Some inventions come about from sheer necessity – the wheel and pantyhose, for example. Others come about because people want a more convenient way to live – the electric light bulb and the Barcalounger.

Other inventions come along because somebody has a crazy idea – the Veg-O-Matic and a coffee frother. Both, however, were banished to the back of my kitchen cabinet after failing to deliver what the salesman promised.

But my favorite off-the-wall useful invention is the windshield sun shade.

They come in a variety of sizes and colors and cost less than 10 bucks. As a bonus, they block damaging ultraviolet rays from transforming a dark gray dashboard into the color of bones left in the desert sun.

The manufacturer promises that the shade “folds easily for compact storage.” If one has six arms and the skills of Houdini they fold easily. But for me, the shade refuses to cooperate.

I usually get so frustrated I just throw the whole contraption in the back seat, fully extended. One afternoon, my husband gave me a logical show-and-tell demonstration on how to fold the shade up in one easy-to-copy motion.

“Put your hands on either side of the panels,” he said, holding the sunshade up. I made a mental note to do just that.

“And then twist one side one way and the other side the opposite way,” he explained and, in a wink, that huge blue shade was the size of a dinner dish.

That maneuver looked pretty simple, and if I can manage parallel parking, I reasoned, folding up the sun shade should be a walk in the park.

The next day, I tried to duplicate my husband’s instructions. I twisted. The shade rebounded with a vengeance and knocked my sunglasses off.

I tried again. Instead of looking like a dinner plate, my attempt at refolding the sunshade resulted in a lop-sided rectangle the size of a suitcase. Frustrated and hot, I threw the unfolded shade in the back seat.

A few days later, my son spotted the uncooperative and still fully extended shade in the back seat.

“Mom, these are easy to fold up,” he said. “Let me show you.”

In three seconds, he had that shade folded and the elastic band firmly around the middle to keep it from exploding. I was amazed.

“Show me how to do that,” I said. “Explain it to me like I’m 5 years old. Make that 3 years old.”

Laughing, he went slowly through the steps again, and I actually managed to snap the shade into place.

That is until the next time I was in a hot parking lot by myself. I bent, I twisted, I folded – that shade did everything except what I wanted it to do.

“Fine,” I said in exasperation and banished it, fully extended, to the back seat.

The next passenger in my car was my daughter-in-law. I explained to her my frustration with that stupid car shade, and she patted me on the back.

“No problem,” she said. “My job when I was a teen was to fold my mom’s car shades for her. I’ll do the same for you.”

Finally someone who understood that not all of us have the flexibility of an acrobat to perform that magic folding trick.

Now if only she can show me how to use that Veg-O-Matic.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

One of the prettiest sights on a back country road is of horses galloping or quietly grazing in a wide open field. Truth be told, I’m afraid of horses, having ridden only a few times in my life.

I didn’t know how to control the powerful animal I was sitting on, so I just held on for dear life, palms sweating, heart pounding.

But I’ve always marveled at people who have a sixth sense about animals, and I was particularly drawn to a documentary, “Buck,” about cowboy Buck Brannaman who uses natural horsemanship to train horses.

His early life was traumatic. After Buck’s mother died, his father beat him and his brother so savagely and so often that Buck feared for his life every single day.

When he was 12 years old, his football coach saw welts and bruises on his back, and he and the sheriff removed Buck and his brother from their father’s home the very same day. Buck went to live with foster parents Forrest and Betsy Shirley who provided a safe home for the brothers.

Buck learned a lot from the Shirleys – respect does not mean fear, people need to feel wanted and productive and a family’s love does not include intimidation and fear.

Because the Shirleys came into their lives, the brothers were able to grow up in a home filled with strong family values and two foster parents who lovingly treated the dozens of boys who lived with them as their own sons.

Buck translated that understanding into the way he trains horses using natural horsemanship, the philosophy of working with horses by appealing to their instincts and building a partnership instead of intimidation.

For over 24 years, he’s built on the natural horsemanship methods he learned from Ray Hunt and Tom Dorrance and now gives four-day clinics all over the country.

Watching him as he rode alongside colts and their owners, constantly giving feedback, I realized Buck was also giving lessons in how to train children – be firm and quick with instruction. Give praise when a task is accomplished correctly.

Discipline does not mean cruelty. Give love freely when a task is accomplished and praise when it’s earned.

His dry sense of humor is evident throughout the film, and I found myself wondering how anyone with as violent a past as Buck lived could grow into such a funny and compassionate man and trainer.

I think it’s because Buck realized he had to understand why a horse did what it did before he could accept or change that temperament. And that same understanding applies to people – we must understand what motivates someone and then we can begin to communicate and change for the better.

In Buck’s clinics, people of all ages come to believe they can be better horsemen and women than they ever thought they could be. When the sessions are over, owners realize Buck didn’t just teach them about animals – he taught them about life.

Buck reminds us to be kinder to our fellow humans and understand we accomplish more through respect than through fear. We can experience quiet healing and unconditional love when we extend a trusting hand to both humans and animals.

This film stays with viewers long after the credits stop rolling. “Buck” is a reminder that people make free choices as to how they want to live their lives. Either live bravely in the moment or brood about and resent the past.

Listening to Buck Brannaman, I know what path I want to take.
 
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

My granddaughter loves going to the park. With the mercury hitting 100 during the day, we confine our visits to later in the evening when the mercury’s hovering at only 85 degrees, cool for Texas.

