All It Takes Is A Little Love

I am a woman and I often contemplate what that has meant. I also wonder what it is truly like being a man. I grew up in a time when baby girls wore pink and boys wore blue. Because I had no hair until I was almost two years old strangers would ask my mother if I was a boy in spite of the frilly outfits that I wore. I suppose that in the minds of those who saw me I was supposed to have a head of delightful curls in order to be deemed a proper female. It seems that I was stereotyped from the beginning of my life much as all of us are. We endure biases both subtle and blatant during our lives. Mostly we learn to live with them even as they sometimes bother us. 

I was a skinny little girl with baby fine hair that tended to do whatever it chose to do rather than obeying the laws of style. The words that I heard most from the people who described me were “cute” and “smart.” In the nineteen fifties and sixties these were not exactly the kind of phrases that felt complimentary in the world of being female. I’d hear my cousin being referred to as pretty or beautiful, which she was, and feel somehow inadequate in the expectations of the world’s view of women that seemed so prevalent. I became a bit shy and uncertain about my worth when I gazed at my own mother who was gorgeous along with her intelligence. Nonetheless, my parents seemed to love me just as I was and they did their best to make me feel special. 

My confidence struggled to unfold as a late bloomer. Just as it took my hair longer than usual to grow as an infant, it seemed that everything about my physical development was slow in progressing. I looked like a ten year old when my female peers were developing into young women. Because so much societal influence taught me that beauty and appearance mattered I became shy and self critical. There was only one trait that kept me feeling good about myself. I was a quick learner, a rock star student who concentrated on making the most of the hand that nature had dealt me. Still, I sometimes got the idea that society was unimpressed with intellectual women. Even my own male cousins referred to me as the “smart one” and my lovely cousin as the “pretty one.” Such a reminder seemed to diminish my worth but I only laughed when I heard such things. I feigned a blasé attitude to shield myself. 

A great deal has happened in the world to change attitudes about women, even within my family. A conversation with my beautiful cousin taught me that she was just as dismayed by being categorized only by her appearance as I had been. She proved to be an incredibly talented and intelligent woman but all too often the world focused mainly on her face and her hair just as it had looked at me through a lens of stereotyping. We both laughed at the thought that a woman’s worth is all too often measured with antiquated ideas. We realized that each of us in our own ways was both pretty and smart. We wondered why our male counterparts had not been judged by similar standards but then realized that even they had to overcome stereotypes about strength and athleticism and other attributes thought to be the domain of men. 

Women are so much in the news these days. Their childbearing capabilities or difficulties have become political fodder. Men are audaciously voicing opinions on how women should serve the world by having families. There is a toxic atmosphere in which disagreements involving women sometimes devolve into name calling that refers to estimations of their appearance rather than the merit of their ideas. It is a kind of regression that worries me, not so much for myself as for my granddaughter and other young women just beginning their lives in the adult world. It reminds me of the painful estimations of both me and my cousin who were judged according to a misleading set of standards that did not take into account the totality of who each of us were. It is the kind of boorish stereotyping that should have been relegated to the past. 

There are now more women in colleges than men. Women have proven to be excellent in virtually every type of work. We have learned to value the beauty of an individual without a rubric of standards. When we begin to see people as they are we understand that every person is lovely and worthy of our admiration. There is no one standard for judging, and in fact there should be no judging. We are unique and wonderful with or without good hair or a beautiful face . There are many forms of intelligence as well that go far beyond book learning. Our goal should be to look beyond the prejudices that have too often created barriers for women. 

I have become comfortable in my own skin. I know who I am and I really like myself. It took awhile for me to ignore the meanness that is sometimes hurled at women. I align myself with people who have eschewed superficialities. I most enjoy people who are willing to embrace me as I am. Women are so much more than we have traditionally given them credit for being, just as we have learned that there really should never be something called a typical man. Girls don’t have to wear pink and boys don’t have to wear blue. We simply have to love ourselves as we are. As the saying goes, “God does not make junk.” If we truly believe that then we will begin to see the radiance of every person we encounter and we will love and support them just as they are. 

