BELIEVE

Pain and Suffering

2011-05-28T13:18:00.000-07:00

I read Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. How sad I became when Gus McCrae died. I walked with my head facing the ground. If I found a pebble on the road in front of my home I kicked it. I forgot when it was time to fix dinner and was late in doing it.

“Why did Gus die?” I asked myself, “Why?” The children nudged one another at the dinner table. I looked at my plate and stirred the food around. Then absentmindedly I placed the dishes in the dishwasher.

The other part of my brain said, “It’s just a book. He is just a character.”
But why did he have to die…I kept asking. All to no avail. He was so kind to Lorena. Kind to the boy. Tough with mean folks. And reasonable with others. He took care of everyone.

Then Larry McMurtry came to town. No sooner had I settled in my seat in the small auditorium than a man raised his hand…”Why did you kill off Augustus McRae?” He asked.

The author answered something like, “It was time for him to go.” And then he opened his hands like there was no alternative. He didn’t feel the pain the man with the question felt or the ache in my heart. And time passed on.

However, that is when I learned this: to make a fictitious character real, the reader must hurt when the demise of the character occurs in the story.

And to this day, I still hurt.

Oprah's Last Show

2011-05-26T13:04:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching the last Oprah show. She has given so much to the American public her influence shall be felt for many years to come. Oprah is like a wonderful teacher whose contribution to the betterment of her community is experienced by children who grew up and had children who were taught by the same teacher, and the goodness goes on and on.
And she never fails to tell you through word, action, inspirational talks…if I can do it, you can, too. Be yourself. Do your best. Be kind. Forgive because in forgiving you will be a better person. All true.
Her behavior and attitude impressed the people in high positions and the folks with little self-esteem. And that is best part of this lady, the way she treats her fellow man or woman, for as she and others have said, the years will pass and people will not remember what you wore but they will remember how you treated them.
It’s true. Your diamonds and big car may make you feel good, but if you want others to feel kindly toward you, treat them well, with respect and with interest in their well-being. They will rarely forget you.

Influence

2011-02-20T14:42:00.001-08:00

When I first came to teach in this city a friend took me to a high school football game. Having just graduated from a university I had seen many a halftime show at football games during my four years in college.

However, this halftime show surprised me. A band appeared on the football field running and moving their white gloved hands in a vertical fashion. The spectators rose and loudly cheered. I, too, became excited.

A voice on the loudspeaker wailed, “The Miller High School Buccaneer Band.”
More cheers. The band performed and the crowd yelled and clapped enthusiastically.
I asked about this band, and that was when I first hear the name Eddie Galvan, the band director at Miller High.

Years later I heard his name again in the form of testimonies: A young man told me, “I was going down the wrong path when I was in high school. Mr. Galvan took me aside and told me to join the band. That was when I straightened out my life.”

A grandmother told me, “He was our musical father. He took us-many students didn’t have much-and he told us if we worked hard, we could win contests and earn awards. We believed him and it happened. I can’t even put it into words.”

I also heard the following terms: “teamwork; working hard; aiming high; we were a family.” What I was hearing was that Eddie Galvan, through his role as a band director, was teaching life skills, attitudes, and approaches that would help them succeed in the future.

Unbeknownst to us, the spectators, Eddie Galvan was doing much more than entertaining us. He was preparing the marching students for life. Thus his influence will never end.

The Picture

2010-11-07T06:16:00.000-08:00

It was spring and the ice and snow were but a memory. Daddy came home from the service station he owned and announced, “Mrs. McCrary is having a photographer come to her home to take her picture; since he will already be in her home she said we could send one of the children for a picture. Let’s send the youngest.”

In our small town we didn’t have a photographer. The only person I had ever seen taking pictures, besides my brother, was a man who visited our school once a year and took pictures of all the students. So it was an exciting thought.

“Esther will take Mary Helen,” Daddy said. “The photographer will be at Mrs. McCrary’s home next Wednesday at 2:00 P.M.

Mother combed Mary Helen’s hair in pigtails. Then she crisscrossed them on top of her head. Lastly, she placed two little round combs right in front of the pigtails. My little three-year old sister wore an aqua colored taffeta dress Grandmother, an excellent seamstress, had made. With her white Easter shoes on her feet, we were ready to go.

We arrived at a beautiful two-story home. I knocked and was told to come in. Down the stairs walked an elderly woman. It was just like in the movies. She greeted us warmly and asked us to sit down until the picture-taking occurred. The furniture was dark and covered in flowers. A beautiful floral rug lay on the floor. I was in another world for a moment.

In a short while the photographer asked my sister to sit in a certain pose while I waited. He snapped the picture. And we walked back home. It was much later I found out Mrs. McCrary was the mother of the famous Tex McCrary, a WWII correspondent, and later the originator of the phrase, “I like Ike”.

My sister still has the picture.

A Mother's Ears

2010-10-05T06:05:00.000-07:00

A mother’s ears have to be attuned to many things. As she makes her way through her home she must listen for the timer in the kitchen, which will tell her the cake for the church dinner is done. She must also listen for the baby who will cry out when she wakes up from her nap. The mother listens also for the dryer buzzer, which makes an irritating sound when the clothes are dry.

Then there is the doorbell for it is the end of the month. The paperboy may be there to collect. The telephone may ring and remind the young mother of the cake she promised for the cakewalk to be held at the Halloween Carnival at the elementary school where her second grader attends.

If the door to the front bedroom opens, that might be the three year-old waking from her nap. The mom will need to rush over there to make sure she gets her to the bathroom before it is too late.

And before she knows it the young mother and wife will hear the back door open and her husband will come home for he will be through at work. Oh yes, the sounds a young mother must listen for, the sounds which signal a change or a need, call demanding her attention until the day is done. Then the house is quiet and few sounds, if any, are heard throughout the home. Time for the young mother to rest so she can begin the routine all over again tomorrow.

Friends

2010-09-07T06:02:00.000-07:00

When you become old and gray you start talking about friends you have had for thirty years. That is a long time and it is normal. However, one of my sons has had a friend for thirty years, and they are just both thirty-three years old.

I remember when they used to call each other after pre-school. “You’ve got a phone call, Matt.” The other children, all teenagers, would ask me who in the world was calling their three year old brother.

“I friend from school,” I answered. Well, the years have passed and the friendship continues. College is behind them and they are doing what they love in their respective careers in different parts of the country.

But thirty years is a very long time. Imagine when they are both in their sixties and they are in lawn chairs in the backyard belonging to one of them. Perhaps they will say to their grandchildren something like: we’ve been friends for sixty years. And the grandchildren will stand their amazed at a friendship that has lasted so long. It is a pleasant thought.

2010-07-21T18:03:00.001-07:00

My mind is like a popcorn popper. If you will observe popcorn through a glass lid as it pops on top of your stove, you will not be able to determine exactly which kernel will pop open and turn into a lovely, edible morsel. Every pop is a surprise. So it is with my mind.

Memories

2010-07-16T20:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you have to grow up to appreciate what you had as a child. When we were growing up in a small town in Central Texas, I puzzled over the destination of the cars that drove down the highway with such speed. Where were they rushing to? What lay up ahead in the big cities? What was there? It had to have been more interesting than the life we were leading. Everything was quiet where we lived and still, and it seemed nothing ever happened.

I remember a small town with graveled streets except for Main St. which had inlaid bricks. When it rained we played in the ditch in front of our home. We also caught crawfish after a big rain and spent afternoons playing with them.

We named our hens, at least one for each one of us. My brother Ben’s hen was mean and tried to peck everyone around. The rest of the hens sought nothing more than to eat, scratch on the dirt and move on and mind their own business. I was allowed to feed the tiny, yellow, chicks, a job I loved.

Betsy, our cow, docile as she could be produced a wonderful calf from time to time. Besides the fact she provided us with milk and butter, she was the most peaceful animal we owned.

