All It Takes Is A Little Love

I often wonder why adults seem to believe that they have to shelter children from truth. I suppose that I feel this way because I was confronted with great tragedies when I was five and then again at the age of eight. Each of these experiences was a bit different but both of them impacted my personality and sense of trust and safety. 

The first incident involved my Uncle Bob, my father’s best friend. I was in awe of my uncle. He was stunningly handsome and just as interesting and brilliant as my father was. The two men had attended high school together in Corpus Christi, Texas and then began studies at what was then called Texas A&M College. 

Uncle Bob majored in Geology, played on the tennis team, and climbed mountains searching for samples of rocks. My father focused on Mechanical Engineering and preferred hobbies like fishing, reading, and listening to music. When they were together they almost completed each other’s sentences the way only the best of friends are able to do. Our home was at its happiest when they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. 

Bob became my uncle after my parents contrived to play matchmaker between him and my mother’s sister Claudia. Together they were a stunningly beautiful couple. In fact a friend of mine once mistook them for movie stars when they came to visit. 

Neither my father nor Uncle Bob treated me like a clueless child. They taught me about adult topics by explaining concepts with examples that made sense to my childlike wonder. They introduced me to many topics and I adored both of them because of that. 

My memories of Uncle Bob are vivid but still those of a very young child. Because I loved him so I looked forward to his visits to our home when he and my aunt spent the night and then always took me on special outings. On one occasion I was so anxious for the promises of the day that I walked into their room as they were dressing for our planned adventure. I should not have been so bold but I felt incredibly comfortable with both of them. To my surprise I encountered Uncle Bob attaching a wooden leg to his upper thigh. It was such a stunning sight that I immediately gasped and turned to run out of the room. 

Uncle Bob gently called me back and asked me if I wanted to know why he needed a wooden leg. Of course I was curious, so I asked a flood of questions, each of which Uncle Bob calmly and honestly answered. By the end of the encounter I knew that he had a serious disease called cancer and that his leg was taken in an attempt to stop the cancer from moving to other parts of his body. He assured me that he was okay and feeling good about the future but he informed me that the cancer might return and if it did he and the doctors would work to defeat it again. He urged me not to worry but rather to do as he was doing, enjoying each day to the fullest. 

Uncle Bob did not make it. The return of his cancer was part of the reason that my mother and father sent me to the first grade when I was five. Our household was turned upside down by Uncle Bob’s situation. My parents whispered with my aunt and said little about what was really happening. They did not know that Uncle Bob had prepared me for this. I understood the consequences, so when he died I was able to grieve and remember the truths he had told me. I have never forgotten how wonderfully safe I felt because he had not tried to shelter me. To this very day I feel the comfort of his loving honesty. 

Three years later my father was killed suddenly in a car accident. That time none of the adults spoke to me about what had happened except for my Aunt Valeria who broke the news to me with grace and compassion. Much like Uncle Bob had done she honored me with truth. While I was crushed with sadness I needed to know what had happened. It would have done me no good to pretend that I was too young to grasp the enormity of how different my life was going to be. Somehow I reverted back to the discussion of death and how unafraid of it my Uncle Bob had been as my Aunt Valeria consoled me. 

I see so many adults attempting to keep children ignorant of difficulties. They assume that little ones can’t handle the truth. They don’t want anyone discussing slavery or mistreatment of Native Americans lest the youngster might feel a bit of guilt. They try to paint rosy pictures of life that do not include tragedies or any of the realities that we all will face at some point in our lives. I find such sheltering to be misplaced because I know that I would have been confused and distrustful if not for the truthfulness of both Uncle Bob and Aunt Valeria when I lost two of the most cherished and important people in my life. Theirs was a compassionate and truthful way of teaching me that tragedies are part of every person’s journey and it is okay to have difficult emotions but there will be better times ahead.

Children need to know these things. Done properly it will make them stronger and more secure. Give your children shelter by your honesty, not by pretending. They can see what is true and if nobody has explained what is going on they will be afraid. 

I was three years old when my brother, Michael, was born. I don’t know how it is possible but I do indeed have a vague memory of him as an infant. My family was living in a house on Kingsbury Street where my best friend was a beautiful dark haired girl named Merrily. I have a shadowy image of him coming home from the hospital with my mother and being frisked to the back room where he would stay until he was old enough to move to the third bedroom in the house that had been lovingly prepared for him.

