All It Takes Is A Little Love

I have been retired for quite some time, but not really. Within weeks of hanging up my teaching spurs I found myself feeling out of sorts and useless. I suppose that I am just not made to spend all of my days without direction. I missed the interaction with students that had been my lot for decades and found a way to fill that void by tutoring students in mathematics. Some of my charges were from a private high school. Others were my own grandchildren. I worked my leisurely schedule around time spent with young people attempting to master Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II and Pre-Calculus. I found purpose and joy in studying ways to demystify concepts and build confidence in those who needed a little bit more support. It became my hobby of sorts. 

One day I got a message from my niece whose neighbors were searching for someone to teach mathematics to their sons whose homeschooling in math had moved beyond their abilities. It was an opportunity that I had to seize and I haven’t looked back since. Over time those two young boys have grown and moved on to junior college, but I have continued my relationship with their families as their siblings grew to need my services as well. A few family friends also requested my services so this year I’m working with ten youngsters ranging from grade five to community college age. Because of them boredom has never been one of my companions. 

My husband and I did a great deal of traveling before my father-in-law moved in with us. We’ve put most of that on hold until we find a way to feel comfortable leaving him for a long period of time. I’d probably be feeling a bit confined by our new responsibility were it not for those wonderful students that I teach each week. On Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays I travel to their homes to help them to progress in the knowledge and skills of mathematics. On Thursdays and Fridays I grade their work and plan their lessons. It keeps my mind feeling very much alive and fills time that I might otherwise struggle to make useful. It makes me a better person in every regard. 

I have my guilty pleasures as well. I am a sucker for any kind of word game. In fact I begin each day attempting to discover the answer to Wordle. Sometimes in the afternoons I play Scrabble with the computer and in the evenings Wordscape is my go to game. It may sound funny, but these are my therapies whenever life pushes in on me a bit too much and I become anxious. Focusing my brain on solving word puzzles soothes the beast within me every single time. 

In between doing laundry, cooking and keeping the house in order I like to read. In fact I often read when I am exercising on my bike or walking on the treadmill. I find exercising to be boring and tedious even though I always feel better after I have completed a session. Reading an article or a good book makes the time that I spend go so much faster. It feels less like a punishment when I use my mind while also keeping my body in good working condition.

My favorite pastime used to be following my friends on Facebook. I liked staying in touch with them electronically. I wanted to know how they were doing and when Covid came around it was an avenue for making sure that everyone was okay. Over those long weeks of isolation I learned how to use Twitter as well and now I am a great fan who follows experts in education, medicine, politics and economics. I’ve even had the joy of getting comments from famous souls whom I have admired for decades. I have learned a great deal of useful information from my forays into the noisy world of social media, but it is also often one of the most frivolous things that I do all day. 

When I first retired I worried that I would soon be bored with my very slowed down life. For over forty years I had left for work before seven in the morning and returned just before dinner time. I spent every evening grading papers and planning lessons until I fell exhausted into bed. On weekends I had to clean my home, do laundry, and shop for groceries. Every minute of every day was filled and I became accustomed to never having time for frivolities. The thought of having a whole day before me without restrictions was horrifying when I finally came home to spend the rest of my life without the direction that work had always given me. 

I’ve found my footing, a way of living with continued purpose at a greatly scaled down pace. I’ve finally had time to write every single day and to visit leisurely with friends. I am able to care for my father-in-law and laugh with my students. When the weather is not too hot or too cold I tend to my garden and pamper my plants. I tweet on Twitter and celebrate life on Facebook. I relax with words, words and words. One day I will hit to road again and travel to places far and near. For now I am quite content in perhaps the most enjoyable phase of my life. I get to decide each day what I want to do, and sometimes I actually allow myself to relax. My chosen frivolities have kept me happy.

A cousin of mine sent me an article about a professor at NYU who had been fired after a group of his students signed a petition outlining complaints about his Organic Chemistry class. The professor had spent over forty years teaching at Princeton University and had even written a widely used Organic Chemistry textbook. He had revolutionized the methodology for working with students by emphasizing problem solving in the class rather than standard lectures. This required the students to ask and answer question and engage in critical thinking. 

The professor insisted that he had been observing a general decline in student engagement that increased during the months of remote learning prompted by the Covid epidemic. He furthermore attested that students were not coming regularly to class and that even those that did were often unprepared. He even bemoaned the fact that he had created a series of videos for the students to watch that many of them never bothered to view. The result was that  students were misreading exam questions and making scores as low as zeroes with almost one third of them failing the class.