I taught myself to sew and made my little sister several garments which she wore with pride. I also taught the two younger children how to ride my bicycle and trembled as they wobbled down the sidewalk.

Mama gave me free rein in the kitchen and I tried all sorts of recipes. Many failed as I didn’t know how to measure properly. Mother didn’t mind the failures. She applauded my efforts. In time I took Home Economics and succeeded in baking.
I also planted a small flower garden. Again, Mother praised my efforts.

I just didn’t know the quiet life we led and the simple activities we were involved in were so joyful and many years later would rush back into my memory bank like a sudden rain shower. And just like the rain showers that clean the air, those memories replenish my mind and make everything seem better.

The Chess Game

2010-07-05T08:54:00.000-07:00

The small student arrived at the elementary school with his parents who registered him. Larry behaved in an unusual manner, looking up at us and then hastily looking down as though he had offended someone.

His behavior was the same in the fifth grade classroom, which provided fodder for those students who pounced on anyone who was different. To make matters worse, he had difficulty reading. In the cafeteria where I observed so many students day after day, I noticed Larry ate alone. His classmates ignored him during this thirty-minute period, which was probably a relief to the self-conscious child. Meanwhile, we conferred with the counselor: how could we help this student?

A teacher announced: every Friday after school anyone who was interested could come by and learn how to play chess. Many students showed up, some to enjoy the cookies and drinks; others to play chess.

Larry turned up at the door one Friday where the teacher taught chess and entered the classroom reluctantly. The teacher greeted him in a pleasant and warm manner. Larry stayed and paid attention. Surprising his fellow classmates, he learned to play Chess. Very well.

I noticed in the cafeteria now his fellow students said to him, “Larry, sit down to eat with us.” They all sat and conversed in an animated manner.

One day in the cafeteria as they walked in a line a student said to him, “You can’t read.”
Larry looked at him squarely in the face and answered, “And you can’t play chess.”
I realized then Larry was going to be all right.

The Speech

2010-07-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

I assumed this reunion would be the same as all the others, but I was wrong.
This reunion was different. Tommy, a former classmate pulled me aside and said, “I have to tell you something.” And he began telling me a story about his life and where it had taken him.

“After I graduated I didn’t know what to do with my life. I used to walk by your dad’s service station, and when I did, he always called me over so he could talk to me.”

Your dad said, “Tommy, you must go to college. You can’t just do nothing. You have the ability. Go on and better yourself.”

“Every time I walked by his place of business he gave me the same speech. I knew he was right but I didn’t know how to go about pursuing such a dream. In time I went to Dallas, married and began having children.

“When my children started school the memories of your dad’s talk came back to me like a dream, and I said to myself…I didn’t go to college, but by the Grace of God my children will. I sometimes worked four jobs simultaneously, and I told my children, ‘Just go to school. I will pay the bills. All five children have gone to college and are in different careers. And it was because your dad planted the seed in my head.”

Like my father, Tommy has passed away, but I am sure he went straight to my father and thanked him for the good advice. His children will thank him forever.

Lemons

2010-06-24T06:25:00.000-07:00

We’ve all read: If life gives you a lemon, make lemonade. Lately I’ve heard: If life gives you a lemon, throw it back and say ‘send something better’. If only it were that simple.

I knew a woman whose father abandoned the family, and the mother and children struggled for years. The result was a daughter who grew up to become an embittered woman. On the other hand, I met a neighbor whose father left the family and the mother and daughter suffered a great deal financially and emotionally, and the daughter came out of it happy and well-balanced. And I wondered …why the difference?

It isn’t what happens to you in life that determines your happiness, but rather what you do after something negative occurs that makes the difference in your life. It is how you choose to deal with the unpleasantness that results in your attitude.

And what is the element that helps or hurts the individuals who suffer? Both women in the above examples attended church and both had mothers who did the best they could. I think the answer has something to do with an inborn view toward things, some indefinable characteristic that tells you how to approach life. And it is a good idea to listen to that inner voice that tells us how to respond to unhappy events in a manner that will help us.

Faith

2010-06-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

To believe in God, to care for your fellow man (I thought) meant everything would be perfect, and it wasn’t. So I reflected on this. Finally it came to me. To have faith, to think well of others, and to try to do the right thing doesn’t result in a perfect life. Rather, faith, action, and behavior help one to better cope with the life around us.

Aura

2010-05-01T18:22:00.000-07:00

This is an incredible story. I stood in my kitchen and suddenly I felt something coming on, not a bad feeling, an aura. I use that word because it was a most unusual and yet wonderful feeling around me.
I sat down. The world was silent except for the gentle sound of the motor of the refrigerator. There was a presence surrounding me. I felt wonderful, and yet I didn’t feel any of the usual earthly feelings: hunger, thirst, or satisfaction. I didn’t experience laughter or humor or physical pleasure of any kind.
Just the most wonderful, indescribable warmth, love, and comfort. That was it. I was thoroughly comfortable and felt safe with the aura surrounding me. After a few seconds or a minute or so, the world returned.

Large Family

2010-04-22T18:54:00.000-07:00

Being in a large family is like living out in the world. For example, in a large family you don’t always get a name; you get a number. (I’m number six.) You don’t always get what you want. Sometimes you have to wear what someone has already worn. (Like buying a previously owned home.)
The teachers always ask, “You are so and so’s little brother or sister.” She thinks she knows how you will act. (Like in the world opinions are formed on where you come from.)
And when the oldest one leaves home to go to college, the others fight for the bedroom like people who fight for land. Also, when one leaves home, the things you leave behind are at risk. The aquarium might disappear from the table in the corner of your bedroom. Your posters might also be taken down. (You abandon a place and transients might take over.)
And when you return for Thanksgiving vacation and you take your problem to your mother, you may not get a welcome answer. (Like the United Nations who doesn’t know what to do with a country, errant or not.)
Yes indeed, living in a large robust family and trying to get along while learning to compromise is very much like adults living in the larger world. We have to get along, sometimes look the other way, and visit with one another from time to time.

Caution: Under Construction

2010-03-24T05:22:00.000-07:00

Years ago in a Vacation Bible School I heard small children sing a song, “Kids Under Construction”, a song in which they asked folks not to judge them for they were still in the process of becoming. They were kids under construction.
All of us are in the process of becoming. The amazing fact about this theory is that a young man and young woman choose each other as life partners, perhaps in their twenties, and are far from being that which they will become.
We are all under construction because a variety of outside influences affect us: death, unexpected money, children with problems, difficult jobs, etc. If both parties don’t recognize the outside influences and work to deal with them, death to the marriage occurs.
In one marriage between two folks deeply in love the wife studied to better herself. He refused to improve himself thinking he was fine as he was. Kaput went that marriage.
There was another marriage in which the wife became a high-earning realtor while the husband stayed behind and did not keep up with her either in ambition or in earning power. The marriage failed.
And yet, some of these young folks who commit do, in fact, grow into different beings and manage to stay together.
There is the young woman who began studying art and became a good artist thereby surprising her husband and friends. The husband appreciated her efforts, supported her emotionally and kept up with her intellectual growth.
In some marriages one of the parties develops a love of politics. It appears that suddenly one is catapulted on to the political scene. Quite a test, and yet some master the problems associated with a spouse holding public office, and they stay together in spite of the challenges. An accomplishment.
Yes, we are all still under construction.

Compromise

2010-03-23T12:42:00.000-07:00

The “C” word, compromise, is sometimes used to connote a lowering of one’s values. The meaning of the word in this context means that you might have abandoned your beliefs or values by agreeing to do something you would not ordinarily do.
The word, compromise, need not be an undesirable word. A situation in which two parties compromise or agree on an issue may well be a win-win: a result in which both parties can end up happy.
Compromise can be a successful strategy you may utilize in a variety of relationships: Mother-child; wife-husband; teacher-student; friend-friend; etc. A domineering member of a relationship coupled with a compliant party is doomed. Sooner or later the passive partner is going to abandon the relationship or be filled with bitterness from having been trampled over.
Even children realize when they have no input in a situation. Naturally some issues are non-negotiable. A small child cannot under any circumstances be allowed to cross the street alone. But a small child can be given a choice of this cereal or that cereal, this cookie or that cookie. Would a parent have an undesirable cereal or cookie in the home anyway? He has input into the decision and he gains self worth. The “do it because I said so” can’t be enforced all the time without some negative result.
In dealing with one another and attempting to make sure both parties agree to an issue, respect is the premise from which one works. Respecting a person is considering another person's feelings. And respect, as we all know, is something we appreciate from one another.