The birth of my brother changed my world and I found myself spending more and more time with my father while my mother cared for the infant who seemed to come from nowhere into our midst. Mama spent a great deal of time behind the closed door of her bedroom where my new brother slept in a bassinet next to her bed. He was a quiet baby who hardly ever seemed to cry or make noise but I quickly surmised that he was somehow sick because the family doctor made house calls to our home now and again. I would later learn that he suffered from asthma and often had difficulty breathing. 

I suppose that I did not really pay much attention to Micheal during that time. He was a quiet little soul and mostly fell into the background of my life. His unobtrusive and steady demeanor would identify him for the rest of his life. I never felt any kind of sibling rivalry with him because he was simply a very pleasant little soul who sweetly went with the flow of our family in whatever direction we were going. 

Michael was a curious child who always seemed to be exploring the world around him to find out how things worked. Once he sat down right on top of an ant bed when he was no more than two years old later explaining that he wanted to see the critters in their home. The insects instantly attacked him and their stings must have intensely painful but he barely complained.

On another occasion he found a screw somewhere in the house and I witnessed him placing it up his nose. I ran hysterically to my mother who calmly inspected his nostrils and surmised that he was going to be fine, and he was. Still I worried that somehow the foreign object was lodged in his brain while my mother and our family doctor both assured me that he was going to be just fine.

Michael was the perfect person to anchor the family dynamics. As the middle child he was so complacent that there was no evidence of sibling rivalry even after my younger brother, Pat, came along. Michael was the calming force in our trio who was so loving that we rarely had any squabbles. He was logical and peace loving even as a child. 

My mother was quite intuitive, predicting when Michael was a toddler that he was brilliant. Three years old Michael walked around the house toting one of my father’s books written by Wernher von Braun who described a futuristic journey to the moon with illustrations that delighted my brother. He was always counting things and taking things apart to see how they were made. Lucky for him we had parents who encouraged his curiosity when he explored the world around him. I remember feeling quite proud of the little guy who was always deep in his thoughts. 

Michael would prove to be as brilliant as our mother and father had thought he was. Sadly he was only five when our Daddy died so he did not get the full understanding of how remarkable our father was in his own right. He relied on the books that Daddy left behind and had only vague memories of the man who read the comic strips to him from the daily newspaper. 

Michael graduated at the top of his Jones High School class and then attended Rice University where he earned a Master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. He was courted by several companies but excitedly gravitated toward working with NASA, fulfilling a childhood dream. He would spend his entire career writing programs for space travel, ending with computer innovations for the International Space Station. 

Along the way Micheal would prove to be a great partner in the care of our mother. He seemed to have a way of loving and communicating with her that was so special that the two of them were on a different spiritual plain than the rest of us. Even when Mama was in the throes of a terrible bipolar episode he remained the main influence in getting her the help that she needed. 

Michael is celebrating his birthday today. For seven decades he has unobtrusively impacted so many lives with his serene, composed and always loving personality. While I am the oldest child, he has always been the glue that keeps our team functioning without rancor. His goodness binds us together in love without bounds. To this very day he brings calm to me and our younger brother. 

There was a time when we were all three still children with a single parent mom. January was usually quite cold and somewhat dreary back then. Christmas was over and most people were weary of celebrating. Michael’s birthday was always a simple affair but he was satisfied with even the smallest efforts to wish him well. One of his favorite treats was to receive a gift of Fig Newton cookies. Somehow that was more than enough for him, proving once again just how easy and wonderful it has always been to be around him. Now I get excited on his birthday with the realization of how blessed we all have been to have him in our lives. He is a most extraordinary middle child.

There are times when the words I seek are so much less than words that already exist. Today was one of those days. I stumbled upon this poem by Maya Angelou and kept thinking about how to incorporate it into one of my blogs. Somehow attempting to overlay my ideas with her brilliance seemed to be a desecration, so herewith is the poem alone for you to ponder. I hope it enriches your day the way it did for me.