When we were much younger my husband Mike and I used to joke that one day we might be in a nursing home “dancing” to songs from the Rolling Stones in our wheelchairs. We’d laugh hysterically at the very thought as ridiculous as it sounded. Last Sunday we found ourselves at a Rolling Stones concert for the third time. The Hackney Diamonds tour debuted in Houston and we were fortunate enough to have tickets to see the incredible group. Still, our adventure made us laugh as we made our way into the NRG Stadium weaving through a crowd of all ages that included many folks with canes, walkers and wheelchairs. The gray hair and inability to walk without an aid was not going to stop them from gathering to enjoy a night with the Stones.

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards may be in their eighties but they still know how to rock and put on a fabulous show. They put the lie to the idea that age automatically makes someone too old to keep working. Beginning the set with Start Me Up it quickly became apparent that Mick is as spry and charismatic as ever and the musicianship of Keith and Ronny and the rest of the ensemble is world class. While some of the younger folk in the audience danced the night away the older folks sang along with song after song remembering their youth and forgetting any aches and pains they may have had. 

Mike and I felt as though we were back in high school when he was seventeen and I was sixteen and we first heard Satisfaction on the radio. I remember going to Gulfgate Mall with my friend Claudia and purchasing that record for around a dollar. I took it home and put it on repeat play on our RCA Victrola. My mother enjoyed it as much as I did and she and I danced in our living room while it played over and over again. Later I bought Paint It Black and once again listened to it probably a hundred times, never growing tired of it. 

When I took a debate class at school someone came up with the idea of staging a persuasive competition between those who preferred the Beatles and those who leaned toward the Stones. I was totally in love with John Lennon and the Fab Four but I had to admit that when it came to the music I was equally enchanted with Mick and crew. I basically called the debate a tie but I remember the Rolling Stones side arguing that long after the Beatles were gone the Stones would still be rocking together and on Sunday night that prediction seemed to be true. 

Our concert had all of the best songs including classics like Sympathy for the Devil and Gimme Shelter which may well be the best rock song of all time. I have often dreamed of joining the band on stage and singing with Mick. To a certain extent I did that last Sunday. While Mike recorded song after song on his phone I sang as though I was a member of the band. If you listen carefully to Mike’s recording you will hear me harmonizing with Mick in perfect key. 

We bought our merch of course to add to our collection of Rolling Stones t-shirts and kept the guitar shaped fans distributed by AARP, the sponsor of the concert. That fact really made us laugh. There was nothing retiring about either the crowd or the guys in the band. When Mick got on his knees during on of the songs Mike and I were both impressed with how easily he got right back up without even using his hands. In fact they all performed for a solid two hours without seeming to even break into a sweat. 

I know what it is like to be under the lights on a stage and even in my younger years I used to get quite warm and out of breath. Not so for the octogenarians who kept pace with the singing and dancing and playing of instruments as though they were still in their twenties. They got as many screams from the crowd as they had when they were young studs sporting long hair and smooth faces. Like fine wine they have aged to be even better.

The Rolling Stones inspired me to remember that the party of life is not over until it’s over. I may be older but I still have much to offer long as my mind keeps working. I’ll be meeting up with the guys on the treadmill and when I’m racing on my exercise bike. I’ll bring them along on my walks around the neighborhood. I’ll think of all the fun and pleasure that they have given me over the years and I will smile. I’ll remember that old high school debate and laugh that they are still rolling along after all these years.   

My best days are the ones on which i use my mind to learn new things. I suppose I’ve always been a student. I feel alive when I am walking on the campus of a university and contemplating all of the knowledge that is part and parcel of such places. I become a slug overcome with a case of the blues whenever I do not take the time to develop my brain. The days on which I teach and tutor students in mathematics are among my most joyful. The mornings when I rise early to write my blogs and read are the most satisfying. I am uplifted each time I attend a lecture at the Glasscock School of Continuing Education at Rice University. 

I recently enjoyed what I would define as a perfect day. I arose with the sun much as I usually do and spent some time reading in the hopes of finding a topic to consider for one of my blogs. To my great delight an article started a kind of stream of consciousness inside my head that led to connecting those thoughts to words and ideas that I quickly typed on a blank white screen until a theme for the day had developed. I never quite know which of my little essays will please those who read them. I simply pour out my heart and hope that in the process I might delight someone else. Even if nobody ever reads what I have created, the art of stringing together words into coherent ideas is a most joyful experience for me. 

