All It Takes Is A Little Love

I recently spent some time in the Texas Hill Country watching my granddogs. I had an incredibly peaceful time just sitting with the pups who are both very well behaved collies. They were little or no trouble and so I had many hours of quiet and relaxation. Taking care of sweet puppies is so much easier that keeping things going for humans. There was no laundry to do, no meals to cook, no housework or errands to keep me rushing around. It was just me and my two companions who asked for little or nothing and seemed more engaged in taking care of me than I had to do to make sure they were okay. 

It was incredibly hot so I did most of my meditating and gazing at the lovely world around me from the window of the house. I watched deer walking leisurely along the front lawn. I saw hawks soaring overhead. I had fun “talking” back and forth with an owl who seemed to enjoy my attempts at sounding like him when I was sitting on the back porch while the dogs exercised in the yard. I reveled in the silence that felt like being in heaven. My body and my mind were uplifted by feeling as one with the nature that was all around me. I found a kind of peace that had been eluding me for some time. 

I might have read the book that I had brought to occupy my hours but somehow I found myself preferring to just be part of the scenery while silently watching the butterflies and the bees and marveling at how wonderful our earth can be without the distractions that are so much a part of daily life. I wondered if my grandparents had enjoyed the same kind of contentment when they were children living far away from the hustle and bustle of city life. Of course I did have air conditioning to keep me from sweltering in the summer heat. I found food and drink in the refrigerator and I used the lights at night to make my way around the house. I had to admit that there are some things that most of us modern day folk would be loathe to give up.

One of my favorite past times was sitting outside staring at the stars. There were so many of them that they took my breath away. They were brighter and seemed closer thanat my home. I was reminded of camping trips that I took with my family to places like Montana where it felt as though we were the only people on earth along with the animals that walked through our campsite without fear. We saw moose and deer and eagles and hoped that we would not encounter bears. We cooked on a campfire and slept on the floor of a tent big enough for the four of us. Those were some of the happiest times of our lives when we did not imagine growing older and encountering problems that had never crossed our minds. 

These days my joints remind me constantly that I am aging. I feel the pangs of arthritis that my grandmother used to call her “rhumatis.” If I were to lie down on the floor of a tent I’m not sure that I would be able to get upright again without some assistance. I dislike how my body is slowly losing its resilience but at least my mind appears to still be be going strong. My foray into nature with the dogs provided me with much needed contentment that chased away my worries even if only for a time. It was good to take a breath and just enjoy the simple aspects of living. 

I remember thinking that my grandmother was ancient when she was my age. She was a tiny thing with wrinkles defining her face. She had a set of false teeth that she kept in a jar at night. I recall being frightened the first time that I saw them. She was a feisty woman who even as she grew older appeared to be unafraid of anyone or anything. I once thought her life had always been simple but when I became an adult i realized how many challenges she had endured. 

Grandma lost her first husband in 1918. I always wondered if he may have had the Spanish flu, He was young and so was Grandma. Now I feel certain that it was difficult to watch him die at an age when he should have had more time. Ironically she never spoke of him and I never thought to ask about him. When she was eighty years old my father died and I remember her insisting that losing parents and a spouse were difficult but losing a son was horrific. I never truly understood what she meant until I gew older and thought about how unimaginable it would be to lose one of my children. Now I am looking like and feeling more and more like my grandmother and better understanding what an amazing woman she was. In the quiet of my dog sitting stay I have felt incredibly close to her. 

I think I should come this way again the next time that I feel a bit frazzled from the daily grind. It is rather healing just blending into the scenery and watching nature spin its magic. I recommend such a time for anyone who needs a respite from the world. 

The tress are about to show us how lovely it is to let go. —Unknown

I suppose that I have mostly held my emotions at bay for most of my life. It is not as though they do not exist. It is only that I have tried not to show them. I have a strong tendency to keep them close to my chest. I somehow believed from the time that my father died that I had to be a good daughter, a stoic who simply went with the flow of life no matter what happened. I felt compelled to take care of my mother who was shattered when my father died and I felt responsible for my brothers who were so young and innocent.

Some people think of me as a rock because I have always been available in times of need. I am one of those people who rises to the occasion when others are hurting. I am always ready to console, to listen, to care for anyone who is in need of a solace. Sadly, I never learned how to allow my own emotions to surface and while I seem to have done well masking them I found myself feeling more and more anxious, more and more on the verge of exploding as I grew older. 