Hobby

2010-03-11T06:54:00.001-08:00

A hobby is a wonderful thing to have. You give yourself time to study in depth a particular area perhaps totally unknown to you. You read about it and look up pictures for additional information. You study it and finally you take the first step.

That is how I learned to knit. I was in a new city and knew very few people. I had always heard of knitting but it looked complicated. Well now I had time to tackle something that required time and study. I bought a book, knitting needles and yarn. And I stumbled and fell and tried again and failed again. But I never gave up. I discussed it with friends who knew more than I did. And I practiced some more, and I mastered it.

What this hobby gave me was information I did not possess. It also enabled me to meet people whom I might never have met, for we spoke a common language: knitting. I made gifts of some of my knitting. I did it for pleasure and also with purpose. I knitted while watching television, and on an airplane and in a hospital. My knitting started conversations, and I answered questions.

It opened another road in my life and it has fulfilled me in so many ways. Pursuing a new hobby is much like the famous line from Robert Frost’s Poem, The Road Not Taken, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

Help

2010-03-10T02:49:00.000-08:00

Our family lived on Main Street in a small town in Central Texas. Highway 6 took Baylor fans east to A&M to see the two teams as they played football. The next year the Aggie fans drove west to see the Aggies and the Bears engage in a football game.
Sometimes we sat on the front porch and just watched the traffic, large trucks taking farm workers from S. Texas to West Texas. Other times we saw Greyhound or Continental buses drive by loaded with folks, and we wondered what their stories were.
One day there was a knock on the front door. One of my brothers and I ran to see who it was. We left the screen door latched as the man spoke to us. "Tell your momma I am hungry. See if she can give me something to eat." We closed the door and went to give Mama the message.
She spoke to the man and told him to wait. Then she returned with some food and handed it to him. "God bless you," he told her. The man walked off. My brother said, "Did you notice his shoes were held together with baling wire?" I said, "And his hat had a piece taken out of it, like a bite? And his face was dirty. His belt had lots of holes in it like he had to move it over and over to get it to fit." "Maybe he lost weight." My brother added.
Mother spoke to us both, "When you see a person who is hungry, feed him, for it might be Jesus Christ you are feeding." We looked at her. We knew what Jesus looked like for she had pictures on her altar and the Catholic Church had Jesus on a cross. It didn't make sense.
She read our minds. "And Jesus may not look like you think he does. Just remember to feed a person when he asks you for food. You will make Jesus happy."

"Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." Matthew 25:40

(originally published in Lenten Booklet at Parkway Presbyterian Church 3-3-10)

The Death of a Hero

2010-02-22T18:31:00.000-08:00

I just received the news. A hero has passed on…quietly and modestly, as he lived, a believer in God. A hero for us all.

Early on the morning of June 6, 1944 Roberto Martinez, a paratrooper from the 101st Airborne Division, with painted black marks under his eyes, climbed aboard a plane in England. In the dark morning as the airplane took him over the English Channel and into Normandy the Germans opened fire. “It was like Christmas with lights all over the place,” he said. The airplane kept flying until the men jumped out, one after another after another after another. Finally, it was Roberto’s turn.

“I tried to hide my parachute after I jumped. Everything was dark because they dropped us in the early hours and before the landings were to begin. I couldn’t find my cricket, that funny sounding thing that was to be used by the paratroopers to signal one another, but someone approached me and I heard his cricket.”

The invasion of France had just begun. Roberto Martinez along with all the other thousands of Americans began their heroic effort. And now his life’s journey has ended. May he and all the other heroes who kept this country safe from dictators not be forgotten.

A Buried Memory Rises to the Surface

2010-02-22T09:59:00.001-08:00

A few years back I attended a school reunion. Since we attended a small school, students from various years of graduating classes comprised the attendees at the reunion. Among the attendants was a successful businessman. He pulled me aside to tell me a story.

“When I was in the first or second grade I went to school one day and some bullies jumped me. They were older and bigger, and they began to beat me up. After I was on the ground at their mercy, an older boy came by and seeing what was happening, told the mean boys to leave me alone. They walked off. I was so relieved and happy and still a bit scared. Well, we all grew up, including the bullies, and boy who made the mean guys get off me. I don’t think I said anything to the boy who saved me, but I never forgot the moment. One day I found him on the internet and I emailed him and finally, after about fifty years, I thanked him for saving me from that ordeal.”

I wondered why he was telling me the story. It was an incident I saw happen often as we waited for the school to let us in. I was a girl and was never bothered, but boys did fight and scuffle.

Then the businessman said, “The boy who saved me was your brother William. I finally thanked him properly.”

It was a wonderful reunion, a memorable one. A flower bloomed and thanks were given

The Inside Person

2010-02-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

I know how my fifty year old friend acted when she was five or ten. I know what my eighty-five year old friend was like when she was a young girl, too. I wasn’t there to observe either one, but I know how they behaved.

How do I know that? I’ve lived long enough now to know that people do not change. I’ve seen my children, my neighbor’s children, children of friends, and relatives’ offspring grow from infanthood to adulthood and I’ve looked for changes, and they weren’t there.

Oh yes, you can see folks who didn’t have material things and now possess them. I’ve seen people who have acquired degrees they didn’t have. And I’ve seen people move from one part of town to another. And they didn’t change.

If their environments and possessions have changed what is it that remained the same? The inside of them, the characteristics, their feelings and approaches to life. If they were gentle as children, they are gentle now. If they were sensitive to other’s feelings, they don’t want to hear of someone cheating others. The little boy who shared his toys when he was five gives to charities now that he is a man.

The child who was concerned with herself, her needs, wants and desires, is an adult consumed with herself. The small girl who loved to be socializing with her friends is now grown and still socializing. The boy who fantasized about winning in games grew up and participated in sports. He is still dreaming of his team winning big.

Whatever it is that makes us what we are is there for the rest of our lives. We can modify our behavior, alter our lifestyles, acquire new practices, change our diets, etc., but the real inside person remains.

Something I Learned

2010-02-13T14:39:00.000-08:00

This may be hard for young people to believe but…in the long run…looks don’t matter. Oh yes, when young, the boys are attracted to the cutest girls and the girls like the best-looking boys. Surprise: when you are mature, those attractions that pulled you like a magnet don’t have the same strength anymore, nor the same value.

So what are the attractions to one another or to friends when one becomes older? I am not referring to romantic relationships but rather relationships in general. People seem to be attracted to genuine folks, those who are honest in their actions, i.e., “I am going to call you.” And the person calls. “I’ll send you the article.” And you receive the article in the mail. Those earnest responses win votes and are remembered.

Also, a caring attitude always attracts attention. A friend tells me, “I know the child acts the way he does because of his home life.” I listen carefully and note my friend is not judgmental and really cares for her student. (I imagine deep in my heart I know that friend cares for me, too.)

Rational thinking and reasonable behavior results in admiration. “I need to think about that before making a decision. I want to do what is right.” The action that follows indicates good judgment. The listener or observer makes a mental note and it is positive.

As our teachers and parents told us: "Beauty is skin deep." They were right after all.

How do you pick your friends? And why did your friends pick you?

Confidence and Faith

2010-02-05T17:51:00.001-08:00

They were about to announce the names of the winners. I sat passively with my team among hundreds of students. Of course I hoped they would win, but competition was so strong, I didn’t know if we stood a chance.

