Teachers are already busy decorating bulletin boards, creating seating charts and making reading nooks comfy.

They’re making sure each child has a place in the classroom, from personalized placemats to name tags over backpack hooks.

Parents are likewise getting their children ready for school. Haircuts and dental appointments are scheduled, new shoes are in the closet, and pens, pencils and notebooks are in new backpacks.

This coming year, children will learn to read and how to find and check out a book from the library. They’ll memorize their student identification number so they can get their lunch all by themselves in the cafeteria.

Parents and teachers will worry, children will hope they can snag a swing at recess and teens will wonder if they’ll have friends to help them through the coming year.

The most important education, however, comes from what we don’t prepare for –life lessons. Over the course of the coming year, teachers will be called upon to teach lessons that weren’t covered in college.

They’ll have to handle kindergarteners and first graders who miss their parents so much, they can’t stop crying. Teachers will learn to console those children but also build their confidence so they can face the day by themselves.

Middle school teachers coax confidence from a shy sixth grader who’s being bullied or ignored by the other pre-teens. These teachers will have to react quickly to youngsters who are changing from little kids to pre-teens. Those mood swings are real, as any one of them will tell you.

High school teachers are handling young adults. They know how to make their own meals and be the one in charge.

Many hold down part- or full-time jobs in addition to going to school full time. They’ve learned how to balance adult responsibilities on young, still forming shoulders.

Teachers learn to accept the circumstances their students endure but still push them to learn geometry, chemistry, trigonometry and history.

More importantly, teachers have to convince a child living in poverty that an education is a ticket out of the situation.

They teach children growing up in wealth that they have to rely on themselves to make it in life. Not their parents’ money or influence – the one person they can rely on lives in their skin.

Coaches have a daunting job. They have to be tough on their athletes, to push them to achieve both mentally and physically.

They teach boys and girls to be part of a team. In a society that’s focused on the individual, to become part of a team and give up the spotlight for the greater good is a delicate skill.

Administrators must look beyond the pretty bulletin boards and color-coordinated cubbies to how well the teacher connects with the kids in his or her class.

Let’s hope the principal remembers the teachers on staff are people who struggle with often insurmountable problems they did not create. The same goes for the kids in the classroom. Most are doing the best they can.

Do teachers discipline and correct yet smile and love? Parents understand how difficult this is as a mom or dad but they often forget how difficult this balancing act can be in a classroom.

This year, let’s look for academic and athletic achievements but, most of all, growth in each child’s and each adult’s belief in themselves.  At the end of the year, they can all be more than they believed they could be on that first school day in August.

Above all, let us pray for grace and gratitude in the classroom for everyone.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

(This short story was a writing exercise in my writing class, The Story Spinners. We could choose a picture, a phrase or a word. I chose a word, “suit.” We had an hour to write and polish.)

 

One-word Prompt:  Suit

Lorraine hadn’t meant to go through the clothes in the plastic box, the one she’d slid in the back of the closet years ago. But she was looking for the bomber jacket she’d worn to the homecoming game her freshman year of high school. Her daughter wanted to wear it to a costume party.

“Mom, JoJo spilled the Rice Krispies all over the floor,” came a young voice from the kitchen. That voice belonged to her daughter, Katie. At five years old, Katie believed she was the boss of the house, a role her older sister, Angela, felt belonged to her.

“Angela, can you sweep that mess up?” Lorraine answered.

“Too late,” her eldest daughter called back. “Satchel licked them all off the floor.”

Lorraine didn’t want to think about all the dog spit now on the kitchen tile. On the positive side, the kids wouldn’t be eating the cereal off the floor, something she’d caught three-year-old JoJo doing more than once.

“Mom, did you find that jacket?” Angela called out.

Angela was 11 years old, about to start the sixth grade. She was the reason Lorraine had hauled the box out of the closet and was going through clothes she hadn’t seen in years.

On top was the maternity top she’d worn the day she went to the hospital to have her last child. JoJo was a big baby, and that jersey maternity top had been stretched to its limit by the time she gave birth.

“I could probably wear that right now,” Lorraine thought. With each pregnancy, she’d gained a few more pounds and now she was packing about 40 more pounds than she had when she’d married Al.

She dug underneath the maternity top. Somewhere in that box, she knew, was the black bomber jacket she’d worn to that homecoming game. The theme was the 80s. Most of the girls wanted to look like Madonna, but not Lorraine. She wanted to look like Kelly McGillis from “Top Gun.” She’d found a fake black leather jacket at a thrift store and went to the game pretending she was a boss Top Gun instructor. When Lorraine spotted Al Boudreaux wearing a black leather jacket and white T-shirt, she knew he was the one for her.

Lorraine heard another crash from the kitchen.

