All It Takes Is A Little Love

I was never able to talk with my grandmother, Mary Ulrich. She spoke only Slovak and I spoke only English. She called everyone either “pretty girl” or” pretty boy.” The rest of the time she simply padded around her home in her bare feet offering weak coffee loaded with sugar and milk to any visitors who came. Sometimes she set a loaf of dark rye bread on her dining room table as a snack to go with the coffee. Mostly she sat in her chair in the corner of the living room surveying her good fortune in having a huge family that loved her as much as she loved them. 

Mary Ulrich came to America from the Slovakian region of Austria Hungary around 1913. She traveled alone on a small steamboat and stepped onto American soil in Galveston, Texas where her husband, Paul, was waiting to meet her. They would both work a number of jobs until they had saved enough to purchase a plot of land near downtown Houston, Texas where they would build a tiny house, room by room. 

My Aunt Valeria who was Mary’s third child has told her children that my grandmother first worked as a cook on a farm where my grandfather labored. Later she found work as a cleaning lady in one of the downtown Houston buildings. Her boss sexually harassed her and when she told my grandfather he insisted that she quit. Later she worked in a bakery located near her home on North Adams Street in east Houston. 

The children kept coming for Mary. She birthed ten of them by 1926. Two of them died in infancy. Caring for the family became Mary’s full time job and if she had ever spoken any English she lost that ability as she became more and more isolated in her house. Her focus turned to caring for her family and that meant a daily routine of cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and tending her garden. It must have been quite a chore with four boys and four girls squeezed into a tiny house no bigger than about nine hundred square feet. 

My grandfather worked at a meat packing plant doing hard labor. He never once missed a day of work and he frugally managed to feed his family on a very low salary. His dream was to one day own a farm and by scrimping and saving he hoped to eventually achieve that goal but just shy of his sixty fifth birthday he died leaving my grandmother widowed and without the skills or resume to work to support herself. Luckily her children shouldered that responsibility without complaint and by then President Franklin Roosevelt had introduced the Social Security program. 

Mary lived in her home repeating her daily routines until she died in her eighties. I was married with young children of my own by then. I so wanted to talk with her but language was a barrier that neither of us were able to overcome. I only knew of her and I sensed the essence of her character. I do not know if she was able to read or write. I know nothing about her family back in Slovakia. I wonder to this very day what kind of thoughts she had. I only know how much I loved her gentleness and the simplicity of her unconditional love. 

I often see memes from people insisting that everyone in America should learn and use English or go back to the places from which they came. There is a commonly held belief that a person is not really a good citizen unless he or she adopts a particular American culture. I’m sometimes asked if I am willing to agree to forcing people who come here to adopt a certain standardized way of doing things. I think of my grandmother Mary whenever I hear such ridiculous ideas. I realize that if we had indeed insisted on compelling every person who ever came to our shores to become just like the so called majority of us in thought, customs and language my grandmother would have been considered destructive when she was just a sweet lady who never had the time or the inclination to learn English or assimilate into a national culture. 

Over time my grandmother’s children, grandchildren and great great grandchildren became indistinguishable from the rest of Americans. Our English is impeccable and most of us are highly educated. The women work as nurses, teachers, doctors, public health administrators, accountants and such. We have adapted rather nicely to American life just as the descendants of most immigrants do. That process begins from the moment that a citizen from a foreign land first steps into our country. It is an inevitable transformation but it need not be forced and it should not include erasing the culture of the past. We may not call ourselves Italian Americans or German Americans but we value the contributions and customs of our ancestors in making us who we are today. Why would we deny that to our newest immigrants who, like my grandmother, do their best to adapt to a whole new world? It is ridiculous for us to fear or disdain individuals or groups attempting to adjust to a way of life unlike the ones from which they have come. 

Our nation is built on the stories of millions of Marys who came here from all over the world to create new lives. Even the Puritans who arrived on the Mayflower were immigrants seeking refuge from religious persecution and laws that forced them to conform to a particular way of life or be exiled or even jailed. How ironic that today there are those among us who insist on imposing their wills on others. 

America has not always welcomed immigrants of any sort. We have often been especially suspicious of those who look different from ourselves. If history has taught us anything it should be that we grow stronger and more vibrant from the mix of cultures that make up our population. We should celebrate our differences, not attempt to eliminate them. 