Our Odyssey of the Mind team worked hard all year with their two coaches. I brought them into the cafeteria for a thirty or forty minute work on a portion of their challenge. The part I worked with and their seven minute play would compete with schools from all over the region. It would be tough.

In the vast auditorium which was filled to capacity, we waited. One of our team members, a small, bright, boy asked me if he could sit in the aisle. “Well,” I answered hesitantly, “You can, but be careful you don’t get run over.” The child nodded.

“Why do you want to sit there?” I asked him.

“So I can be closer to run up to the stage when they call our school’s name,” he answered.

I sighed thinking…I hope he won’t be disappointed.

They called out the winners at the high school level, then the winners at the middle school level and finally the winners at the elementary level. “Schanen Elementary, Number One!”

The student sitting in the aisle ran fast and reached the stage before any of the rest of us. We screamed and jumped up and down and accepted the award. Our students yelled and clapped and the student who had been sitting in the aisle smiling confidently said to me, “I knew we would win.”

I should have known, also. Cheers for confidence and faith.

Most Important Day

2010-01-29T19:02:00.001-08:00

I asked my middle school students to write an essay on the most important day in their lives. Some students wrote about their birthdays; others wrote about out of town trips. Boys wrote about sports events; girls wrote about meeting someone important. And so it went.

The most touching moment came when I read Clarissa’s paper. She told us the most important day of her life would be in the future when she graduated from high school. She said her father wanted her to graduate from high school because he had not been able to, and he wanted that experience for his daughter.

As I read her paper I could hear the young voice, “I want my father to be proud of me. I want to see his face as I walk across the stage. I know he will smile at me, and I shall smile at him. I’ll be thinking, ‘I did it, Daddy. I did it all for you.’”

As I read the last sentence my eyes released tears. Someone asked me, “Hey, Miss, are you crying?”

“No,” I answered. Perhaps I should have told the truth. The emotion I experienced in reading Clarissa’s paper touched me immensely. You see, I, too, was very close to my father, and I wanted him to be proud of me. When I read her paper, I realized I could have been that young girl many years before speaking the identical words.

Bank Account

2010-01-28T16:56:00.000-08:00

Being loved by someone is like having a bank account. You can place money in your bank account by showing love (kindness, good deeds) to your loved one, or you can withdraw money from your bank account by hurting the person you love. Only you know how to show love or hurt the other party.

If enough love is given the bank account grows and doubles and in a few year’s time, the account bulges, and both parties feel good about it. If, on the other hand, enough hurt is handed out, then the bank account dwindles until it becomes empty. Then no one benefits.

If only we had been more careful (thoughtful). If I had just not spent that last amount of money (last action taken) maybe we wouldn’t be in this fix. Maybe we would still be together. Maybe we could have even used the bank account for something from which the children would benefit (examples of love, respect). If only.

Have you checked your bank account lately? I know I need to get right on mine.

Tulips

2010-01-20T14:24:00.000-08:00

In a warm climate tulips, we were told, have to be tricked into thinking that winter is occurring. Thus, in October you place the tulip bulbs in the refrigerator for about six weeks, keep them there and then take them out and plant them. They will think winter has occurred and after being planted, in a few weeks the bulbs will push their way up through the ground and give you beautiful tulips.

That is what we were told and that is what we did. Except for one year when we didn’t buy bulbs and store them in the refrigerator and then take them out and plant them. Three tulip plants appeared one day sprouting up through the soft soil like three green knife blades a few weeks after some very cold weather. All by themselves. With no help from us.

Hmmm. “Oh yea of little faith,” a bible verse came to mind. Like the robin, the established first sign of spring, the tulips reminded us that a new season was coming whether or not we prepared for it. New growth. New hope. New opportunities and people to meet and love. All we have to do is go out there and look for the signs of a new season.

The Brass Chalice

2010-01-19T12:22:00.000-08:00

A small brass chalice type receptacle. I found it on my mother’s shelf after she had passed away. I brought it home and placed it on my kitchen shelf. After writing a note and leaving it on the kitchen I worried the note might fly off the table. So I placed the small brass chalice on top of the note.

The note reached my son who would arrive home from school before anyone else. The next day I wrote a note when I left for my teaching job, and, again, placed the brass receptacle on the note on the table. In time, like Pavlov’s dog, we all became trained and knew the brass chalice meant a note or a message for someone in the family.

And so we look for patterns in everyday living. If it happens a few times, then it will happen many times and you can expect it to happen perhaps forever. The mailman’s arrival can be a pattern. If he comes at 9:30 A.M for several mornings, it is probable he will come for months, perhaps years at the very same time.

Patterns are our guideposts, the things we look for when we try to make sense of what we are actually observing. And then we say, “Ah, there it is. Now I know what is going to happen next.” And that understanding brings us comfort.

Learning

2010-01-17T17:26:00.000-08:00

What does it take for a child to succeed in school? That seems to be in the newspaper often. People shake their heads and everyone wonders. Well, it takes a lot of things.

This is the picture that comes to my mind. A teacher leads-she has the knowledge and skills-the student moves himself along by working on his lessons and using his head and the parent is pushing, prodding, and encouraging the child/student. It is definitely a formula in which three parties are contributing to the success of a student. That is the general idea.

Now what does it take for the child to learn? Any new learning must connect to knowledge that is already there in the child’s brain or experiences, sort of like adding a link to a chain. I asked the students one day…How many of you have seen a car going down the street and the tires are shaking, sort of moving from side to side because they are not straight? (hands go up-I have. Me, too.)

Then how many of you have seen commercials in which the announcer says, “If you need your tires aligned, bring in your cars and we can align your tires for you.”
(hands go up-I’ve heard that. I saw that commercial.) I write align on the blackboard.

Align your tires means to make them straight so that if I say let’s align your desks that means to put them in straight rows. Understand? Like-in-a-line.

Today I am going to ask you to align your decimals in these math problems. What am I asking you to do? (Put the decimals in a straight line.)

That is right. If we are to work with decimals, they must always be aligned or placed in a straight line. Then and only then can we work a problem successfully.
(We went from the known-tires that shake-to the unknown-the term align.)

Teaching children using ideas or concepts with which they are familiar is another method of engaging them so you can teach them.
More….later…..

Proud to be an American

2010-01-07T04:05:00.000-08:00

We were at a large conference in Costa Rica with over 600 persons in attendance representing countries from Central and South America and the USA and it was our turn to sing a song which exemplified our feelings toward our country. Members of each of the countries involved in the ceremony were to do the same, sing about their respective countries.

We Americans stood up in our red, white, and blue outfits and sang Lee Greenwood’s song, “I’m Proud to be an American.” Naturally my eyes became moist as they usually do when I sing a patriotic song.

I thought as I sang…I am singing with my fellow Americans but I am also singing among my cousins or sisters because my parents were immigrants from Mexico and the Central and South American women have Spanish and Indigenous ancestors as I do.

I heard and saw the women from the various countries in Central and South America as they, too, sang proudly and with emotion. We had some differences among the countries, but I couldn’t help but feel, we were so alike.

Perspective

2010-01-05T05:50:00.000-08:00

Perspective

Someone said, “A person is the sum total of his experiences.” And those experiences determine how an individual perceives the world around him or her. A perfect example of this were the answers we gave my three year old grandson while reading a story to him.

First the backgrounds
Mine: I had a bench stolen from my front porch. Also, I have had folks steal other things from me in a variety of situations. Now I am more careful with what I do and where I place things.

My daughter's: My husband always told the children to do their best in school because of the bad economy. Economy was not an isolated word to him. Bad economy were two words that went together, no doubt about it. The children were well familiar with the term BAD ECONOMY.

My son-in-law’s: He works with companies that invest money. Investments are his middle name.

