulfilled journeys of discovery. They never quite find the magic situation that will keep them happy and satisfied. They are drowning in perceived imperfections about themselves and the people around them. They deal with challenges that would be daunting to any of us, but never seem to find a way out of their anger or doldrums. They finds themselves continually believing that somehow they are doomed to feeling sad most of the time. They ask what they need to do to grasp that beautiful feeling that life is truly good. 

My mother had to be one of the most tragic figures I have ever known, Her story was one of loss, challenges and struggles with health. In spite of the almost unremitting tragedies that seemed to follow her, she was in fact the most optimistic person I have ever known. 

Mama was the youngest of eight children who lived in a household that struggled to survive and yet she describes her childhood as magical. Growing up in the heart of the Great Depression meant that times were hard for most people, and so it was for my mother. She recalls getting hand me down shoes to wear to school that had been worn out by her older sisters. Instead of complaining she often smiled and boasted about her mother’s ingenuity in placing cardboard inside the shoes to cover the holes that grew ever larger on the soles. 

Mama spoke of hearing taunts from neighborhood kids about herself and her immigrant parents. They would throw rocks at my mother and her siblings. While Mama admitted that it initially hurt her feelings, she tried to ignore them because she felt sorrow for their ignorance. She often told us how she held her temper and walked with her head held high. She knew that her father was an avid reader, a man who worked so hard that he never lost his job. She was proud of herself and her entire family. She felt blessed to be in this country enjoying the opportunities that it held. Nobody was going to steal her joy.

When my mother was a young woman she became engaged to a young man who was sent to fight in the war in the Pacific during World War II. He was ultimately killed on Saipan and my mother admitted that she was quite devastated for a time. Nonetheless she knew that other people had also endured such losses and had managed to grieve and then get back into the game of life. So she concentrated on improving her skills and going to work. She purposely focused on the many good things that came her way each day. Soon her soul was healed.

Mama’s life was transformed when she married my father. For the first time since she was born she was part of the middle class. She had a beautiful home, a new car, nice furniture, vacations each year. When he suddenly died all of that changed. Since his death came from a car accident she had to purchase a very basic car without even the luxury of an automatic transmission or carpet on the floorboards. She moved to a small house and struggled to make ends meet from month to month. All the while she focused on her good fortune in finding a car that ran so well, a home surrounded by lovely neighbors. She boasted with a spectacular grin that we never missed a meal. She thanked God daily for the roof over her head, the warmth that we had in cold winters. 

If Mama heard of anyone who was in need she always seemed to find someway to help them. She would stretch her budget to include monetary donations to people that she did not even know. She was the first to cook a meal for a sick friend or bake a cake just to help someone feel better about themselves. 

Our home was always filled with people who dropped in just to be with Mama. They fed on her optimism. They always felt better just being with her. She had a way of making everyone feel important and loved. She overlooked people’s flaws and instead only saw the beauty of their souls. She never felt that relationships had to be balanced. If she gave of herself and the other person did not, she was okay with that. The important thing for her was validating people just as they were.

Perhaps the biggest challenge of my mother’s life came when her symptoms of bipolar disorder became full blown. It became difficult for her to maintain her household and she often had long absences from work when her illness was roaring out of control. She lost most of her acquaintances who suddenly did not feel comfortable around her. Her economic situation became more and more tenuous, but amazingly she remained positive about people and life in general. She found joy in the most mundane places and situations. A ride to a nearby beach was as good in her mind as a European vacation. An ice cream cone on a hot Friday night was an incredible luxury. Listening to the Houston Astros on the radio was five star entertainment. 

When my mother died from lung cancer people came out of the woodwork to tell me how inspiring she had always been. There were students who remembered her as the most wonderful teacher they had ever had. There were strangers who told me of her random acts of kindness. I read letters from people that she had helped through hard times. I heard about her cheerful phone calls that brought sunshine to those whose days were often dreary. I learned that her secret had been always making people feel that they were the most wonderful and important individuals in the world. I found out that my mother never asked for anything in return for her compassionately caring ways. 

My mother taught me to do one good thing everyday and I would suddenly realize that happiness is not elusive after all. Instead of dwelling on what I don’t have, she showed me how to treasure what I do have. Most of all she demonstrated how to love people without a need to see that love returned. Likewise she loved people unconditionally.

I wish that all of the lonely and sad people who are struggling in darkness had known my mother and seen how easy it was for her to find happiness wherever she went and whatever her actual circumstances might have been. She made it seem as simple as just smiling. Her one optimistic thought or action always begot many many more. She was a model for happiness.