The students who signed the petition insisted that they were putting a great deal of effort into learning the material for the class all to no avail. They claimed that the professor was condescending and even insulting at times. They complained that he did not make himself available for tutoring and that he discouraged questioning. In the end they believed that he was doing little to demystify the difficult coursework and that his attitude toward them was openly hostile. 

As a former teacher and a Dean of Faculty I was drawn to this scenario with great interest. I view teaching as an art form. A masterful educator is able to skillfully explain even the most difficult concepts while also challenging students. Engaging all of the students requires both mutual respect and a willingness of all parties to embrace high expectations. The best teachers and professors begin from a place of understanding and then gradually increase the level of difficulty until the majority of the stakeholders reach not just a place of comprehension, but the realization of successful accomplishment in a quest to learn something that is generally difficult.

Years ago I became enchanted by the story of a physics professor who made his lectures so understandable that students were flocking to his class even if they had no intention of majoring in the subject that he taught. His methodology was to use everyday demonstrations to actually show students how a particular concept worked. Once they understood what was happening the formulas and mathematics made perfect sense. He became known not only for his contributions to Physics, but also as an outstanding teacher.  

I am not privy to all of the information regarding this issue at NYU, so I am only able to suggest what may have been happening. In any classroom there are going to be students who work very hard and master concepts with or without a great teacher. There will also be those who arrive with lesser skills, knowledge and study habits. The wise teacher strikes a balance between these kind of disparate groups. Certainly the best and brightest deserve a pace that keeps them interested while the less prepared must never be left to simply sink or swim. A good teacher will reach out to every student with opportunities that encourage them to ask questions, seek extra help, stretch themselves a bit more each day. When everyone realizes that it is safe to admit to deficiencies most will usually take advantage of the encouragement that the teacher is offering.

I suspect from what I have read that this kind of teaching and learning was not happening in the particular Organic Chemistry class at NYU that resulted in student failure and the firing of a legendary professor. I would not expect the professor to coddle students by making the coursework easier, but I would ask him what he might have done to provide more support and encouragement for his students during the learning process. He needed to dialog with them about not just his expectations, but also the avenues by which they might receive the help they needed when they found themselves drowning. Humans are such that they will run from a situation that they perceive to be dangerous. They will also sometimes take advantage of those that do not hold them accountable. Somehow the communication between the students and the professor was tainted with neither side feeling comfortable about the other. 

I worked with award winning teachers who unpacked the mysteries of Chemistry, mathematics, and literature in ways that made it not only accessible but exciting for their students. Many young people became so inspired by the classes with these teachers that they changed the trajectory of their lives. Some found confidence and abilities in themselves that they did not know even existed. When everyone inside a classroom is actually enjoying the experience regardless of how much it is challenging them, miracles happen. 

I think the situation at NYU was quite unfortunate. I suspect that there were students who became overwhelmed by the class but were afraid to ask for help lest they be ridiculed. At the same time the hasty decision to fire the professor need not have happened if the Dean had taken the time to discuss ways that the professor might have been more encouraging to his students and thereby helped a few more over the hump. Everyone needed to learn and nobody really did. It was too easy to fail students and make assumptions about why they did so and it was also too easy to simply fire the professor while making assumptions about his work. I suspect that everybody lost in the haste to sweep the issues under the rug. Sadly the university ended up failing as well. This would make a great case study for educators everywhere to consider. Haste makes waste as the saying goes and this time it had very unfortunate results.

My mother never wanted us to worry about our financial position. She protected is from the reality of our economic situation that must have left her lying awake on most nights after my father had died. Somehow she managed to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table at every meal. We always had just enough to feel safe, but her best gift to us was love and the understanding that there was always a way to help those less fortunate than ourselves. 

I have always been observant and being so has sometimes cause me to worry about things. It did not take me long to realize that my mother had to be very creative to keep our family afloat. I often wondered how she remained so calm about her responsibility to me and my brothers with so few resources to reassure her. She would notice my concerns and boast that my anxiety was uncalled for because she had a money tree that provided her with funds whenever she needed them. 

I would smile when she told me such a tale, understanding that I needed to just take a deep breath and act as though I was not the least bit uneasy about our security. I did not want to add to the challenges that she faced, so I pretended that I believed that there was some magical source of gold at her fingertips. I tried to keep my requests for funds at a minimum because I knew how much she was sacrificing for me and my brothers. 