And now my grandson and the story he wanted us to read to him nightly, “The Beauty and the Beast”. We took turns reading the story to him and every time we came to a certain point he asked the same question. The story went something like this: There was once a very rich merchant with a beautiful daughter…The merchant suddenly lost all his money.
When I read the part of the merchant losing his money, my grandson’s reaction: Whyyyyyyyyy?
My answer: Someone stole it.

The next night my daughter read the story and when she read the part of the merchant losing his money, my grandson asked the same question: Whyyyyyyyyyyy?
My daughter’s answer: Bad economy.

The third night my son-in-law read the story and when he came to the part where he read the merchant lost his money my grandson asked the same question: Whyyyyyyyyy?
My son in law’s answer: Bad investments.

So you see the truth of anything lies somewhere in our answers, but our answers are all based on our perceptions or on our own experiences. I guess we have to draw our own conclusions, again, based on our thinking.

A Gift From My Father

2009-12-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

Today, Dec. 20, is my birthday I was born many years ago on a cold Monday morning in December. Possibly it was snowing as we lived in Central Texas. Upon hearing that my mother had delivered a little girl, my father was delighted. So happy was he about the new daughter he went to a store and bought me a Shirley Temple doll. Of course I didn't know the story until years later, and by then our bond was a strong one.

My mother, a kind person, and my father, a demanding parent, somehow or other rounded out my life through their different styles of guidance. My mother taught me kindness through example. I knew what Daddy expected of me and I attempted to please him. And I tried to never disappoint him. Right before he died at age sixty-three he told me I had never disappointed him. I thought it an odd statement as I had certainly disappointed myself several times.

Because he attempted to uplift us all by telling us we could accomplish much, I handle moments of sadness or rejection by recalling the positive statements he made to me. Then I remember it is all right and I have another opportunity to succeed.
Often I relied on the memories and the ideas he instilled in me. And that has been one of my anchors.

It's my birthday and I thank God for the parents He placed me with. And I still have the Shirley Temple doll.

The Influence of One Man

2009-12-08T20:50:00.000-08:00

It was summertime and Janie, a Junior High student, took a job as an aide in a summer school program. The supervisor of the program Mr. Garcia had a meeting of all the aides in a school cafeteria. “I want to know the goal of every single one of you,” he told them. “What do you plan to do with your life?”

Janie raised her hand, “I plan to drop out of school.”

Mr. Garcia looked surprised. She had just been selected to work in an educational setting and she planned to drop out of school. It didn’t make sense. “Why do you want to do that Janie?”

“Just because. School is boring. I like to sew. If I drop out of school, I can sew for a living.”

After the meeting Mr. Garcia sat and conversed with Janie. “I like to sew better than anything else,” she told him.

“Do not quit school. I’ll talk to the counselor at your school so you can get in all the sewing you want.” And he did and Janie stayed in school.

Janie kept working in the summer but by high school she again told Mr. Garcia she was quitting so she could get a fulltime job and earn more money. Mr. Garcia had a summer job at a shoe store. He went to the manager and told him he wanted to quit but wanted the manager to hire an ambitious young woman. Janie started selling shoes in the summers.

Janie graduated from high school and then from college. Mr. Garcia felt so proud. She told me the story and I couldn’t get it out of my mind like a song with a catchy tune. In time Mr. Garcia died and many folks attended his service. I sat there and wondered how many folks at the funeral service were recipients of his advice. One man. An influence that lives on and on.

Travels with Mary

2009-12-04T18:06:00.000-08:00

My sister Mary and I have traversed the state of Texas many times. Each time we travel peculiar things happen. The first time I noticed was when we took a trip to the central part of the state. We arrived, ate dinner, watched television, and then settled in for the night, she by going to sleep in her bed immediately while I did my nightly reading in my bed.

After an hour or Mary raised her head from the pillow and, while completely asleep, asked, “How far is it?”

I answered, “We are in Austin in a hotel.”

“But, how far is it,” she demanded to know.

“We arrived in Austin and now we are in bed.”

“But, how far is it?” she asked indignantly this time.

“Twenty miles,” I answered.

Surprisingly enough she went right back to sleep and I went back to reading my John Grisham book, although I must admit, at that moment, our hotel room seemed more interesting than whatever John Grisham offered. The next day she remembered nothing.

On another trip to Austin Mary slipped on her nightgown immediately after dinner while I, still fully dressed, read in my bed. A ringing occurred and it wasn’t the telephone. “What is that?” I asked.

“A fire alarm.”

I spoke to my sister, “Let’s go. This might be a real fire.”

“I’ve got to get dressed.” She explained.

“Just throw on a sweater or raincoat. Nobody cares.”

She comments, “I need my shoes.”

“You don’t need shoes,” I say.

Another bell rings and my sister states, “That means it was just a false alarm. You see there was no need to get excited.”

Recently we took a trip to Houston in a new car. On our way back Mary says, “Don’t forget to remind me to buy gas.” I thought only of the delicious barbeque restaurant in Wharton.

“Sure.”

After we ate our barbeque we drove on. Before long we passed Victoria and entered a long, lonely stretch in which no businesses of any kind can be found. Several miles later a small buzzer went off. “Ohhhh,” we both groaned remembering the gas we needed.

A word with the number twenty-six appeared on the dashboard. “Why, is the word DIE and 26 miles showing?” I calmly asked my sister. Surely, the car wasn’t telling us we were going to die 26 miles up the road.

“Look it up.” Sure enough, I found the manual and what it indicated was ‘Distance To Empty.’ DTE not DIE. We drove on.

She reached over to the dashboard and I quickly said, “Don’t touch anything. It’ll use up more gas.” We drove with no heating, no air conditioning, no lights, etc. The car kept showing the decreasing miles until the numbers disappeared completely and an asterisk appeared.

“What does that mean?” We asked each other as she drove on.

“I think we are on fumes.” She added.

We went down a small hill and there nestled at the bottom was a service station. We rolled in and began breathing normally. No wonder Mother always said, “En el nombre sea de Dios,” (in God’s name) before she ever entered a vehicle. Come to think of it…she only said it whenever my sister or I drove.

Life, Up Close

2009-11-24T11:27:00.000-08:00

Our son took us to a presentation of The Secret Garden and obtained front row seats at the college theater, a gesture which was not lost on me. I love plays and the closer I sit, the more I enjoy it.

The play commenced with women attending a party in the garden. As they stood mere inches away from me, I, an aficionado of fabrics, designs, and craftsmanship looked over the costumes carefully. The dresses in blues and pinks and other pastels displayed long sleeves, lace and full skirts. How lovely, I thought. I looked closer. Much to my disappointment, I saw tears in the hems, crooked seams and missing lace. Obviously, the dresses or costumes showed wear and tear. Although it was a natural occurrence for clothes taken out of the theater’s wardrobe, I felt like one feels when an unexpected horrible and hurtful truth is told. An exposure I found hard to deal with.

But isn’t life like this? You have a girlfriend whose company you really enjoy, and then one day she lies, breaks off your lunch date and goes off to lunch with another friend. Or the boyfriend who tells you he is working at a project, and you hear he is actually with another girl. Same thing. When you get up close to the situation you see the truth. It’s just like looking into a magnifying mirror. All the flaws glare at you and you are suddenly shocked at the realization that you hadn’t seen what was really there. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed the flaws before or maybe you had just looked the other way.

Either way, the truth socks you like water splashing you when a car runs over a large puddle of water on the street which you failed to notice as you walked by. And there you are, stunned, frightened and not certain what to do next.

What to do? After mulling this over I’ve decided I still want to sit up close to the action. I want to be as close to life as I can be. Throw the truth at me. I can handle it. Surely, knowing and seeing the truth is better than believing in something and then finding out the truth later. That could hurt more. As I said before, just put me on the front row on the stage of life. I want to see and hear everything. I know all is not perfect nor is it supposed to be. I am ready to take what comes.

The World, Before and After Rain

2009-11-20T14:15:00.000-08:00

It is raining hard outside right now. These rainy days remind me of rainy days when I was a child. Mama kept a large beautiful chiffonier in the living room. Even though she kept everything in it under lock and key, she gave me access to one of the bottom drawers.