I suspect that it has been unhealthy for me to keep my worries and concerns to myself. I am as human as anyone and if the truth be told I was shattered when my father died but I learned how to climb a tree and talk to the air when I was feeling especially upset. When my mother first showed signs of her mental illness I would drive around in my car sobbing and cursing whatever was causing her to suffer once again. Sometimes I would drive to a quiet spot like a park and let my feelings out like a mad woman. I wonder how many people I frightened when I did such things. Someone must have wondered who the strange woman screaming at the heavens might have been. 

It was not until a few years ago that I finally learned how to allow myself to grieve and emote in public. Sharon, a dear friend, had died and I gathered with others who loved her as much as I did. Ironically she had been a gifted counselor and was one of the few people who had seen through my facade of courage. She had urged me to learn how to let go of my true feelings. She and I had talked so easily about topics that were difficult for me to discuss with others and suddenly she was gone. 

The other ladies were weeping openly and expressing their feelings while I sat dry eyed  with a bomb going off inside my chest. All of the angst in my heart was roiling inside, trying to get out and yet I was unable to allow it to seep beyond my inner self. It hurt physically to be that way and it was only after I left the gathering that I became the woman crying in her car once again. I suppose that in that moment I knew that covering my emotions was not only wrong but was harmful. Somehow I heard my Sharon’s voice urging me to let go, to be a genuine version of myself. 

I am still working on becoming the person she counseled me to be but I am doing better. I no longer have to express my thoughts with only my writing. I am speaking out a bit more and more each day. The only problem that I have encountered is that some people feel uncomfortable with the new me who is sometimes bluntly truthful about feelings that sometimes sound ugly to them. They try to convince me to cheer up, to be my old strong self. While I understand why they would be that way I want to be free to be the real me. I have learned rather belatedly that those who truly care about me will not turn on me if I become human. I don’t have to be calm and cool and collected all of the time. I now have moments when I let people know that I am not doing well and why that is so. I let the tears come from my eyes in the company of others. It is such a wonderful feeling to be truly authentic. 

My daughters allow me to vent just as I do with them. We don’t force each other to agree on all things. We live and let live in a continual state of love. We can be angry or happy or sad with each other in ways that are healing. Now I am learning that it is okay to be that way with others. In many regards I think that people are more comfortable with me when I am not a robot operating without emotion. They see that I too have feet of clay and moments when life becomes too much. 

I realize now that the people that I have most admired are the ones who were always honest with the world about how they were feeling I suppose that I secretly longed to be like them. Now, like my gone too soon friend, Sharon, they advise me on the joys of being exactly who I am. Like the trees I have reached the autumn of my life and I see how lovely it is to let go. 

The National Assessment of Education Progress scores came out recently and showed that student assessments in science, reading and mathematics had dropped by three points from the previous year. In fact, scores are ten points lower than when the test was first administered in 1969. The questions about what is causing this are swirling and while I can’t make too many comments without studying all of the data over time, I have a few ideas.

I graduated from high school in 1966, so I have a fairly good understanding about what different subjects were like back in that time. I went to a private school and took all advanced classes. Nonetheless Pre-Advanced Placement and Advanced Placement studies were yet to come for students. Back then most high schools offered Algebra I in the ninth grade even for gifted math students. That course was followed by Geometry, Algebra II and an amalgam of Trigonometry and Pre-Calculus. Regular students only needed three years of mathematics and they were done. Many students who struggled in math first took a course called the Money of Math, fondly known as MOM. and then continued with Algebra I and Geometry. 

Over time most states adopted a requirement of four years of mathematics in high school beginning with Algebra I. Advanced students often took Algebra I in the eight grade and began their high school years with Geometry. Highly exceptional students sometimes took Algebra I in the seventh grade and Geometry in the eighth grade but they were definitely outliers. 

The top math students would learn Geometry, Algebra I, Pre-Calculus and Calculus A/B in high school. The most exceptional students would advance through Algebra II, Pre-Calculus, Calculus, A/B and Calculus B/C. All other students would take Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II, and either Pre-Calculus or some kind of hybrid class that was less difficult than Pre-Calculus. 

The faster pace worked well for the top students but often became a stumbling block for those who were unprepared. The general pacing for learning new knowledge and skills was faster for everyone than it had at one time been. Students went from one concept to another at a rapid pace that often felt like sprinting through a marathon. It became more and more difficult to keep reviewing what had already been presented to insure that students kept that information readily intact. 

Then came nationwide interruptions like Covid when many students spent months or even entire years learning remotely. This lead to more and more use of computer generated homework and tests where students either chose answer from multiple choices or simply posted an answer without the work that was needed to arrive at the solution. It was difficult for teachers to know student strengths and weaknesses without watching them process the information in a classroom. Of course gaps began to form, sometimes even with the best of the best. 