On the particular day that felt so wonderful I followed up my writing by listening to an online lecture from Michael Sandel, a professor at Harvard University. It was part of readying myself for the philosophy class that I am taking this semester. The topic was justice, in particular a study of John Rawls’s Theory of Justice, something that has always been of great interest to me. If I had not been a teacher or if I had never decided to write I believe that I would have enjoyed being a lawyer or an advocate for those with limited resources. The question of justice is a topic that courses through my thoughts almost continuously and the lecture stirred my soul in ways that produced the happiness of discovery that has always been like a drug to me. 

Not only was I inspired by the clarity of Michael Sandel’s explanation of Rawl’s theories about justice but I enjoyed seeing the earnest faces of the students in his class and hearing the variety of their responses to the questions that he used to challenge them to think critically. When I realized that the video was only one of an entire series on what is right and how justice should be viewed I immediately watched another offering, using the entire morning engaged in thought. 

Soon duty called and I knew that I had to review the processes of solving rational equations to help a young student whom I have tutored for years. I first met him as a little boy who was confused and uncertain about his mathematical abilities. Now he is a junior in high school navigating quite successfully through Algebra II and looking forward to Pre-Calculus next school year. He is one of my all time favorite students with his shock of ginger hair and ready smile. Mostly I am overjoyed to see how mature and self assured he has become. He might be the poster boy for hopefulness for our future. 

My day went by so swiftly while I was engaged in academic pursuits but the best was yet to come. I had registered myself and my husband, Mike, for a special event at Rice University, a lecture from Dr. Peter Hotez, a world renowned virologist at Texas Children’s Hospital. I had listened to Dr. Hotez evening after evening on CNN during the pandemic. I found his information about how to navigate the ups and downs of Covid 19 to be on point and informational. He did not speak to his audience in baby talk. Instead he reported facts, often admitting that the doctors and scientists of the world were learning as the virus evolved. Thus we got a lesson in the anatomy of a new strain of infection night after night along with guidance on what to do to keep ourselves as healthy as possible. Because I followed his advice to the letter my husband and I made it through unscathed and I became an admirer of this incredible man who lives and works in my city.

His lecture was warm, honest and quite personal. We learned the story of his family and how he found his way to Texas Children’s Hospital. We found out more about the more traditional vaccine that he developed for countries without the refrigeration and supply chain capabilities needed for the kind of vaccines produced by pharmaceutical companies in highly developed countries. He gave away the patent of Corbavax to country wanting to use his formula which was then administered to millions of people. 

Dr. Hotez’s story is that of a man who has dedicated himself to the pursuit of science and truth. He has worked for his entire life to treat those who suffer from the ravages of diseases that are rarely studied by big companies that do not stand to make much money on products used for the poorest people in the world. He mostly worked quietly in his laboratory before Covid 19 hit the world when his expertise in viruses and vaccines pulled him into the fray of controversy regarding how we should respond to worldwide epidemics. Sadly the anti-science faction of the country has marked him as a demon when the truth is that he is an earnest man with a sweet smile whose goal has always been to help the least noticed among us. 

I ended my perfect day with dinner at an Italian restaurant where Mike and I toasted each other with wine and spoke about the event that we had just enjoyed. I so love that I am continually learning and evolving and progressing. Life is not about standing still and turning to stone. It is about the adventure of opening our minds to the possible. 

I grew up in the group of youngsters known as Baby Boomers. My father who served in the army in the waning years of World War II was a history buff whose parlor trick was naming the Presidents of the United States in order from first to most recent and vice versa. My mother often spoke of her love of this country which was reinforced by her immigrant father. All of her brothers also served during World War II, some in the army others in the navy. Our family vacation trips always included stops at historic sites and I grew up hearing stories about Abraham Lincoln and Franklin Roosevelt. I still smile when I think of how emotional my mother became whenever she heard America the Beautiful. Eventually my foray into learning about my ancestry would reveal that my kin fought in the American Revolution and my great grandfather was a Lieutenant in the Union Army during the Civil War. 