Perhaps Mary’s life would have been easier if her neighbors had sought to welcome and help her rather than shunning her and whispering about how she and her children had somehow devalued the neighborhood. I much prefer the environment of my own cul-de-sac where whites, Vietnamese, Blacks and even lesbian families live in harmony and cooperation. Everyone should try it. It is a beautiful thing.

This has been a singular moment in American history. Never before has a presidential winner received so many popular votes. Never before has the defeated candidate received so many votes. The race was tight but fairly won. The American people have spoken in the most awesome tradition of how our system of government works. 

I celebrate because my candidate was victorious, but also because I believe in the deepest part of my soul that the United States of America won. I voted for character and decency because I am a mother and an educator. I know that our children are always watching and Donald Trump has been the worst role model that has ever before been supported by a considerable portion of the electorate. I do not care about my 401K or my personal finances as much as I worry about the messages that this vile man has been sending our young. He has incited divisions and fear in our society that threaten the very foundations of our country. He does not appear to actually care about our nation as much as he cares about himself. 

I have witnessed my Black friends fearing for their children under Trump’s presidency. I have watched the horrors endured by immigrants that even included separation from their children. I have heard the fear of my gay and lesbian friends as they worried that their hard gained rights might be pushed back into the darkness and misunderstanding of the past. I have seen how much more difficult the lives of Muslims have become during this administration. I have cringed at the number of times that Trump has called women with whom he disagrees with words like nasty, monsters, liars, and a host of other epithets that I do not wish to repeat. I have become angry at the ways in which Trump has manipulated the good and profound beliefs of Christians for his own benefits, pretending to be a man of God when every shred of evidence proves otherwise. I have shuddered at the lies, ignorance and fear tactics that he used to convince his followers that without him they will be doomed. 

The task ahead is very difficult. While Joe Biden insists that he will be a president for all Americans I sense that there will be many who reject his efforts to bind our wounds and bring us closer together. President Trump will no doubt spend the next many years spreading his gospel of fear and hate. It does not appear that he will go quietly as all other former presidents have done. It is unlikely that he will spend his post presidential years doing good works like Jimmy Carter. Those who know him well tell us that he is a one trick pony who is too old to change. 

It is important that we all strive to bring decency, decorum, cooperation, compassion back into our national life. We must demonstrate to our young that winning should be less of a goal than living a good and purposeful life. It is time that we once again embrace our differences as a strength of our nation, not something to be spurned. Our common goal should be to promote justice in every corner of the country. We can protect individual freedoms without smashing those of others. 

This is not a time for gloating. That is something that Donald Trump likes to do and we need to stop that. The people have spoken, but clearly the winning majority was slim. Joe Biden knows that and hopes to invite those who are disappointed into the huge tent that he sees as representing America. Those of us whose votes led to victory must demonstrate the character that we have wanted to see in our highest leaders. It would be a terrible thing if we descended into a war of maliciousness even as we claim to want to return to decorum and respect.

I deeply love this country, not just my version of it, but the whole glorious messy thing. We are a millions strong family. The world has mostly viewed us as people with good hearts, but of late that has been less obvious in some among us. It’s time we resoundingly reject hate and instead celebrate the remarkable diversity that brings so much vibrance and inventiveness into our lives. It’s time we honored one another by doing whatever it takes to defeat Covid-19 regardless of the sacrifices that we must make. It’s time we learned to actually listen to one another rather than rehearsing our debating points while someone is speaking. It’s time we ask ourselves how we want our children to see us.

As a woman I am thrilled that we will have the first female Vice President, a woman of Black and Asian heritage. This is historic and great and no doubt exactly what some of our Founding Fathers hoped would one day happen. I can almost see John Adams giving Abigail and little wink and saying, “See, they remembered the ladies.” I imagine John Lewis doing a little dance in heaven and enjoying that his freedom fighting days have led to this moment. This is a very good time. Our system has worked exactly as it was designed to do. 

Anyone who has known me for some time has probably been shocked by my outspoken commentaries during the most recent election. I was always an exceedingly timid girl who liked the idea of hiding in the shadows during my youth. I was not someone who dared to rock the boat or take risks. Then one day something happened in one of my classes that forever changed me. Most people who were there probably do not even remember the incident but it had an enormous impact on me. 