“Continue” a poem by Maya Angelou

My wish for you

Is that you continue

Continue

To be who and how you are

To astonish a mean world

With your acts of kindness

Continue

To allow humor to lighten the burden

Of your tender hear

Continue

In a society dark with cruelty

To let the people hear the grandeur

Of God in the peals of your laughter

Continue

To let your eloquence

Elevate the people to heights

They had only imagined

Continue

To remind the people that

Each is as good as the other

And that no one is beneath

Nor above you

Continue

To remember your own young years

And look with favor upon the lost

And the least and the lonely

Continue

To put the mantle of your protection

Around the bodies of

The young and defenseless

Continue

To take the hand of the despised

And diseased and walk proudly with them

In the high street

Some might see you and

Be encouraged to do likewise

Continue

To plant a public kiss of concern

On the cheek of the sick

And the aged and infirm

And count that as a

Natural action to be expected

Continue

To let gratitude be the pillow

Upon which you kneel to

Say your nightly prayer

And let faith be the bridge

You build to overcome evil

And welcome good

Continue

To ignore no vision

Which comes to enlarge your range

And increase your spirit

Continue

To dare to love deeply

And risk everything

For the good thing

Continue

To float

Happily in the sea of infinite substance

Which set aside riches for you

Before you had a name

Continue

And by doing so

You and your work

Will be able to continue

As we begin a new year I often think back on my life which now numbers more decades than I ever imagined. I do not engage in “what ifs” because all in all I have enjoyed my journey. As with anyone my biography has had its ups and downs, struggles and victories. There have been times so wonderful that I found myself wishing that time might be made to stand still. Other moments were so difficult that I wanted to escape from them as soon as possible. All in all mine has been a series of events much like those that most human beings encounter. I have learned that small pleasures are the most valuable and that people are mostly good. I have found myself finding strengths that I never knew I had. 

While my life is mostly good I have seen that others have been challenged with immeasurable suffering. I think of how horrific it must be for people who have been shunned by society and treated without the kind of respect and kindness that should be the due of everyone, not just those who are the same as I am. As a child I saw Black people sitting at the back of buses and being humiliated by segregation. My mother told me of the prejudices hurled against immigrants like herself. From my mother I also realized how isolated and despised and misunderstood those afflicted with mental illness so often are. I came to know members of the LGBTQ community and learned about the tragedies of hatred that they endure even to this very day. I comforted women who had been abused by brutal men. 

Somehow I have been thinking about one of my mother’s repeated quotes discussing “man’s inhumanity to man.” Historically we humans have a dark track record of being cruel and sometimes even deadly in our relationships with one another. We humans even managed to put a good and gentle man to death on a cross for no legitimate reason other than misunderstanding his message of love. 

At this time of year I look at the Christmas cards that I received from friends and family members. There always seems to be one that stands out more than the others. In the long ago in the year of my youngest daughter’s birth one of my dearest friends gave me a greeting that simply said, “Love was born at Christmastime.” 

I was so taken by that message that I framed the card and kept it on a wall in my home until it became yellowed with age. Somehow the essence of the Christmas story and the life of Jesus was synthesized in those five words. It all seemed so simple to me. The reason for the season is that we learned from that baby born to Mary and Joseph how we are supposed to love. The words of Jesus, the adult, were so very clear when he told us to love our neighbors just as we love ourselves. A whole religion called Christianity grew up around his message and example and yet we have forgotten or maybe ignored the heart of what he told us to do. 

Slaveholders read the Bible. People who hung Black men from trees read the Bible. Some who abuse each other read the Bible. Men who put Jews in concentration camps read the Bible. Even today the Bible is being used as a weapon to hurt others. It’s an age old hypocrisy of humans to use religion as an excuse for hate or greed or power. 

I recall a time when many people walked around with shirts and lanyards emblazoned with the letters and question mark WWJD? Of course they asked, “What would Jesus do?” and they were a kind of reminder to us to consider how this great teacher would expect us to behave in any situation. Somehow I don’t recall any account of his life including fire and brimstone rages about people. What I do recall is his willingness to perform miracles in defiance of silly rules prohibiting such things on certain days of the week. I remember him touching people with leprosy when others ostracized them for being unclean. I think of the time that he praised the Samaritan who was considered to be an outsider in his community. I know of his love of Mary Magdalene who was thought to be a fallen woman. Over and over again he demonstrated his unfettered love and concern for people who were generally ostracized and hated. 

I think if Jesus were to return today he would be saddened with some of the interpretations of his message. We’ve muddled the simplicity of what he told us to do with exception after exception. We drive immigrants seeking refuge from our midst then go to church proclaiming our piety. We judge people even as we know that Jesus chided us for judging lest we also be judged. We spew hatred for people that we do not understand and pretend that our intentions are grounded in the rules of religion, forgetting that there is one basic rule that will allow us to always do the right thing. 

If we truly love one another we will not steal or harm or spread lies about each other. We will honor everyone just as Jesus told us to do. We will not cheat or scheme or neglect each other. Jesus took complicated rules and boiled them down to a few words that said all that we need to do and he told us exactly how we all should strive to be. If we truly want to praise God and live properly in this season of celebration we will take a deep breath and offer kindness in all things. We don’t have to understand someone to love him or her. I feel certain that is what Jesus wanted us to know. In the final analysis it’s all about love.  

Some folks are pretty good at seeing things coming.