There is a feeling that I get each year when November rolls around. I find myself wondering how we are already rolling into the Thanksgiving/Christmas season. Wasn’t it just yesterday that it was January? Did I somehow fall asleep like Rip Van Winkle and miss the ten months leading to this moment? In fact, wasn’t it 2020 a few seconds ago? How can we be suddenly moving toward 2024? 

These days I feel as though I am moving on a speeding train. Even the length of a single day seems shorter than ever before. It feels as though I am running from one moment to the next barely keeping up. I am mostly retired or was supposed to be, but somehow I find myself frantically filling every hour of every day with tasks commanded by my to do list. I feel the need to keep apace with my duties because the unexpected comes along with more and more frequency. I have to be as prepared for whatever happens as I was when I’d rise before the sun came up to prepare for my job and return after dark for an hours long marathon of juggling family responsibilities with the demands of my career. As strange as it may sound those days felt longer and more generous in providing me with the time to get things done than I am now experiencing. Is there some magic that shortens the number of hours in the day as we age? That is certainly how it seems to be.

Yesterday I was a senior in high school like my youngest grandson and a godson. Did I somehow time travel to my future without ever realizing that I was on the fast track of life? I blinked and the wide eyed young version of me was transformed into an old woman with droopy eyelids. Sure I am wiser than I once was, but the sad part is that there are no do overs. The mistakes that I have made cannot be undone. I can only forgive myself for my ignorance and thoughtlessness rather than living in a haze of regret. Nonetheless I feel pressured to engage in a marathon of fulfilling my bucket list before I reach a point of being unable to do so. I still have so many dreams and so little time. Somehow I am racing from one day to the next to get this done. 

I suppose that my Baby Boomer generation is a bit more loathe to hang up our spurs and just sit back to enjoy the quiet of growing older. I remember my mother and grandmothers embracing a slower pace of life with gratitude. They reveled in sleeping late in the morning, taking little naps in the afternoon, letting dishes pile up in the sink, making as few appointments as possible. They let chores and duties slide to make time for sitting in their gardens just watching the birds and observing the bursting of blooms. They were always open for surprise visits from family and friends. They’d keep coffee and tea on hand for anyone who knocked on their doors. They did not worry about answering with bare feet, messy hair, and styleless clothing. They were simply happy to see someone that they loved any day, any time. 

My generation of women was on the front line of change from a patriarchy to shared power with men. We don’t need someone to hold open doors for us. We were challenged to do it all and we learned how to balance a thousand different tasks in a single day. Turning off the energy that it took to achieve that level of productivity is not easy, especially for a Type A personality like me. To be successful in both the old world and the new I had to toughen up, to have the resiliency of an Olympic athlete. I learned to survive on six hours of sleep at night. I had to become a planner down to the minute. I was able to pace myself by never stopping. It was the price I fully accepted in order to change the status of women from stay at home housewives and moms to human dynamos able of wearing dozens of hats. It was not easy, but a whole generation of us did it and now that we are retired we do not know how to just relax. We have to keep ourselves busy or we may fall apart. 

I suppose the day will come when I am forced to accept my age, embrace the fact that I am old in the eyes of the young. Still, I am not yet ready to surrender until I have to do so. I presume that the old men running for President of the United States see themselves as I see myself. We all still believe that we must keep working, accomplishing, doing. I wonder if that is good thing or if maybe it is bad. 

My husband is content with his retirement years. He does not feel a pressing need to keep pushing. He has learned how to relax. He smells the roses when they bloom. He is ready for random adventures that serve no purpose other than to make him smile. I suppose that he has found the key to aging gracefully while I am still trying to learn how to do so. 

Some of us have personalities that push us to make every day purposeful or we feel somehow unfulfilled and maybe even a bit guilty. We have a very hard time doing absolutely nothing or skipping routines for a day just because. Perhaps I would do well to begin practicing those things so that it will not be as traumatic when I have to let things go. I probably need to leave the laundry in a pile and take a drive to the ocean. Maybe I can skip one task each day just to prove to myself that I won’t be less than for doing so. Anyway, I am going to try to relax.