I took German as one of my foreign languages. The teacher was loading us down with an inordinate amount of homework, but as was my habit I got it done each evening even if it meant staying up until two or three in the morning and then subsisting on only a few hours of sleep. On one particular day the teacher asked us to place our completed assignments on our desks so that he might collect them. As he walked down the aisle one student after another admitted that he/she had not done the work. The teacher was growing increasingly angry but I had already realized that I was in the midst of a kind of rebellion against the work overload under which we were being crushed. I looked around and saw that mine was the only paper on the desk just as the teacher noticed the same thing. With a triumphant grin he hurriedly walked to where I was sitting. As he stopped next to me I quietly removed the assignment and hid it inside the desk while saying, “I did not do it either.”

The teacher blew a gasket at this point. He literally went to the front of the classroom and announced that we obviously did not want to learn and so he was leaving. We sat for the whole period in silence waiting for him to return, which he never did. For several days we sat without a word, waiting for the teacher to begin a lesson. Sometimes he simply sat at his desk pretending that we were invisible and sometimes he just did not come. Eventually our lessons resumed without a word about what had happened but I felt a tinge of excitement in knowing that I indeed had the courage to stand up for what I believed to be right. I would resurrect that bravery from time to time but mostly I remained a quiet presence in the world.

In college I participated in peaceful civil rights marches but always blended into the crowd without voicing my feelings. I also protested the war in Vietnam and that seemed to be so senselessly taking the lives of young men that I knew. I was never particularly vocal about my forays into civil disobedience and I always left if there were signs of trouble.

Eventually my focus would be on more personal issues. I literally had to fight for my mother’s sanity over and over again. Our society does not take mental illness seriously and I was often alone in my efforts while my brothers were still in the process of becoming adults. It is difficult to find doctors and to get the support that those with diseases of the mind require. I had to learn to be assertive and to refuse to take no for an answer. 

Later I would become an advocate for my students. There was no child unworthy of my efforts no matter how damaged he or she appeared to be. I always believed in my husband’s credo that nobody can be a failure at the age of twenty. I pulled many a young person out of the trash heap of negative assumptions. I searched for the best in people who sometimes appeared to have only minimal merit. 

When I became a Dean of Faculty I worked hard to support the teachers. Many times they were unaware of the battles that I fought for them. I continued with my quiet approach to things. I saw no reason to make a public spectacle of my efforts. I did not want to detract from the wonderful work that the teachers were doing by shining a light on myself. 

So I grew old with a reputation of being rather meek and mostly willing to go with the flow. People liked me for that characteristic. Our society shies away from aggressive people, especially when they are women. I wrote my blogs mostly sticking to topics that made people feel happy. I tried to stay away from sensitive ideas, but then came the pandemic in the midst of an election year. The Black Lives Matter movement erupted again with the death of George Floyd. Our world seemed to be searching for a voice and I knew that I had to be that for my daughters, my grandchildren, the teachers with whom I had worked and both my former and present students. There were things that needed to be said publicly.

It was not easy. People questioned me and some even abandoned me. I suppose they were dismayed by what they saw as a dramatic change in my personality. They challenged my views and made attempts to convince me that I was wrong. I weathered the debates but stuck with my beliefs because I really felt that I was thinking of my country, preparing for a future which will no doubt be challenging. In the process I gained the respect of some and lost it from others. 

Recently my eldest daughter gave me the compliment of a lifetime by telling me that she was proud to call me her Mom. She said that I have stood on the right side of history in her mind. She was happy that I was willing to be vocal and persist in stating my views even when I was attacked, even when I knew that I was not really changing any minds. I am overjoyed in knowing that she understood why I was doing what I have done. 

There will be more battles before I one day die. Of that I am certain. I know that I have the grit that I need to be a warrior for what I think is just. While I respect those whose philosophies are different from mine I am happy in knowing that I have the strength to stand for something beyond myself. I have truly come of age. 