“Nothing broke,” Katie called. “JoJo spilled the Rice Krispies again.”

Lorraine sighed.

“Let the dog have them and then put that box up where your brother can’t get at it,” Lorraine yelled back. That black leather jacket had to be in this box somewhere.

Then she saw it.

The suit.

The gray jacket was neatly folded, and Lorraine took it gently out of the box. There was that light stain on the lapel from when she’d spilled her coffee the morning before she presented her first case to a judge as a public defender. That case had been the first of at least a dozen she’d presented before she left the office, pregnant with Angela. She looked at the suit again. Lorraine remembered how she’d fallen in love with the suit when she spotted it in Maison Blanche. The tailored fit accented Lorraine’s slender hips and waist.

“I probably couldn’t get that jacket over my thigh,” Lorraine thought bitterly. She unbuttoned the jacket, opened it and felt the satin inside. She remembered thinking she didn’t want to sweat in the jacket, not when she’d paid full price for the suit. But there was something about that gray suit, something that made her feel powerful when she wore it.

“Mom, Alle’s coming over and we want to try on costumes for the end-of-the-summer party,” Angela said. She was standing in the doorway, her hand on her hip, an exasperated look on her face, a face that was almost identical to her father’s. Angela looked at what Lorraine was holding.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Lorraine quickly folded the jacket and put it to the side.

“Nothing,” Lorraine said. “I just got sidetracked. I know that bomber jacket is in here. It’s probably at the bottom.”

Angela came and sat next to her mother. She picked up the jacket and felt the material.

“Was this dad’s?” she asked. Angela was too young to remember women had to wear suits back then to appear as powerful as a man. If a woman showed up in a dress to the courtroom, she wouldn’t be taken seriously. Angela didn’t know the obstacles women had to overcome. Probably if she asked her daughter to name five females who paved the way for equality, she’d have a hard time.

“No, it was mine,” Lorraine said, gently taking the jacket back from her daughter.

Angela looked in the box having lost interest in the jacket and started rifling through the clothes. She found the pants that went with the suit.

“Why did you keep this?” she asked, holding up the pants. The waist was so small, it would probably fit Angela, Lorraine thought. Why had she let herself go? Why hadn’t she gone back to the classroom after Angela was old enough to go to daycare? Lorraine could’ve resumed her job in the public defender’s office. She could’ve fit into that suit because the weight hadn’t started creeping up until she’d had her second child and felt like a milk machine and chauffeur for Angela’s ballet and music lessons.

“Here it is,” Angela said, holding up a black leather jacket. While Lorraine had been lost in thought, Angela had continued looking in the box and had come up with the jacket. She stood up and slipped the jacket on.

“Perfect fit,” she said, twirling around. “This jacket is perfect for my look as a biker chick.”

Angela left the room before Lorraine could say anything. Biker chick? Hadn’t she taught her daughter about the importance of being a self-assured, confident woman? Didn’t she know a woman didn’t need a power suit to assert herself in life?

No, she thought bitterly. I taught my daughter it was okay to let herself drown in insecurity and put her dreams aside for everyone and everything else. Lorraine took the suit out of the box and hung it on a hanger on the doorknob to the closet. She heard another crash from the kitchen.

“Mom, JoJo spilled the milk and Satchel is licking that off the floor,” Katie called.

“That’s okay,” Lorraine called back. “I’ll mop the floor later.”

Lorraine looked at the suit one more time. The girl who fought for the rights of the unjustly accused, the one who wore this suit and wore it like a warrior, was still inside her. The suit was simply armor. She straightened the jacket on the hanger and called out to Angela.

“Let’s talk about who you’re going as to the party,” she said. “Did I ever tell you about Amelia Earhart?”

 

It’s 101 degrees outside. Going for a bike ride, a walk or even a car ride, is hard to get excited about, especially when it’s a comfortable 78 degrees inside my house.

To keep my mind somewhere else, I cleaned out the pantry – did those fruit cups really expire in 2018 – my office and the refrigerator.

Three trash bags later, I’m done. Instead of dusting or vacuuming, two chores I avoid like the plague, I decided to sit down and escape with a movie for a couple of hours.

I’ve always been a movie junkie. My mom and I would curl up on the couch on Sunday afternoons and watch tear-jerker movies. My favorites were “Imitation of Life,” “Backstreet” and “Madame X.”

Occasionally we’d get lucky and an MGM musical would be on. A favorite was “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” the barn-raising dance scene one of the best of all time.

I loved “Singing in the Rain,” but my sons grew to hate that movie. On school mornings, I’d sing “Good Morning” to wake them up. One of the boys said whenever he hears that song, it’s like fingernails on a blackboard.