I suppose I grew up watching my sweet mother angling to keep our family fed and housed from one paycheck to another. My goal in life became to create more stability in my own finances as an adult. To that end I suppose that I have never stopped fretting over the thought of living on the edge of monetary doom either for myself, those I love, or the poor people of the world. I viscerally feel the desperation of those who are homeless or starving. If I had one incredible dream that I would want to come true, it would be to be wealthy enough to be able to help people so much more than I presently have the income to do.

I listen to NPR whenever I am driving alone. Right now I am particularly concerned about the people of Haiti who can’t seem to get a break from privation. I have shed tears over what is happening to the people of Ukraine. I hear of starvation in different parts of the world and I wish that there really were some kind of money tree like mother often boasted. I would rush to it with every intention of sending relief all around the world. I’d be investing in shelters for the homeless and food aid for places besieged by famine. As it is my meager donations seem to be too little to even make a dent. 

When my mother died I found evidence that even in her own state of poverty she had given five dollars here and ten dollars there to more causes than I was able to count. It was so like her to think of others before treating herself. She went without to provide for people whose situations were even more difficult than hers was. When I think of her sacrifice proportionately with regard to her income she was possibly one of the most generous people on earth. 

If every single person were to live and give as Mama did many of the world’s problems would be solved. We often gripe about ten dollars of the taxes we pay being sent to some person or group in need even as we spend that much on coffee drinks or snacks without hesitation. Therein lies the secret of my mother’s money tree. She found what she needed from what she had by changing her own budget. If I needed a new pair of shoes she would cook more beans, turn out lights at night, make fewer trips in the car. She saved a penny here and dollar there and suddenly the money she needed seemed to magically appear. The only sorcery was the generosity in her heart.

I hear so many people worrying and complaining, including myself. We would all do well to take some cues from Mama. She lived an extraordinary life that was filled with joy and optimism. People loved her because they saw her amazing resilience and thoughtfulness. As my mother-in-law once said of my mother, “She was the most extraordinary woman I have ever known.”

Some people judge others by success and accumulation of wealth. If that had been the yardstick my mother would have been a failure. Instead she modeled her life on more important goals like focusing on others more than herself. In that regard she surely should have been on a list of the most outstanding people of her time. 

I have so many resources at my fingertips because of my mother’s influence. I know how to survive and most of all how to sacrifice. I place more importance on the service of people than the accumulation of material things. I can be happy with dinner at a five star restaurant or a couple of ninety-nine cent tacos from Jack in the Box. A ride to the nearby beach is good as a European trip. Mama taught me to be happy and grateful for what I have and then to remember to share whatever I can. She taught me how to find the money tree to help those in need. Her gift to me was spectacular. 

In the beginning of our country, members of the thirteen colonies that formed the United States of America restricted voting to white males. All women, followers of certain religions, slaves and indentured servants, native Americans, anyone under twenty-one and anyone who did not own property could not vote. It took almost one hundred years before former male slaves obtained the right to vote, and more than a hundred years for women to receive that coveted privilege as well. Today anyone who is at least eighteen years of age and an American citizen may register to vote, but many do not take advantage of this incredible opportunity to make their voices heard. 

I was more than anxious to cast my first ballot and I have never failed to vote in every election since that time. I fully appreciate how fortunate I am to live in a country where I am allowed to select the men and women that I wish to represent me along with my fellow citizens. I am not always happy with the results, but I accept them. In a democracy there are many points of view. Nobody has all of the answers and each of us studies the issues and candidates and hopefully votes with all of the citizenry in mind. 

If all goes as planned the elected officials will be able to work together for the good of the people. Sometimes this requires compromise of the kind that our Founding Fathers used to craft a Constitution. Hopefully those who take office will be more inclined toward honoring and upholding our democratic principals than gaining power or stubbornly catering to a single group. When everyone remembers the need for integrity and honor we all win. 

Ours is a vast land filled with many different people with differing needs. Our forefathers understood the dangers of political parties that only showed deference to portions of the electorate. George Washington warned that no office holder should ever behave like a king. James Madison cautioned lawmakers to hold a firm line between church and state. Somehow the disparate men who crafted the first iteration of our Constitution realized that times and thinking would evolve and require new ways of doing things. Many of them hoped that slavery would one day be gone, that women would be allowed to vote, that progress would forge new ideas and laws. They knew all too well how confining an authoritarian government emanating from one man could be. They expected their imperfect efforts in forming a new kind of government to grow and change to suit the times. 