I have no idea how my system would react if I caught Covid-19. I don’t know if I would spread it to my husband. It may be that I am more precautious than I need to be. I may never know what would or would not have happened if I decided to throw caution to the wind and join my friends who meet regularly and take photos of themselves gathered together without masks. It’s possible that I am the silly one and they are right to just get out and live because they do all kinds of things that I would be reluctant to try and none of them ever get sick. Sometimes I suspect that they think my aversion to being risky is silly and a sign that I am more fearful of the virus than I should be. 

In truth there are so many unknowns about this virus that I have to rely on sources that I trust and those happen to be our doctors. I follow their guidance even when it is uncomfortable because I believe that they have my best interests at heart. They have nothing to gain by leading me astray and so if they instruct me to behave a particular way, I follow their advice. 

I went on a long but almost hermetically sealed journey to Colorado because my doctors conceded that we would be okay due to the many levels of precaution that we have been religiously taking. As planned all went well and we managed to enjoy time in nature without really contacting any people other than my brother and sister-in-law who had also quarantined and been relatively isolated for months. Ironically we pulled our trailer through Kansas to get to Colorado and I commented to my husband then that the people there did not appear to be taking the virus seriously so we avoided them like the plague. Shortly after we returned home there was a huge outbreak of Covid-19 in Kansas which did not surprise me at all. 

When my nephew got married recently I consulted with my doctors once again and this time they advised me not to go. It was a huge disappointment to me because I had purchased a special dress with a mask to match, but I stuck with my plan to continue to listen to my doctors rather than public opinion. My daughter and her family represented us at the gathering and sent me tons of pictures as the event was happening. It was not quite the same as being there but I still felt the joy and the love. 

As far as I know there was no one who attended the wedding who came down with Covid-19 but there was no way for me to be certain of that beforehand, so I chose caution over taking a risk. In fact that is what guides me during this time. I am personally rather healthy. I tend to be very tough and have not had many serious health issues in my lifetime but who really can be certain how Covid-19 will affect them? More importantly what might occur if I infect someone else? These are not issues to be taken lightly and since I have the luxury of staying home because I am retired I see no reason to play Russian roulette. The doctors have enough on their hands without adding me or someone that I infect to the mix. My more sequestered life is a small price to pay if even one person stays well because I have chosen to be more circumspect.

I am quite patient and optimistic about the future but I have always believed that each of us  has a role to play in making the world a better place. I have observed that in countries where people religiously adhere to certain standards of protection the virus has almost become a nonevent. When people are willing to wear masks, keep distances, curb unnecessary activities, trace the spread of the disease and submit to temporary lockdowns in specific areas where Covid-19 cases are growing, the rates of infection are far lower. Places like New Zealand and South Korea immediately enacted strict measures that have resulted in fewer cases and deaths than in similarly populated countries where there has been push back on any kind of restriction.

I am saddened that we appear to be entering another wave of illness. It means suffering and perhaps even death. I intend to do my part by playing it safe. I have no guarantee that I will not be touched by Covid-19 but at least I know that I am doing my best not to tempt fate. I know for certain that my daughters would be greatly disappointed in me were I to ignore the directives from those who know the most about this disease and take unnecessary chances. They have worked hard to keep me and their father safe which has meant sacrifice on all of our parts. 

I do not begrudge those who disagree with my way of thinking. In the end they may actually be proven to have been right in simply living in spite of Covid-19. So far they appear to be doing quite well and I hope more than anything that they stay that way. If this all just miraculously goes away I will rejoice with them. For now I feel about my caution the same way I feel about purchasing insurance. I want to be careful and so I buy it, but I would rather not ever have to use it. Thus my self confinement will continue until my doctors give me the green light to rush full force back into the world. My insurance will stay in place.

I was a young woman in my early twenties when my husband Mike and I arrived at 8519 Anacortes Street in Houston, Texas. I had two little girls and many hopes and dreams for myself and my family as we moved our belongings from an apartment to our first home, a sweet nineteen fifties house on a huge tree filled lot at the end of the street. Even as we were still carrying our things inside we met our neighbors, most of whom were a bit older than I was with children who were in middle school and high school. I was literally the new kid on the block and the ladies who lived on either side of me would become my mentors, my fonts of wisdom and my very dear friends. 