I have been doing a great deal of math tutoring of late and I have noted schools’ continued reliance on computer generated practice and testing. More often than not the teacher never sees the the students’ work which is critical in determining why mistakes are happening. A wrong answer might come from dozens of places like copying the problem incorrectly or making an addition error in one of the steps or even not having a clue about what to do. Students are sometimes simply guessing rather than putting in the labor to get an answer. The ones I work with seem not to understand that there are ways of checking answers and understanding when a computation is way off from where it should be. Such things were the meat of the past with teachers like me insisting on seeing all of the work and then pouring over the calculations line line by line to determine what is missing in each student’s understanding. 

I was trained to look back at previous standardized tests that my students had taken looking for patterns. I would find students who had not mastered division or had to rely on counting their fingers to multiply. I saw those who did not understand the relationships between decimal, fractions and percents. I had to clear up those difficulties while also presenting new material. I had to do my best to make the processes make sense for them. I even sometimes gave them a problem with an answer that was wrong and had them study the student’s work to determine where the errors were. 

I spent five nights a week pouring over every aspect of my students’ work. I created reviews constantly and tried to show them why processes worked. I wonder if enough of that kind of thing is being done right now. I also worry that we are moving our less capable students too quickly. Just as with babies learning to walk we humans progress through learning at differing paces. Our one size fits all approach that is demanded by state tests is forcing kids to move on before they truly understand mathematical material. Once they are discouraged the gaps only grow. It’s fine to challenge someone but when they are not quite ready we have to show them how slow and steady will also win the race. 

It would be easy to blame lower scores on lazy students or bad teaching but the journey through mathematics is much more complex than that and simply judging the whole system by a yearly number is not enough. We have to ask ourselves if we are pushing curriculum to boast or if we are tailoring what we teach to the individual needs of our students. I have learned that taking the time to build confidence by showing students exactly where their problems lie and then fixing those areas leads to enthusiasm in math that might otherwise have ended in defeat and fear. Let’s start using those tests and those scores as a way to understand each and every student rather than ranking them and making them believe that they are flawed. When we get to the heart of the matter we avoid creating adults who forever hate the very idea of math. 

I think that all of us have endured times when we had to move beyond tragedies and major challenges. We woke up, dressed up, showed up and refused to give up. Watching people keep going when the going is tough beyond all imagination always inspires me, but it also brings out my compassion for them. 

My mother was a world class expert at pushing herself to overcome difficulties . She got knocked down so many times the it would be impossible to recount all of her setbacks. She lost a fiancee during World War II then lost my father when she was only thirty years old. She had three children under the age of nine to feed and raise and protect without any kind of income. Somehow she found her footing and her make believe “money tree” that kept our family going.

Just when all seemed to be falling into place for my mom she had a breakdown that would be devastating to see. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and would spend the next forty years of her life yo-yoing back and forth between health and mental illness. Though it all she managed to buy and pay for two houses, earn a college degree, get me and my brothers safely to adulthood, and maintain an optimism that belied all of the difficulties she had endured. 

Of course my Mama is my role model when it comes to overcoming hard times but I have witnessed unbelievable courage from work colleagues and friends as well. Just recently a young mother that I know was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her journey to health involved surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation. She was sick for over six months but still managed to show up for work on most days. Given that she was also a great mom to her three young children I found myself in unadulterated awe of her courage. The good news is that she is now cancer free and enjoying life with new found gusto. 

There is also the man whose son was killed in a road rage incident after a baseball game. What was supposed to be a fun evening turned into horror and he has struggled with his new reality quite openly in the hopes of using his story to help others to deal with restarting life after the death of a child. He has taught me so much about how to approach someone whose loved one has died from violence. I have learned how to face and discuss the reality of such situations with greater understanding. I no longer talk about speaking of how I have been blessed for my good fortune because he has made me aware that doing so insinuates that God took care of me but was not willing to take care of his son. I am much more careful with my words and much more willing to just let a person seethe when dealing with the unspeakable. 

I have yet another friend who spent years caring for her husband who was afflicted with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. There were days when I could not imagine how she came to work and managed to keep her sorrows out of performing her duties. Those years alone would have branded her a saint in my eyes but there was more unexpected difficulty to come. After her husband died at a young age she found new love with a man that she had known in high school. The two of them had both lost their spouses prematurely. At first they were just good friends comforting each other, but before long they realized how wonderful it felt together. They began a new life that brought them much joy. Unfortunately he has been recently diagnosed with some very scary illnesses and once again my friend is navigating between caring for him and moving forward from day to day. Somehow she still has the optimism that took her through her previous tragedy. We are all cheering for her and for a full recovery for her husband. Somehow it seems only right that she should not have to lose the one she loves again.