I’m a caretaker. It’s what I do. I suppose that I wasn’t always that way, but my father’s death changed everything. It was the first time that I saw my mother unable to even get out of bed. It frightened me, but I remembered my father telling me that I was not using all of the talents that I possessed. He urged me to work harder, be nicer. Somehow in that moment I felt as though I had found my purpose in life. I needed to help my mother. I felt compelled to watch over my brothers. I began to notice people who were hurting or frightened or feeling lost. I learned to listen to them and understand their pain because there were times when my own anxieties threatened to overcome me. I channeled my fears into my studies and learned more and more about our very human natures and the difficulties that have plagued people from the beginning of time. It was almost inevitable that I would want to become a teacher. When my mother had her first mental breakdown I was terrified, but also understood that it was up to me to care for her. Thus it has been for most of my lifetime. 

It seems that there is always someone who needs to talk or just simply wants to unload the sorrows that are suffocating them. I understand the hardships associated with living and I do not judge how people are coping with them. Sometimes what I see or hear is so devastating that I have to harden my personal armor to keep from feeling crushed by the cruelty that lurks in the world. I’ve had to find ways to protect myself from taking on too many causes, too many worries. I work in my garden or solve word puzzles or write blogs to calm the anxieties that arise when I begin to question what kind of world would be so unkind to so many innocent people. I escape from being responsible long enough to energize myself. I become ready to be a caretaker again. 

When I recently read about Gisele Fetterman, the wife of Senator John Fetterman, I found myself understanding her even though I have never met her. I learned that she has traveled on an uncertain journey for much of her life. She had to learn how to adapt to whatever happened from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour. She understands how quickly life can change and how difficult it can become. She is a courageous survivor, but also a generous caretaker. Since her husband’s struggles with depression have been publicized she has become a voice for families dealing with the mental health issues of their loved ones. She welcomes and comforts strangers who simply need to share their stories. 

As I read about the realities of her life and the love she seems to spread wherever she goes I saw a flicker of myself, although my little contributions to helping others are minuscule in comparison to hers. Still, I felt as though I instantly knew and understood her. There is an uncertainty about what will come next when tackling the needs of others. Some days can be overwhelming and lead to an urge to eschew responsibility and just run away. Those of us who take on a caretaker role know all too well that we are not saints. Sometimes we even feel selfish and ugly with our momentary desires to just tell everyone to go away. We have to learn how to cope from moment to moment. Gisele Fetterman calls it adapting. We do what we can do in the moment without building our expectations for tomorrow. We learn when it is time to give ourselves the gift of taking our own mental health days. We steal away to pamper ourselves with a day at the beach, a shopping spree, or a meal at a fancy restaurant. We let our sense of responsibility rest for a moment and then we are energized once again. We learn these things as we go along.

People who are sick, mentally ill, or aging are not always reasonable. We may think that we know what they need, but they have different ideas. They push back when we try too hard to do things that we believe will help them. Being a good caretaker means learning when to compromise or even when to let them learn on their own. It’s difficult to watch someone denying their problems or placing themselves in dangerous situations. In some cases we have to force them or trick them into doing what seems best for them. It takes patience and love to convince them that the intention is not to hurt them but to protect them. So it is with all caretaker roles like parenting, teaching, nursing, doctoring, ministering, being a loving spouse or child. 

It is incredibly gratifying to help others, but doing so can also take it’s toll. We often forget the person who is holding down the fort while showering the individual that they are helping with praise and attention. Caretakers are all too often unsung heroes who quietly do the hard lifting without complaint. We might briefly commend them for their efforts but we are just as likely to forget about them and the hard work that has become their daily realities. We would do well to treasure such people and to take the time now and again to ask them how they are doing. 

It was lovely to see someone heaping so much praise on Gisele Fetterman. She is the rock for her husband and her children who quietly keeps all of the moving parts well oiled and repaired. There are many Gisele Fettermans among us. Seek them out. They are generous people but also human. They would enjoy acknowledgement for what they do so naturally. They may be quite happy people because doing for others is a gift in itself, but even they appreciate a pat on the back now and then. Find those people and give them a shoutout. It just may keep them going one more day.    

I have led a very busy life, even after retirement I have continued to teach young people and mentor some of my former students. I keep quite busy continuing to learn, even to the point of investing in continuing education classes at Rice University. I read constantly and try to keep up with local, state, national and world events. I don’t consider myself to be a radical of any kind and I have always believed that I was a fairly good observer of human nature. In my work life I had a pulse on both my students and my fellow teachers. Somehow over the last decade or so I seem to have missed realizing the power of the MAGA movement. Furthermore I am totally confused by the ardor of those who support it. In my mind it is a frenzy led by ethically dubious political hacks, and yet instead of fading away the movement only appears to have gained steam. 