Once I had unpacked my worldly goods and created a livable environment inside the house I noticed that the ladies who lived on either side of me, Carol Hall and Betty Turner, would gather under the shade of the trees each afternoon to sit together relaxing for a time on their lawn chairs. Both ladies had large very active families that they headed with such skill and grace. I was already admiring them from afar and so one afternoon when I saw them lounging in their usual spot I gathered a chair of my own and joined them. To my delight they enthusiastically welcomed me to their little circle, a spot that I would grow to treasure. 

Both of the women were sweet and kind and filled with a kind of folk wisdom that I needed as I nervously guided my own family from toddler days to teen times to young adults. I literally grew up in their care like a little sister always wanting to tag along and one day be just like them. Betty was always the calm optimistic anchor of our little group. She had a ready smile that was so genuine that it lit up even the darkest days. There was a twinkle in her eye and just enough mischief in her laugh to set me aright whenever I got a bit too serious about life. Her folksy wisdom and generous heart made her a favorite in our neighborhood. Virtually everyone had a story of how Betty had become like a mother or grandmother to them. Kids who were not her own called her MawMaw and everyone loved her just as she had loved them. 

Betty was one of the most talented people I have ever known. Her culinary skills were legendary and with her bigger than life personality I always thought that she would have been a star if she had hosted her own cooking show. She made baking and preparing a feast for a huge crowd look easy and she had an eye for recipes that were mouth watering. Anytime she served a ham she would save the bone for me because she knew that I liked flavoring dried beans with the leftover scraps. On special occasions she would send over a cake or a batch of cookies, delights that we devoured all to quickly.

Betty’s five children grew and left home to begin their own adult lives but they often gathered together in their former home with their spouses and their children who became like extended family to me. I knew that I might knock at Betty’s door any time of the day or night and be welcomed with open arms. There was no problem of mine that Betty was not willing to help solve even as she cared for an aging mother and a husband with multiple health issues. Somehow Betty seemed to be blessed with boundless energy and a joy for life that was unflagging. 

After almost thirty five years Mike and I decided to move from the home where we had raised our children and celebrated every major milestone of our lives. I announced our intention to leave our little nest with a somewhat heavy heart because I really could not imagine what it would be like to no longer have the luxury of sitting with Betty and Carol under the trees. I wondered who would keep me sane and laughing the way Betty always did. 

The next fifteen years seemed to fly past at warp speed. I was busy being a Dean of Faculty at the school where I worked and I was now the one with married children and grandchildren who kept me happily busy. My mother came to live with me just as Betty’s had done with her. Whenever I became frustrated with all of my responsibilities I thought of Betty and the calmness that always seemed to emanate from her. I saw her smile and heard her laugh and followed her example. 

Eventually I retired from work. By then Betty’s husband had died as had Carol. Betty moved from Anacortes Street to east Texas. I sent her Christmas cards, talked with her on the phone now and again and followed her on Facebook. Eventually Mike and I would camp in our trailer near her home and get to visit her in person. We would sit with her for half a day laughing and munching on goodies that she had made. 

Somehow I never wanted to leave Betty’s presence because each time we visited I left feeling calm and so loved. After my mother died Betty even told me that she would now be my mother. I should have told her that in many ways she had been playing that role unofficially throughout my adult journey. Her impact on me was immeasurable.

Mike and I had planned to visit Betty again last spring. Covid-19 came and our plans had to change. I hoped that the danger of the pandemic would pass and we would once again be sitting around her dining table admiring the crafts she had made, listening to her stories and just enjoying being with her. Sadly Betty was diagnosed with advanced cancer several weeks ago and life was upended for her and her family and everyone who knew her. She died last week feeling closer than ever to God and knowing that her pain would soon be over and she would be in the arms of her Lord and savior. 

A world without Betty Turner in it is hard to imagine. She gave so freely and so lovingly to every single person who came her way. She made each of us feel special. She provided the best advice without ever being preachy. She was the essence of joy. I will miss her but she is forever in my heart. My tears are filled with happy memories that will never fade. I smile as I think of her. 

Enjoy your time with God, Betty. Say hello to Carol and Dave and all the folks who are no doubt celebrating with you under a big shade tree. You have earned a very special place in heaven. You were always my angel on earth and now I ask that you save a spot for me until I get to join you again one day.