In the drawer I kept play dishes and doll clothes and pieces of cloth to use on my dolls. When it rained and we couldn’t go out to play, instead of feeling disappointed, I felt joyous because it was my opportunity to play with my dolls and the things in the bottom drawer of the chiffonier. Since I was the youngest child for eight years I played mostly by myself.

We lived in a large rambling house with long glass windows that almost came down to the floor. From time to time as I played, I wondered what was going on in the outside world beyond the window, the porch, the street, and even our small town. What are other people doing when it rains like this?

I don’t wonder anymore. People do all sorts of things. They bake bread, sew, work on the computer, knit, crochet, write, converse with one another, read, and wait for the rain to stop so they can perhaps go outside and see how everything looks.

That’s what I did when the rain stopped. My brothers and I ran outside to see the world, now wet, the leaves now glistening with drops of water, roses drooping a bit, the ditch flowing like a small river, the rainbow way up in the sky, and the cleanest air one can ever breathe. It was another world and we were happy to be in it.

The Match

2009-11-16T18:58:00.000-08:00

Among Daddy's faithful customers at his business was Mr. Wright, the owner of his own successful business in our small town. Often Mr. Wright stopped to buy gasoline or to have his car serviced and, while there, chatted with Daddy about various topics. On one occasion in the 1950s he stopped to buy gas and to tell Daddy his wife was seriously ill. Concerned about the situation Daddy asked him if there was anything he could do. Mr. Wright, who had consulted various doctors, smiled patronizingly at Daddy and said, “No, there is nothing you can do, but I appreciate your offer to help.” He drove off and left Daddy thinking about what had just occurred, and he told my mother about it.
Mr. Wright appeared again, and voiced his fear for his beloved wife. Daddy listened and again offered to help in any way he could. Mr. Wright appeared a third time and again expressed concern for his wife and asked Daddy if there was any way one of his sons could go and be tested to see what kind of blood he had. Perhaps it would match his wife’s, and he said he would much rather have the blood of one of Daddy’s boys as he knew they lived wholesome lives. Daddy sent my brothers who were healthy football players. Sure enough, Ben’s blood matched Mrs. Wright’s blood, and the transfusion occurred.
Mrs. Wright recovered and displayed her gratefulness by sending over home-cooked pecan pies from time to time especially for Ben; he shared his gifts with us.
The years passed. We graduated from college and Mr. Wright passed away. We married and had families and in time our parents passed away. Mrs. Wright, meanwhile, experienced good health.
From time to time we traveled to reunions in our small town. Mrs. Wright was always present and talked to all of us, but especially to Ben. The last time we saw Mrs. Wright at a reunion she was 104 years old and lived in a nursing home. Her mind, however, was as alert as it had been fifty two years before. At that last reunion she said to Ben who was now seventy years old, “Ben, I want you to know that it was your blood that kept me going all these years. I want to thank you again.”
We still go to reunions, but we miss Mrs. Wright. I thought she would live forever; she might have thought so, too.

Impressions

2009-11-15T03:39:00.000-08:00

The teachers told us to get in the bus because they were taking us to meet someone important. We teenagers rode the bus to a nearby town. All of us shook hands with the U.S. Senator. When it came my turn to shake his hand, he looked above my head at someone else. I knew I was totally inconsequential to the politician. He had other important things to do.

My sister in law told me she, as a high school sophomore, was taken to the home of a college coed. “The way she treated me in her nice home, her smiles, her handshake, the graciousness of her manners, I shall never forget. She made me, an insignificant teenager, feel so important.”

It isn’t the fancy clothing. It’s not about the expensive watch. The fancy haircut from the most expensive salon in the city won’t do it for you either. And it isn’t about the beautiful car parked outside.

The part of you that people will remember the best, the element they will never forget, is the way you treated them. The manner in which you spoke to them, the effort expended in dealing with them whether at work, at a business, or in your home. The respect you displayed toward them in your speech and in your attitude toward them. That memory of you will stay with them for the rest of their lives.

Be Happy

2009-11-15T03:18:00.001-08:00

“You look happy all the time,” an older friend said to me.

“Oh, do I?”

“Yes,” she told me. “I have the idea that life is good for you.”

“I do feel blessed,” I told her, “but sometimes I have unpleasant things happen to me, also. Every one does. I just made the decision a few years ago to be happy. I discovered that happiness is not the result of only good things happening to you, but rather it is a decision you make in spite of negative occurrences. I decided to be happy.”

“So what do you do when you get hurt?”

“I attempt to deal with it. One deals with one incident a little differently than with another situation. I try to apply the right solution, if one exists, to the appropriate problem. If I can, I put it aside. Either way, I know I shall end up happy.”

It is a decision available to all.

We Are All Everyone

2009-11-13T13:47:00.000-08:00

Recently we saw the movie Babel again. A most interesting film about how people from different parts of the world are actually interconnected. Our feelings are so similar, perhaps seen from different perspectives, but so similar, if not identical.
I made some stuffed teddy bears for a shower and kept two for myself. Meanwhile a son went to Uganda to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. When he told me he was staying with a family, a mother and father, four children of their own and four nieces and nephews, I thought of sending a package.
We sent a box with watercolors, activity books, and toys. I saw some space at the very top and added one of the teddy bears. We placed some peanuts and candy in the tiny available spaces .My husband thought of placing a copy of the New York Times for our son to read. We shipped the package off.
My son wrote us a letter in which he described the scene. “I opened the box with all eight children surrounding me. The thought of a package seemed to fascinate them. As I took out each item the children’s eyes grew larger and larger. I distributed the gifts and the father was thrilled to sit and read the New York Times even though the copy was several weeks old."
I remembered as a child when Mother opened a package Grandmother mailed to us. She lived in South Texas while we lived in Central Texas. We circled the kitchen table. The items she sent us could not be found in our part of the state. Pan dulce, for example, by the time it arrived was dried, yet Mother loved it and felt fortunate to get it. Herbs or yerbas, as Mother called them, pleased her. My sister and I received bows with matching feathers for our long black hair. We children and Mother, too, experienced joy and pleasure upon opening those packages.
In Uganda our son ran into a small girl who could not speak or hear. He met her guardians and inquired of the child. They said they were her aunt and uncle and the child couldn’t attend school because of her disability. So she worked cleaning their home. My son investigated further and found a German school for children with disabilities. Yes, they could take her in but she needed a uniform and shoes, something her feet had never experienced. And then there was the matter of the tuition.
He took her to a store where they fitted her for a uniform and shoes. Her eyes, upon wearing the shoes, told the story. How proud she felt of her new shoes, and how strange it must have seemed to cover her feet for the first time in her life.
Her parents invited our son to eat dinner with them. So pleased were they with their daughter’s promising future in an educational setting, that they had to meet the young man and treat him as best they could. Delicious chicken graced their modest table that evening. Thankfulness and graciousness presided in that home that day and perhaps on many other days, also.
Universal feelings. Pleasure in receiving packages. A need. A desire to help. Gratitude. Happiness and hope for a small child. We are all the same. We are all everyone.

Our Veterans, Our Heroes

2009-11-11T04:30:00.000-08:00

It is entirely appropriate to say something about our heroes today on Veterans’ Day. If it were not for the soldiers who fought in WWII, we might not be able to do the things we are doing today.

Our soldiers are not heroes because they killed enemy soldiers. They are heroes because they preserved our liberty, our freedom to live as we are able to live, to go where we please, to worship wherever we choose. They sacrificed for us.

Their fighting for us who waited back home was an unselfish act. Risking their lives for freedom is a concept some might not even appreciate. But if you understand what it is they did, tell a veteran you appreciate his or her efforts. Let them know we are grateful.

God bless us all. And May God bless our country.