On a recent visit, my granddaughter made quick friends with two other children – Trey, who said he was 4, and Jaquisha, 5, a bright-eyed youngster filled with energy. The three quickly settled into a fast friendship, and their laughter filled the park.

After watching them for a while, I realized adults can learn a lot about how to treat people if we observe the little ones.

Rule No. 1: When playing a game, play fair so everybody enjoys the activity.

Pre-schoolers love playing chase, and that game started almost immediately. Trey and Jaquisha were cousins, so naturally my granddaughter was the one doing the chasing.

But they didn’t gang up on her. Instead, they ran slow enough for my granddaughter to run with them, instead of leaving her behind.

At one point, Trey lost a shoe and the two girls helped him put it back on, and the chase began again.

Lesson learned: If you’re smarter, faster or older, you can annihilate your opponents, but where’s the satisfaction in that. Play fair and everybody has fun.

Rule No. 2: Teach each other.

Trey taught our granddaughter how to lay on the seat of the swing, twist the chains and then let go so she could spin in quick circles. She laughed with delight , and the two spun for at least 10 minutes.

Lesson learned: Try something new. It might feel confusing at first, but stay the course and see what happens.

Rule No. 3: Help each other. At the age of 4, mastering the art of swinging is tricky. You have to lean back and reach to the sky with your toes and then, on the back swing, lean forward and pull your legs back underneath the seat.

Neither Trey nor Kylie knew exactly how to swing by themselves, but they knew enough to try and explain the basics to each other.

When that didn’t go as well as they thought – both of them were practically motionless after a few minutes – Trey jumped off his swing and pushed Kylie until she was going pretty well. Then he jumped back on the swing, and Kylie jumped off her swing and she pushed him.

Lesson learned: When you help someone else, often at the expense of your own fun, both people benefit.

Rule No. 4: Be willing to change direction. My husband found two pieces of chalk in the grass, and he handed a blue one to Kylie and a purple one to Trey. They immediately found an open sidewalk and began drawing.

After a few minutes, they exchanged chalk so they could draw with different colors. As they drew their masterpieces, they found a water spigot. They didn’t have cups, but my husband taught them how to cup their hands and get a drink.

Lesson learned: Let life unfold, go with the flow and improvise when needed.

Rule No. 5: Listen to your elders.

When Jaquisha – the eldest in the bunch at the age of 5 – told Kylie and Trey to avoid a hidden nest of ants, the two younger ones listened and avoided getting bit. She also told them not to run behind someone swinging as they’d get hurt.

Lesson learned: Experience is often the best teacher but, sometimes, it pays to listen to someone who’s been around the block.

As the sun began to set, we all headed home. Trey and Jaquisha waved until they were out of sight and Kylie did the same. In the course of an hour, these three youngsters established lines of communication, a teamwork philosophy and had fun along the way.

And they taught this adult that, sometimes, the best lessons in life can be found in the most unexpected places.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

This past weekend, my family held its annual reunion at my cousin Sam’s house in Lake Charles, La. I’ve missed the past couple of Hebert reunions due to work obligations, but I made it a point to be there this year.

Our parents always made it a point to get together, and we’re trying to keep that tradition going. This reunion was like all Hebert get togethers – loud and boisterous with music, lots of youngsters and plenty of food.

We licked the bowl clean of my sister Diane’s wonderfully delicious strawberry, angel food cake and whipped cream dessert, and Sam and his brothers barbecued slab after slab of ribs and dozens of links of hot sausage. Best of all, my Aunt Claudia made three pans of her sinfully delicious chocolate cake, all of which had disappeared by the end of the day.

The same familiar stories were told and retold, and cameras never stopped clicking. The day was bittersweet for some of my cousins as we lost my wonderful Aunt Kathy earlier this year.

She was taken from us much too soon, and her daughters soaked up the plentiful stories about their mom who loved family with all her heart.

Sam’s back door was in constant motion as the kids came in and out, checking with parents to see if they could fish off the dock or go for a ride in the boat with Uncle Mike. They’d always grab a slice of cake or a hunk of sausage before heading back out to the slip-and-slide or the outside pool.

After the reunion, my cousin, Mary, posted photos of her sister-in-law, Tara, and I knew the Hebert trait of surviving tough ordeals with laughter was still in place.

Tara is halfway through chemotherapy treatments for breast cancer, and she allowed the children to paint her now-bald head with pink and yellow hearts, smiley faces and bright blue flowers.

To top it off, the girls painted some purple and gold eyebrows on Tara’s face, a tribute to the LSU Tigers, my family’s favorite football team.

In every picture, Tara’s smiling, despite the tough road she’s on. That optimism is what’s always fueled my family and held us together.

When the going gets tough, we rustle up a pot of gumbo, throw some burgers or ribs on the barbecue pit and huddle together to figure out a solution. If we need time to think, we grab a fishing pole and sit on the end of the dock until we find inspiration.

Most of all, we’ve learned to take my grandmother’s advice to heart – remember to have fun along the way and never, ever let each other down.

I’m thankful I was there this year to watch my Aunt Claudia blow out her birthday candles, reconnect with my cousins and see my grandmother’s spirit in all of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I wished my father and his siblings could’ve been there with us, but as I watched my brothers, my sister and my cousins swap stories, their mannerisms so reminiscent of our parents, I knew, somehow, they were right there with us, just as they’ve been from the very beginning.

We’ve already set the date for next year’s reunion – June 30, 2012, same time and place.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.