We find ourselves in a world so different from the one in which those men lived. In spite of the changing scope of government, the vastness of the land, the lessons we have learned somehow our nation’s core has held even as we have struggled to stay together. We have fought wars with each other both literally and figuratively and yet we are still here. At the moment our democracy has been battered and is fragile. Only our votes can hold it together. Our willingness to put the good of our democracy and Constitution before the momentary needs of personal issues like lower prices demands that we decide how to heal the wounds of our country that have turned us on our neighbors. This may indeed be one of the most significant elections in the history of our country and that means that we need the participation of every eligible person on election day. 

Our Founding Fathers risked being hung for treason to create a new nation unlike any other the world had seen. Surely each of us can take the time to go to the polls to choose our new leaders. There is nothing that we might do that is of more importance than exercising this right. Vote early or vote on election day. Encourage your friends and neighbors to vote. It is your civic duty. Don’t let our country down. 

We’ve just celebrated another Halloween. All of the little ghosts and goblins have walked from house to house sweetly asking for treats while their parents watched them from only a few feet away. The annual tradition of scary movies and dressing up in costumes has come and gone once again while the focus in many cultures and religions moves to All Saints Day, All Souls Day and the Day of the Dead. November first and second are important reminders of those who have died before us and a way of remembering them for the contributions that they gave to our world. These are the days of honoring the millions and millions of souls who once walked on the earth filled with many of the same dreams and concerns that all humans experience during a lifetime.  

As I write this I am also communicating via text with my twin grandsons who have now spent twenty years among us. I am recalling the glorious day when they were born. It was filled with so much excitement and inestimable amounts of joy. Loved ones who are now gone were present on that day to welcome the two beautiful baby boys into our family. Excitement was ever present as we waited for my daughter to give birth. My mother-in-law Mary was there as was my son-in-law’s father, Gary. My mother waited at home. As new lives came into our family circle we were not thinking that some of members of our family who celebrated with us might not still be around when the little ones became twenty year old men. Mary, Gary and my mother did not live long enough to see them reach their twenties.

Time passes and we take it for granted that everyone that we love will still be with us, even as we understand that none of us are immortal. The day will come to say goodbye just as surely as new births will continue to enhance the beautiful circle of life that enfolds us all. It is a lovely idea to pause each year to remember those who came before us, some of whom we never even had the chance to meet. They are as much a part of our story as those that we cherish in life. Many of them are only names on a family tree. Some are ciphers whose existence we know had to happen, but whose identity remains unknown. We feel a connection to them even as we may not have any idea who they were. 

I often gaze at my family tree and attempt to put faces and stories together. I want to remember and honor my ancestors. Some stand out more than others like my great grandmother Marion Rourke Mack for whom there is no information, a photo or even a date of birth. I only know that she died shortly after giving birth to my paternal grandfather. I think of her often and feel that I understand how horrible it must have been for her to realize that she would not live to watch her baby boy grow into a remarkable man. I do not know what the complications were that left her dying so soon, but I can imagine because when I gave birth to my first child I had difficulties that caused my doctor to mention that in another era I might have lost my life. I wonder if Marion and I were physically similar. Did I inherit her problem? Was I fortunate enough to live in a time of wonder for medicine that she did not enjoy?

I want to know more about my great grandparents who lived in Slovakia. I know their names and where they lived but little more. I wonder how they felt when their children, my grandparents sailed across the ocean to start a new life in the United States. Did they miss their son and their daughter? Did they know what a wonderful family would grow from their babies? Would they even think that one day someone in their line would wonder about them and try to imagine what they looked like and how they lived? 

I look at my family tree and I am able to go very far back into the history of how I came to be. I have a vivid imagination so I attempt to understand who these people were. I have walked through the battlefields of the Civil War where my great grandfather was present as a Union soldier. I have found myself wondering how he dealt with the horror of that war. I know from military records that it left him with physical ailments that never went away. Since he moved far from civilization after the war I tend to believe that he was done with violence and wanted to live out the rest of his life peacefully.

I go back to names from England, Normandy and Norway. I imagine them sailing across the English Channel or looking out into the North Sea. I wonder about the people who came to the new world just as my maternal grandparents would one day do at the dawn of the twentieth century. Who were these people? What drove them to be so adventurous? How did they look? How did they sound? What would they think of how things turned out?

I feel a kinship with these people whom I never met. The connection between us looms strong even as I have only questions about them. We are eternally linked by DNA but also by a spirit that traveled through the centuries. It is a lovely idea to pause each year to remember them and the gifts that they unknowingly handed down through the generations. I enjoy gazing at the branches of the tree on which their names and even unknown names sit attesting to their lives. Our common humanity is glorious and I hope that they somehow know how much I honor them. I always want to remember and honor the souls who came before us.