My Best

2009-11-09T18:44:00.000-08:00

The movie Schindler’s List captivated me. The fact that he saved so many people from death in WWII, and the manner in which he did it moved me to tears. In one of the last scenes in the movie in which Israel is honoring him and the descendants of those he saved speak to him, he responds by saying, …”I could have done more.”

A few years ago I ran into a former student. In the third grade she was an extraordinary student. She did her homework, excelled in class and behaved. How could any teacher not love this child? She came up to me and hugged me saying, “My third grade year (when I taught her) was wonderful. In fact I look at those years in elementary school and realize they were the best years of my life.”

Naturally I was pleased with what she said and happy she loved our school environment. But I also thought…I could have done even more.

Actually, there was not a whole lot more I could have done. We didn’t have much technology back then. I made little money so I really couldn’t have spent any more than I did. And I was young and had not traveled much at all. Thus the information or knowledge I passed on to the students came out of the books, our primary source.

But like Schindler I think most of us look back on what we have done and while pleased when we hear something complimentary about our contributions in the past, we usually feel…I could have done more.

My solution: from this day forward I shall do all I can in any given situation so that I can rest comfortably and say…I did my best.

A New Friend

2009-11-07T04:10:00.000-08:00

I met him just a few years ago, but his reputation preceded him, as they say. The people who told me about him said, “He is honest, warm, intelligent and a wonderful person to get to know.”

A few minutes into my interview of him and I learned everything they had told me about him was true, and I could add other complimentary attributes.

He answered my questions but probed about my intentions. Why was I asking him about WWII? What did I plan to do with the information? What was the item I placed on the table? It was a recorder.

I felt as though I knew him from long ago, a lost friend. He supported me in my efforts by wishing me well, and his eyes never left mine during the interview. We spoke of mutual friends. And he wished me well.

I attempted to pay for our meal because after all he had given me information I could use. He insisted on paying the bill. We promised to meet again. In a short period of time Hector had become a good friend.

Teacher For a Lifetime

2009-10-31T17:02:00.000-07:00

I remember my teacher Mrs. Pietsch. I remember her because she taught history and that knowledge is still with me. Sacajawea has stayed with me since fifth grade because of Mrs. Pietsch, and she is still pointing toward the Pacific Ocean.

Desoto came from Spain and I can see him with his metal helmet. I understand Columbus’ men rebelling because they feel Columbus is taking them on a wild trip across a flat world. Queen Isabella (Isabel in Spanish) backs Columbus. Ah, now I know the Spanish are my faraway ancestors and perhaps some are involved in this trip. I can pronounce the names of the conquistadores or explorers.

Patrick Henry is speaking to the House of Delegates and I hear him because of Mrs. Pietsch, and I know he is supporting the right cause because Mrs. Pietsch is smiling as she speaks of him.

And she warns us, “Don’t ask questions of the veterans of WWII because they don’t want to talk about what horrors they have seen.” So, young as we are, we almost tiptoe when a veteran is near.

Oh, to be a teacher like Mrs. Pietsch. Perhaps that is why I chose that career, and maybe that is why History is my favorite subject. “Sacajawea, what do you think?”

Dreams

2009-10-30T02:39:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had a dream of becoming someone special or doing something unique? I have. At the age of twelve I told a friend of the family it would be nice to write an article in the newspaper and see my name as the author; byline is the proper word, but I didn’t know that at the time. And it came to pass.

I didn’t know anything about writing other than what the teachers assigned, and back then we didn’t do much writing, certainly not like the students do now. But when the teachers did give us a writing assignment they seemed pleased with my efforts.

In college and in graduate school writing assignments were my favorite work. Those assignments took time, and I had to think everything out. Even now in life I look at some of them and say to myself, “Now that is not too bad when you consider I was a teenager.”

Well, I still have dreams, and I work on them daily. They vary and there are several of them. Some are short term and some dreams demand more of me. Nonetheless I continue working toward them. I suppose some folks might refer to my dreams as goals, and certainly they are that, but I like to say they are dreams.

Happy dreams.

Confidence

2009-10-27T08:06:00.001-07:00

Recently I found an old picture of my father and me walking down the street in a middle-sized town where he went to buy car parts for his business. I am about eight years old, small, skinny and neatly-dressed with pigtails that dangled on my shoulders. Daddy wearing an open shirt and slacks is tall and walking confidently with his eyes looking forward, unsmiling but comfortable with what he is doing. I am looking at a store window, curious as always but happy to be with my father.

No matter what ill wind might blow our way, Daddy always looked and spoke confidently about the future. “We can overcome this with God’s help.”

Because of his prevailing attitude I, too, adopted his way of thinking. When something worrisome occurs, I say to members of my family, “We will work it out.” I know God will help us out. He always has. And He always will.

It pays to be confident, to work toward the solution of problems and to know that God is right there waiting for us to call on Him.

Confidence

2009-10-27T08:06:00.000-07:00

Dedication

2009-10-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

It was high school graduation night and our son was among the several hundred who had participated in the ceremony. We wanted to make contact with him before we drove home and celebrated with relatives. We looked all over and could not locate him.

And then I found them, a daughter and her father. I stopped briefly and watched. Jane, a tall slender girl, and Sam, her father, a short stocky man, stood looking lovingly at one another. She took her National Honor Society braid and placed it around his neck, and they both laughed. She made other quiet statements to her father and he chuckled. Smiles and perhaps tears.

I never forgot the poignant scene of the lovely daughter looking down at her father and can recall it even now so many years later for I knew the full story. I was told the father raised his daughter from the time she was an infant without help from anyone except a babysitter. He saw her through the pre-school years, middle school years and through her high school years. Finally, at age eighteen he prepared to send her off to college.

Upon graduation she fully understood her father’s dedication and loved him perhaps even more than other children loved their fathers for she understood his sacrifices. A few years later I saw them again, this time at her wedding.

There was not a doubt in my mind. This man was the most dedicated father I ever met, and she was the luckiest girl in the world. Blessings to them both.

Soul Mate

2009-10-20T06:45:00.000-07:00

People and researchers have pondered over the question: Why does a human fall in love with a particular person and not with another? What is or what are the elements that cause an individual to seek the love and attention of a particular individual?

Is it commonalities? Perhaps they have the same interests. They like the same things, sports, fishing, traveling? Is the commonality the link that catches them and holds them together?

Does a person become attracted to another who reminds him of a person in his family? Some folks have stated that. Is an individual looking for someone who will fill a need? And if three folks can fill that need, why does he or she choose the one person?

Recently I found what I consider a valid answer. I read the following statement: I liked the way he made me feel about myself. That is it, I told myself. I had never read that before. We need to think about our own experiences. Did the person you fell in love with make you feel you were worthy, smart, beautiful or handsome, happy, caring, sweet, thoughtful…? Did that person make you experience the suggestion that you could even accomplish more in the future? Did you feel hope?

Did you finally feel that someone knew the real you? And you understood that person ever so well, also. If so, you reached the “soul mate’ level, a unique understanding of one another. Congratulations.

The Need for Love

2009-10-11T17:08:00.000-07:00

An eighty-five year old man lost his wife. A year later he began seeing female friends. Criticism ensued. Why? Would they prefer he spent the rest of his life like a zombie watching television for hours on end?

Sometimes the young folks think they have a monopoly on love. Not so. No matter the age, all of us have the need for love or friendship, a relationship, or a closeness, some sort of experience in which another person appreciates you and enjoys your company.

Toddlers in nurseries seek each other out. Small children in schools, when they go out to play, look for someone to “pal around with”, to share pleasure in playing, a child to laugh with, another peer to show by a smile… I like you.

Teenagers and young adults clamor for the presence of other humans to validate them, to brighten their existence, and perchance to form a closeness they have not had before.

My grandmother died at ninety-six years of age. One of the last words she uttered was the name Benjamin, the name of her husband, the man who abandoned her once and then returned to her life asking for forgiveness for his foolish act. She rejected him but apparently never forgot him. He remained in her mind, the love of her life, until her dying day.