I have watched a man who shows no signs of ever attending church become an icon of evangelistic adoration. In the meantime a man who attends mass weekly and prays daily is often portrayed as an agent of the devil. I have no doubt that our former president encouraged his followers and his fellow Republicans to overturn the election of 2020. The attempted coup of January 6, 2021 was one of the most shocking events of my lifetime. I was certain that every patriotic American would turn on the people who helped to create the furor and treason of that moment, but instead large swaths of citizens have turned on the victims of that melee rather than the perpetrators. All of which has left me dumbfounded. 

Way back in 2016, I had a friend predict much of what has happened. I pushed back on what I saw as his hysterical hyperbole. I argued with him that the American people would never stand for the kinds of things that he predicted would happen. Since our discussions I have had to apologize to him again and again as I have watched the unbelievable happen in our country. Now I have come to believe that there is nothing that is off of the table with the power hungry elements of today’s Republican party. They make Richard Nixon appear to be an altar boy and Eagle Scout all rolled up in one. Why Donald Trump is still holding rallies and still considered the leading candidate for the Republican nomination for the presidency is beyond my ability to grasp. 

I understand that there are people who are hurting who see Trump as a someone who actually hears their pleas for help, but to me supporting him amounts to being the same as suggesting that Al Capone would have made a great president. It feels as though the sense of honor and respect and decorum that a president should possess is being set aside. Instead of ostracizing Trump for the crimes that I have witnessed, he is lionized by a large majority of the Republican party and even those who dislike him are afraid to speak out. They simply retire from public office or whisper in private but are unwilling to challenge a man that they surely must despise. 

I often wondered how evil individuals managed to rise to power and somehow I feel that I am watching that happen in our country right now. It is indeed frightening to me that any person or group can be so adept at spreading fear and alterations of the truth. The fact that so little of that is being questioned tells me how desperate people can befin to hear what they want to hear, not what is actually being said and done. 

At the moment we seem to be regressing into a longing for a time that no longer exists and actually should never exist again. We have moved to a better time than the days of my youth but too many want to take us back to the era when women had little or no voice and gays and lesbians were derided and forced to live in fear. Some of us may have felt just fine in the nineteen fifties, but Blacks and other minorities were pushed out of our sight, hidden and shunned. Seeing the light and being more just has been a good thing, not something that we should fear or condemn. The progress of moving toward living together in harmony was right and fair. We cannot allow despots to use fear and anger to set back the years of progress that we have made in understanding and accepting one another. 

I’ve revealed much about my life. It has been riddled with tragedies and losses and many challenges. I have not become wealthy because I chose to be a teacher, a career of service to my fellow humans. I have dealt with the same kinds of difficulties as almost anyone else, but I have never blamed my troubles on others. I have not lost anything by integrating our society, sharing my good fortune with those who have less, embracing same sex marriage or welcoming immigrants to our country. In fact I am so much better. The scales on my eyes have been removed as surely as if I had once had cataracts. I see so clearly how the diversity of race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, religious beliefs have made life so much more beautiful than in the days when I rarely had opportunities to interact with anyone who was not mostly just like me. Going back is a profoundly horrid idea, especially if it is led by an individual or party who is unwilling to admit to their transgressions in the pursuit of power. 

I suspect that one day this time will be judged rather poorly by history. In the future people will wonder how we allowed things to get so out of control. I wish I knew how to stall the backward regression that seems to be barreling back to a darker time. All I can do is use my voice while I still can. After all, Trump has promised retribution for those who have not supported him. I used to believe that he would never bother to come after insignificant people like me. Now I am not so sure. Things are already so unbelievably out of control that anything might happen. It is a frightening and confusing time. 

I loved my teaching career. It was mostly delightful but almost always stressful. Attempting to reach one hundred fifty souls each school year was a daunting task. There were times when I carried my concerns about them home with me even as I pretended to be engaged with my family and friends. All of those young souls were rarely far from my thoughts. Sometimes they even interrupted my sleep. I had learned the value of focusing on the positive aspects of each school day, but as with most educators I often found myself brooding over the moments when I might have done better. I felt the weight of my responsibility full force and so did my professional colleagues.