It’s a new year and I am doing my best to concentrate on the hopefulness of a new start. I’ve been anxious about the future of our nation for many many months as I have witnessed Donald Trump and his followers rewrite the history of what I witnessed happening on January 6, 2021. I have been on a roller coaster ride of hope and despair for months, even years in realizing that Trump was not going away, was not going to receive justice for his many crimes. Somehow everything that I believed about the goodness and fairness of the United States of America kept unravelling before my very eyes until the reality that Donald Trump was narrowly being sent back to the White House crushed my very soul. 

I have spent the past weeks hoping to make sense of the fact that a selfish hateful man was elected by a narrow margin of voters who somehow believe that he is the panacea that our nation needs in this time of division and uncertainty. I did my best to be kind and understanding to those who voted for this despicable man. I understand that inflation has made the cost of simply living from day to day quite difficult. I have seen my grocery bills grow to an almost unbelievable high. Shopping for the Christmas festivities was more stressful than ever. I realized that many Americans with fewer resources than I have must indeed be worried about just getting by. The economy has always been a major factor in the decisions that individuals make when they vote. 

Nonetheless it seemed to me that Trump’s chronic hatefulness and meandering bombast would be judged negatively by a majority of people. Surely, I thought, the American electorate would be turned off by such a blithering and bitter fool who mostly seemed intent on seeking revenge rather than building alliances and moving forward together after the long frightening years of the pandemic and wars in so many parts of the world. 

One of my daughters was not as certain as I was that Americans would be as turned off by the ugliness. She kept warning me that Trump had channeled people’s deepest fears and that even in his most incoherent moments he had convinced them that he was the strongman that they needed to set our ship aright. She tried to anchor my optimism in the realities of what she saw happening. 

Of course I was shocked when the votes had been counted and it was clear that Trump was going to be president again. Still, I felt that surely he would be more humble because his victory was won by such a narrow margin. I hoped that he would see that we desperately need a leader who works for everyone, not just one third of the population. I grieved in a kind of stoic silence and prayed that everything would be okay. I thought I had until January 20, 2025 to worry about what will unfold. I did not expect the fireworks to be sent into the sky before he even took office and yet here we are and I realize that my daughter was masterful in seeing what is coming.

It has been bad enough hearing about the atrocious cabinet nominations that Trump has made. Even worse is his plan to use two unelected billionaires to gut our federal agencies. His daily promises for revenge against his perceived enemies has been unnerving and the unwillingness of the media to stand up to his bullying has left me in a state of panic. Still, I did my best to cling to positive thoughts and actions. 

I decorated my home for Christmas. I sent out my Christmas cards and greetings. I planned festivities with friends and family. I read a chapter of Luke from the Bible each day. I prayed and looked for the silver lining in the news. I clung to the idea that Trump was not going to be nearly as bad as I had imagined. I listened to people who are calmer than I am who reassured me that things would settle down and the next four years would be much like any others. Then came the audacity of Elon Muck demanding that Congress abandon an appropriations bill that they had agreed to sign after much compromise. When many of them backed down and seemed willing to allow the government to shut down on the eve of Christmas I felt broken. When Trump vowed at the same moment in time to try Liz Cheney for the crime of investigating him after January 6, 2020, I felt as though he had personally punched me and knocked me to the ground. When ABC folded so quickly after Trump threatened to sue them for defamation when in fact only the truth had been uttered I felt the weight of despair crush me. Then I took a deep breath and resolved not to lie on the ground whimpering. I knew then that the only way that we will get through the horror of what is surely to come is if we resist all efforts to destroy our beautiful democracy. 

I thought of those men that we now call our Founding Fathers risking their very lives to revolt against a monarchy. I remembered Abraham Lincoln standing firm in keeping our nation together. I thought of Franklin Delano Roosevelt guiding us through an horrific war against evil despots. I remembered the men who have been presidents during my lifetime and while none of them were perfect, they all tried to be the best versions of themselves. Even the one who left the White House in shame did so with a sense of doing what was right for the people. 

Our future feels grim and ugly if indeed Trump continues with his goals of vindictiveness and selfish lust for power. He is dealing with people’s lives without a sense of compassion. He is threatening changes that may well be disastrous. I see that now more clearly than ever and understand that pretending otherwise will only make the situation worse. We Americans must protect our Constitution and our laws and the essence of our democracy. It’s up to us to call out those who would destroy them for their own selfish purposes. Looking the other way would be terribly wrong. We must be vigilant in protecting each other, most especially when we are celebrating the birth of a new year. My only resolution this year will be to do whatever it takes to protect my country and its people.