The elderly gentleman mentioned in the first paragraph deserves someone to accompany him in life as do we all. And so, Dear Readers, I wish you friendships, love, good working relationships and happiness in your lives.

Message to a Young Woman

2009-10-08T00:10:00.000-07:00

“How do you deal with difficult people?” A young woman asked me as we chatted.

“It isn’t easy,” I told her. “You can choose to ignore the behavior that is annoying. Keep in mind that some remarks are not worth arguing over. Remember the saying, “Pick your fights.

“You can address the behavior in a decent manner in which you acknowledge the person’s ill-chosen words and yet show that you don’t appreciate them and will not tolerate them in the future. That is the tricky part because some folks don’t understand diplomatic language. And they never will.”

“Have you had problems you didn’t know how to handle?”

“Have I ever! I have blundered my way through life, fallen, scraped myself, arose and started anew. And one of the best things I learned is to forgive. Some folks are mean because that is all they know. They were treated like that and that is how they learned to cope. It is not a good idea to join that group. Instead, associate with honest, cheerful and positive people.

“Then look at your friends because your good friends are the best mirror you can find which tells you about yourself. (old Spanish proverb) In other words you associate with those folks who are most like you. So look and select your friends carefully.”

Drawing Conclusions

2009-09-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

It was nearing the income tax deadline, April 15, and my daughter, a Certified Public Accountant, was working many hours a day. She said, “I want you to come in during spring break, but be aware you will see very little of me because of my work.”

“We’re coming.” As a teacher I needed the break. So my young twelve year old son invited his cousin of the same age to join us as we traveled to Dallas to visit his older sister. Just as she told us my daughter left to go to work while it was still dark and returned late at night. Meanwhile, my son, his cousin and I explored all we could in the big city.

With the tax deadline behind her, my daughter came to visit us a few weeks later. She drove her little brother, his cousin who had traveled with him, and another friend of the same age to the movies. The new friend said to my young daughter, “Wow, you have your own car. What do you do for a living?”

She answered, “Well, why don’t you guess?”

Her young cousin gave hints. “She leaves early in the morning, and comes back late at night.”

“I know,” the little friend excitedly yelled, “you work at Seven-Eleven.”

Moral of the story: Don’t draw conclusions until you have all the facts.

Differences

2009-09-29T05:55:00.000-07:00

After a period of time we meet and say hello to our son. I, the mother, hugs and kisses and “I love you”. Touch, touch the face. I must touch the face to make sure he is all right. That is motherly behavior, motherly thoughts.

My husband then greets our son. “Play” hits him on the stomach. My son returns the gesture. Then one laughs. The other laughs. “Hey Buddy.” (Not his name.) “Hey Buddy,” returns the other. They finally shake hands with the free hand on each other’s shoulder. Two men, like two little boys, “hitting” each other as a way of greeting one another. Finally, a hug between father and son.

How strange…I think. Some greeting. It must go back to the days of primitive men, before they could speak, when they groaned or grunted and perhaps pawed one another as a form of greeting. Or in recognition.

How different we are, mothers and fathers toward our children. And yet it works. I think it must be the love behind all the different rituals we follow. No matter what you do when you see someone you love, it’s the feeling manifesting itself through our gestures. The look of gladness in our eyes. The love that is way back there and works its way to the surface. It is wonderful.

Reflections

2009-09-24T16:29:00.000-07:00

After I became a young woman my mother began recalling stories of her life. She had told me some stories before but these took on a more serious tone: the fire that burned her house down; the depression; the war, etc. The harsh experiences in her life gave her a wisdom few people possess, and from time to time she dispensed some of her ideas to me.
She was a quiet woman, kind, reflective, involved in her children’s lives but never intrusive. Yet some of the words she uttered displayed a depth I never understood as a child. “Children need to be allowed to be children,” she said one day. That is why she was not harsh with us, why she seemed lenient. She didn’t want to deprive us of our childhood.
Another time she said, “Don’t return that gift your husband gave you. It may never come your way again.” I kept the silver object and still love it to this day.
And after she needed special care she said, “Don’t spend the night here with me. I’ll be all right. You belong with your husband. Go back home.” This time I disobeyed her, but shortly thereafter we found someone to spend weekends with her so I could be with my family.
Even after she became ill she thought of others first. Her last words to me which I shall always treasure: “Que Dios te cuide, hija.” (May God take care of you, daughter.) And He has.

The Eyes Have It

2009-09-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

“When you want to know about people,” my friend Mrs. Powell told me, “just look into their eyes. The eyes tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

I began doing that. I probed and looked deeply into certain individual’s eyes as we conversed. My teacher friend Annie has eyes that want to learn. They search my face when I tell her anything at all. Nothing else catches her attention when I speak to her. And her seriousness is evident. Her mouth is set and her body is still.

Alvin, a principal, has eyes that twinkle like he is enjoying a joke when we talk. His smile matches his eyes all crinkly and winking at me. It is fun talking with him as I know what his reaction will be before I even begin. And he is antsy. He keeps on moving or fidgeting. But his eyes cheer you on.

Sally smiles and doesn’t stop. Her message from her eyes; I like you. And I, in turn, can’t help but like her. She shows interest and adds to the conversation, which enhances the subject matter. A person is richer in knowledge after talking with her.

And then I met Agnes. Nothing. Her eyes were blank. How can that be? I wondered. We all have a message, a feeling, a thought, a position. I looked again as we spoke. Nothing. Her blue eyes showed me nothing. And I felt bad when I walked away. To this day I can’t understand it. A total blank.

Faith in What You Know

2009-09-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

Many years ago my father moved his family from a small town to the city where I was teaching. He had to register my brother at his assigned junior high school and asked me to join him.

The counselor talked about the school and how different the new large school was from the small school my brother had attended. "Don't expect him to do as well here in this sophisticated school as he did in that small town school," she cautioned my father.

I was nervous, thinking, Lady, you are talking to the wrong man. I worried that our father, a strong-willed man with a great deal of determination and goals for his children, might argue with the counselor. Instead, he remained silent.

We said our thanks and goodbyes and walked out of her office. As we approached the car, my father stopped, and turning to my young brother said confidently, "You know that woman in there? She is ignorant. She doesn't know you. You will do fine here as you always have."

I relaxed. That's my Dad, I said to myself. And my brother succeeded just like Daddy said he would.

Assurance

2009-09-09T03:15:00.000-07:00

A church group was preparing for a long trip to Chicago. The Youth Director gave each young person, a member of a choir, a questionnaire to fill out. One of the questions asked was...Who would you like to sit by? Other interesting questions filled the paper.

The young people spoke to the Youth Director individually about their feelings on this two- week trip to another part of the country. One young lady, Ruthie, told the director no one liked her. He surprised her by saying...Did you know that your name came up more than anyone else's on the question...Who would you like to sit by?

She was surprised as she had greatly underestimated herself. She was a quiet, unassuming girl. She kept to herself and thought, perhaps, that because she wasn't Miss Bubbly, people didn't like her.

What she didn't realize is that people do appreciate quiet people, also, as long as they are honest, helpful and display friendship. Each individual has value and personal worth. It is there. Look for it, and you will find it.

Good hunting.

Believe in Yourself

2009-09-08T05:33:00.000-07:00

When I first met my husband's Uncle George, a tall Averell Harriman type person, he said, "Hello."

I said, "Hello."

Then he immediately follows with, "Do you eat chow chow?"

My first thought, "What is this? What is wrong with this man?"

He told me he made chow-chow, a relish you eat with hot dogs, hamburgers, and black-eyed peas.

Uncle George - it turns out he was a very nice man - believed in himself and in his product. He kept on working on his chow-chow product and eventually the company expanded. His products now sell all over the country.

He convinced me to buy a jar, and I eat the product to this day. But the most important lesson I learned from Uncle George was to believe wholly and completely in what you undertake. Good things will happen.