Over time I rose to leadership roles like team leader or department chair. Eventually my job was to mentor and guide the teachers. I had differing titles but my duties were essentially the same. In one school I was known as a Peer Facilitator. I liked that designation because it fittingly described what I had been tasked to do. My whole focus was on helping the teachers to be the best versions of themselves. I was there to help them, not to grade or judge them. 

At another school I was the Magnet School Coordinator. That title confused everyone because there had never before been a person dedicated to supporting the teachers. I spent much of my time attempting to demonstrate that I was not there to critique but to provide them with ideas for enhancing the level of learning in their classrooms. It took time for them to trust that ours would be a collaborative effort, not a competitive one.

I spent my last years as a full time educator with the title of Dean of Faculty. It made me sound more important than I felt that I was. I saw myself as a voice for the teachers. I was a coach, not a boss. Title notwithstanding, I felt that I was on an equal footing with them. I was there to make their lives at school as successful as possible. Sometimes that meant just listening to them voice their concerns. Sometimes it was a matter of procuring funding and supplies that they needed for a special project or lesson. Always it involved coaching and interaction with them. 

I came to understand what happens in schools both from my own experiences in the classroom and from the many observations of teachers at work. I learned that the vast majority of men and women who choose to teach are highly educated, dedicated and hard working. Like me, they take their jobs so seriously that their students are never far from their minds even when they are away from work. There are things about teachers that most people do not know and I wish that there were some way to convey just how hard they work and how much they love their very difficult jobs.

A teacher’s day does not begin at nine and end at three in the afternoon. In fact most teachers set their alarms to begin their days before the sun rises in the morning. Many of them are already on duty by seven in the morning, preparing their classrooms for the day’s lessons, attending grade level meetings, monitoring the cafeteria and hallways as students arrive at school. When the bell rings for classes to begin they begin a long assignment of vigilance which keeps them on their feet, ever alert, striving to make lessons exciting and fulfilling for students while also watching for trouble spots in the classroom. Teachers end up with bad feet and aching backs from rarely sitting down. They have to control their bladders until they have a few minutes to race to the bathroom. There is no time for daydreaming or taking an unscheduled break. Every minute of every single day is focused on their work. Even lunch time can be divided between eating and monitoring students in the cafeteria. Thirty minute lunches are the general rule, so there is no time to get away to a restaurant and just chill for a time. 

After school teachers monitor students as they get on buses, ride or walk home. Sometimes they have duties like watching the kids assigned to detention. Other times they sponsor clubs or coach athletic teams. There are department meetings and inservice presentations. Most teachers hold tutoring sessions in the morning and afternoon. While the students may leave at three, teachers will still be at work until five in the evening and sometimes even later on special occasions. Most days they carry home bags of papers to grade and lessons to plan. It will be late in the evening before they finally crawl into bed exhausted and sometimes worried about their students’ progress or behavior. Even sleep is not always restful for them. 

The end of the school year may free the students for the summer but teachers remain on duty to tie up loose ends, tidy their classrooms, turn in final grades. Many will return within days to teach summer school, others will be taking mandatory classes to keep their certifications or to learn the latest pedagogical methods. It will be the end of June before they finally have vacation time and even then the best among them begin planning for the coming year while at home. Some even take vacations to places where they will be able to gather information and items for use in their future lessons. 

When August comes they are back on the job, preparing for the new students to arrive. There is no such thing as a three month vacation for teachers. They myths of how little they actually work are totally false. In fact, I have calculated that they work more hours per calendar year than people in most any other profession than perhaps doctors and nurses and some zealous souls who are passionate about their work. For all of their efforts they have almost always been underpaid and under appreciated and yet they return again and again because they truly believe in the importance of what they are doing. 

There was a time when teachers from other countries came to visit the school where I served as the Dean of Faculty. These individuals were from nations often praised for their schools. When I asked them how we might rise to the level of excellence that they had achieved they told me that we already had. The difference that they saw was in how our nation appreciates the teachers. They told me that in their countries teachers are revered and compensated fairly for the amount of work that they do. They noted with a bit of sadness that Americans don’t seem to realize what wonderful things are happening in our schools. Many Americans seem to take for granted that teaching is a job for people unable to do anything else. 

I don’t know how we might convince our citizens that our teachers are the very backbone of society. They are the foundation of our progress. They fuel our industries and businesses with educated workers. They improve our economy by preparing the innovators of the future. Somehow only our universities get the credit for doing all the good work when they are only the endpoint. It is a travesty that from preschool through high school teachers are not lauded as much as they should be. Perhaps one day we will finally figure out that they are the foundation of society.