My parents taught me to be patriotic and proud of my country in spite of its many flaws. My teachers instructed me with honesty and showed me how to think critically about any issue. I have always believed that what is best about our nation has been its ability to change and rectify past injustices. Mostly I believed that our country was a haven for people like my grandparents who fled Eastern Europe in search of a place where they would be free to work toward a better future for themselves and their children. My mother helped me understand that there was great prejudice hurled at them even in the USA, but what mattered most was that they were nonetheless allowed to express their own beliefs and to prosper in ways that would have been denied them in the old country, especially after Russia created the Soviet Union. 

I was taught to face even difficult truths in history by both my father and my teachers. The adults asserted that a good citizen of any country has to be willing to admit to wrongs committed by the state and then be willing to right those wrongs. I was quite proud of my mother who wrote a research paper in the late sixties detailing the problems associated with the Vietnam War. She came to the conclusion that the citizens of the United States had often been mislead about what was actually happening there. She grieved for the soldiers who did not even know what was happening behind the curtain of secrecy in Washington D. C. Her ultimate resolution was that the war had been a grave mistake that had led us down a treacherous pathway. Her professor who was a conservative politician boldy congratulated her on a well conceived and executed argument and gave her an A+ for a grade. 

I suppose that my background made me a patriot who is more than willing to talk about the many horrific mistakes that have been made in the name of our nation, including the war between states that ultimately broke the chains of slavery that had so wrongly kept humans in bondage for economic gain. I think that our country has been at its best when we have been courageous enough to face our flaws with honesty. It’s always difficult to admit imperfections. We humans attempt to cover them all time but when they actually harm others they eventually result in turmoil. Humans can take only so much mistreatment before they finally push back. Often the concept of doing things the way we always have becomes untenable and changes occur. 

My family history is one of forward thinking, not looking back. We are not mired in clinging to traditions that are outmoded or unfair. I celebrate my grandchildren who are already blazing trials for the betterment of not just the United States, but the entire world. They understand that we are presently in a kind of rut, a ditch from which we must rise, not by denying progress but by seizing it. They advocate for the rights of woman that are still to be achieved, the preservation of the planet, the securing of democracy and justice for all. They are as dedicated as my father and my uncles were during World War II and as emotional about our freedoms as my mother always was. They have embraced the diversity of our nation without reservations for they see the melding of differing cultures and ideas as a strengthening force, not one that diminishes our greatness as people. 

Some of my peers joke that I have always been a bit of a hippy, a free thinker with beliefs that verge on idealism rather than reality. I am willing to admit that I dream big when it comes to politics. I refuse to accept the status quo when there are other possibilities that will nudge our country just a bit closer to the perfection that some try to pretend that we already have. The calculus of change tells us that we can move infinitely closer and closer to the approximations of universal freedom if we are willing to move forward. 

As a teacher and lifelong learner I fully understand that there is always something new to consider, to unravel. Our human journey should represent an arc of progress and freedom, not a regression into old ways that denigrate groups and plant fears in our hearts. I have witnessed the transformation of the children of immigrants who speak little or no English into bilingual citizens who serve as doctors, professors, teachers, lawyers, soldiers, good neighbors in a only one generation. I see beautiful babies conceived from different races smiling with a radiance that must please God. Ours should not be a longing or concern to be a nations of WASPs. If we are to be the shining city on the hill that we wish to be, we must be a nation of diversity and inclusion that allows everyone to thrive. 

This is what i know to be true. I am an American and a patriot who sees the future as bright only if we are willing to embrace honesty about our past and inclusiveness in our future. Turning back the clock is moving in the wrong direction. Tomorrow beckons and hopefully we will answer its call. 

My days are mostly mundane but sometimes exciting. Yesterday I saw the light of understanding burn brightly for two of the students that a teach or tutor. Such moments give me hope for a world that is filled with problems caused by human inability to simply get along. I often struggle to understand how disagreements lead to wars and yet I am familiar enough with the history of the human experience to know that people are not always at their best. How things get so far out of hand that they lead to death and destruction is beyond my ability to even imagine, but I know that there truly is a dark side to the way humans interact that has the potential to create chaos and destruction. 