Then there is a cousin of mine who has now been diagnosed with brain cancer twice and she is only in her forties. She has two youngsters in the sixth and fourth grades and her treatments have been mindbogglingly difficult. Nonetheless she has kept the children centered and happy as they begin a new year of school. It is beyond me how she keeps smiling and thinking only of her babies but she digs deeply and finds the fortitude she needs without complaint. 

We all know such people and hope that when it is our turn to face difficult times what we will have the courage and wherewithal to wake up, dress up, show up and refuse to give up. The best among us somehow show us how it’s done. Still, we might take time to remember them and acknowledge how wonderful we know them to be. I think they would like knowing that we admire them. When the going gets tough, the tough keep going but we should be walking alongside them on their journeys.

As a child I always felt completely safe even though my mother sometimes warned me of dangers that might not have seemed so bad to me. She preached caution constantly like not opening the door to strangers and never getting into a car with someone I did not know. She was so worried that she had to really know the members of a family before allowing me to go inside homes to play with friends. She was never a fan of having me spend the night away from home either. I suppose like most kids I found her concerns to be over the top. I tended to believe in the goodness of all people and never really understood why she was so restrictive with me. 

As an adult I began to learn of terrible things that happened to young children when nobody was looking. I soon enough realized that my mother’s cautionary warnings grew out of both love and the reality of the world in which we live. I suppose that mostly nothing really bad happened to me because I was afraid of getting into trouble if I disobeyed. I eventually saw her wisdom in keeping me somewhat sheltered from harm. Even in the few times that a difficult situation occurred I knew exactly how to handle myself because of her constant advice. 

We want to protect our youngsters and yet it is not always possible. They might go to school and be there when a shooter takes out his rage. They may be just having silly childish fun and end up frightening someone enough to shoot first and ask questions about what is really happening later. 

Even with all of my mother’s admonishments I played pranks just like most kids do. Back then the big thing was to make crank phone calls. We had so much fun pulling a joke on friends and even strangers. iI never occurred to us that our silliness might be taken seriously and end up with a heap of trouble. So it was with wrapping houses when my daughters were young. Not only did our place get swathed with rolls of toilet paper but my daughters often joined groups to play the same tricks on other friends. While my husband and I watched through the cracks of our blinds as kids decorated our trees and and our lawn some folks got rather angry. I know that one of my daughter’s friends, who was wonderful young man, once encountered an angry father who was ready to call the police when he caught him papering his property. 

I suppose that things have become even more iffy in today’s world when people have so many guns that they are ready to point and use if they suspect that they are in danger from an intruder. So it was in my town when a young boy was playing what they now call “ding dong ditch” with his friends on a weekend evening. The young man who was only eleven years old rang a doorbell and quickly ran away but the owner of the house was ready with his gun and shot the boy in the back as he darted from the house. Many lives have been ruined over this tragedy because not only is the boy dead but the man who shot him has been jailed for murder. 

I don’t know how this will ultimately play out but I learned some time ago to be careful about approaching a home late at night when the people inside were not expecting me. My husband and I had gone to visit his parents and went to the backdoor rather than the front to rouse his parents with a knock. Our surprise visit was greeted by his father who held a loaded and cocked pistol. Luckily my husband had the presence of mind to address his father before he pulled the trigger but everyone was rattled in the aftermath. It had been so dark that my father-in-law had no idea who was out there in the shadows of night. Needless to say we never again when to my in-law’s home without first warning them that we were on our way.

I know that kids will continue to pull pranks and that people inside homes will continue to be frightened when it is late at night. The potential for an innocent death is great in these times when people are more and more frightened and more and more armed. Back in my day folks often left their doors open until they retired for bed and even then windows were open to let in air because air conditioners were rare. I don’t think they were very fearful and all but times have changed.

The proliferation of fear and guns creates an accident waiting to happen so parents would do well to keep track of their children at all times, especially at night. I would warn young people not to go up to porches and doorways after a certain hour and never if they do not know the people inside. I hate to be a wet blanket limiting the antics that have been around since Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn but it is just too dangerous to be free range like kids once were. It’s sad but the reality of what might happen is very real.

I grieve for the parents of that young boy and for the family of the man whose trigger finger put him in jail. I suspect we will have many points of view regarding this horrific event but perhaps my mother was right in voicing some caution. As parents we have to educate and protect our young. If we teach them well perhaps they will be lucky enough to avoid a deadly encounter.