Somehow I ended up living in a little bubble in a safe corner of the world. I have endured tragedies and incredible losses but I was always surrounded by love to carry me through such events. Even in my darkest hours I understood that my pain and suffering would be momentary in the grand scheme of things. I have returned again and again to the comfort and security of knowing that I am surrounded by goodness and that the evil I witness is something seemingly far away from me. My good fortune has kept me optimistic and sometimes admittedly naive about horrors that have been as much a part of the human journey as the joys that comfort me again and again. 

I pride myself on being well informed and searching for truth, but when it comes to wars between nations or groups of people I become confused. I start from my own thinking which would never allow me to purposely harm another person no matter how angry I may be. This perspective has kept me centered and mostly happy but it is also shields me from reality. I see inhumanity and I cringe in disbelief, questioning whether my own refusal to believe that people are at heart sinners is part of the problem. How do I look away from the evidence that there is indeed an evil side to our natures? What can I possibly do other than brood when I witness human inhumanity? 

As I go about my daily chores I pride myself in keeping up with the news, being an informed citizen. I awake early and read three or four newspapers before getting to work. I listen to NPR as I drive to my teaching sessions or while running errands. I am aware of the many issues plaguing the world and yet I all too often fall into a habit of resigning myself to a certainty that there is little that I might do to resolve those problems. 

I try to discuss such things but find that most people prefer to keep conversations light and cheery. They quickly change the subject with inane assertions that life “is what it is.” They note that few of the topics that I mention are their problems. I begin to wonder if I am simply too obsessed with thinking about difficulties that don’t appear to directly involve me. Still I muse about that possibility that much of the violence in the world is caused by our indifference to injustice. I can’t send the remnants of my dinner to a starving child, but surely there are other sacrifices that I might make to help even one more person go to bed tonight will a feeling of fullness. 

Not long ago I watched and award winning documentary of Frontline on PBS. It was a film created in the opening days of the Russian invasion of Ukraine called 20 Days in Mariupol. It showed the destruction of that city by Russian forces with brutal honesty that left me sobbing uncontrollably and wondering why anyone is ever willing to attack and kill their fellow humans. The sheer brutality leading to the collapse of Mariupol from the relentless and indiscriminate bombing by Russian invaders left me considering our responsibilities to each other. How can we simply look at such evil and then go about our routines as though it is none of our business? 

I write my blogs and read my Bible at the beginning of each day. I go about my scheduled activities and run my errands sometimes being annoyed by petty slights. Then I suddenly remember the young boy who was playing soccer in Mariupol when bombs fell all around him. He lost both of his legs and then his life for no conceivable reason other than a tyrant’s desire to exert power over others. I remember the young pregnant woman who sought refuge in the maternity ward of a hospital as she neared the due date of her child. How can there be any redeeming reason for the loss of her life and that of her unborn child from bombs dropped on a civilian sanctuary? 

Mariupol ultimately fell to Russia but two years later the war for the soul of Ukraine continues. Since then terror and war has spread. The Hamas raid on Israel has led to the destruction of much of Gaza and a death toll that includes tens of thousands of innocent people who only want to live the way I do. As more and more people seek refuge from war, famine, natural disasters, authoritarian governments our response is mostly to divide ourselves into groups that quibble with one another over what to do or not do. 

The cynics would argue that this has been the way of the world for all time and it would be difficult to refute them. Nonetheless, surely we should be able to somehow minister to the suffering by aiding them in their struggles Today they are fighting for freedoms, for human dignity. Tomorrow it could be us. We should be using our powers of persuasion and our powers of the purse to at least try to make a difference. 

George W Bush’s greatest accomplishment as President of the United States was to diligently work to eliminate the AIDs epidemic in Africa. The knowledge, education, and medical funding that the United States sent to that continent made a huge difference in successfully working on what had seemed to be an impossible task. Those efforts forestalled what might have been yet another indescribable tragedy and yet as the time to renew that effort loomed we chose to tighten our purse strings and put the entire program in a state of uncertainty. Why are we so inclined to be stingy when something does not benefit us directly or if something takes longer to resolve than we had hoped?

I suppose that I will keep writing for the choir that returns to my blogs. I will continue teaching young people so that one day they will be able to take on the problems that are sure to arise. I will use my voice no matter how weak it may be. I want to believe that somehow the goodness of the world will ultimately overwhelm the bad. We can’t look away! We can’t just say that the world has always been this way. We should always do better.