This hot afternoon I tuned into “Rush Hour” with Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan. Not an award-winning movie but a fun one, and that’s exactly what I was looking for.

Chan was 44 years old when he made this movie. At that age, my knees were starting to give out and I needed bifocals. Chan was jumping off buildings, boats and hanging from the rafters.

Another hot afternoon movie is “Seabiscuit.” The true story of this remarkable racehorse, the owner, the trainer, and the jockey would be impossible to believe if it wasn’t true. The movie is always inspirational and a good reminder to never give up.

I’m one of those dinosaurs who still has DVDs and a machine capable of playing said discs. Here’s my list of some recommended escape-the-heat movies you can find online or rent:

“The Sandlot.” The line “You’re killing me Smalls” is one that I’ve used at least a dozen times in my life. For anyone who recognizes the line, the result is always a smile.

“The Mummy.” Brendan Fraser might’ve won an Oscar as an obese father, but as a young actor, nobody swashbuckled like Frazier. When he kisses Eve’s knee in “Blast from the Past,” he cemented his image as a heartthrob.

“City Slickers.” Most of the jokes are out of date – young people have no idea how hard it was to program a VHS player nor would they recognize the theme song from “Bonanza.” It’s still a fun way to spend an hour and a half.

The “Back to the Future” movies are always a good bet, especially the first one where we’re introduced to Marty McFly and Doc Brown. And, Doc’s right, if you’re going to time travel, what’s better than a DeLorean?

A good bet is any movie with Denzel Washington, Matt Damon, Meryl Streep, George Clooney, Viola Davis or Sandra Bullock. Harrison Ford also delivers great performances, especially as Indiana Jones.

Whenever I don’t want to feel like I’ve totally wasted the afternoon, I’ll watch a classic. I can always find something profound in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”   If I need a good cry at the end, I’ll pop in “Karate Kid” or “My Dog Skip.” If I want to feel like there’s hope in this sweltering world, it’s “Rudy” or “Field of Dreams.”

The movies are a great way to escape bad weather, housework or whenever things are going sideways.

Order up a film from your internet provider and sit back with some popcorn and spend a hot afternoon with some familiar film friends.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One empty small Cheetos bag.

Just one.

An empty one at that.

Who would’ve guessed that one small empty Cheetos bag would attract a city of ants to wage war on our tent in the middle of night.

Last month, I took our 8-year-old grandson to Cub Scout Day Camp. We went home in the afternoon, cooled off in an air-conditioned house and slept in our own beds.

Taking my granddaughter to a four-day, overnight Scout Camp presented a whole new level of expertise, something I didn’t possess. My husband is an outstanding Scouter and camper, but he couldn’t make the trip. So he made sure we were prepared.

He gave us the necessities from cots, to sleeping pads, flashlights and practical advice. But, like most things, I learn the hard way, and I learned quite a bit about camping during those four days.

First, the tent. We were lucky because the camp provided roomy canvas tents on pallets. There were a few things I didn’t know about a tent.

Ventilation flaps open on the sides of the tent, not just on both ends. It’s also a good idea to open all those flaps when the Texas temperature is 85 degrees at night.

There’s no light in a tent. The little flashlight we had wasn’t the same as having an overhead light. We finally figured out my cell phone put out enough light for us to move around at night.

There’s another thing a tent doesn’t have – a ceiling fan. Luckily my husband sent us with a battery-powered fan and two rechargeable batteries. Good thing because I had to change the battery out about 3 a.m. all three nights.

A tent is no protection against insects. Those ants, attracted by that one empty Cheetos bag, found a million hiding places inside that tent, from the sheets to the pillows and our clothes.

We had to take everything out of the tent and shake them all out. Because it was hot and we were late for breakfast, we tossed the sheets, towels and blankets over two camp chairs outside the tent.

Rain might feel like a friend, but it’s not. Everything gets wet, especially the stuff we hung on those chairs.

Rain, when mixed with dirt, creates mud.

A muddy campsite is no fun.

Wet muddy shoes are no fun.

You walk at camp. Every day. Everywhere. And, on one afternoon, in wet, muddy shoes.

The sun comes up early and there’s no escaping the sun.

There’s no electronics.

No television.

No refrigerator.

No hair dryer.

Despite the lack of modern conveniences, our granddaughter absolutely loved camp. She loved the enthusiastic camp staff so much she wants to be one when she’s older.

She never complained, not about the heat, the ants or building a fire when the temperature was 100 degrees.

I whined about almost everything. You have to take practically your whole house with you when you go camping, why sleep outside when there’s air-conditioned hotels… the list is endless.

And for what? To wake up to the birds singing? A sunrise without buildings in the way and the smell of fresh dew on the grass?

To watch a young girl get a bull’s eye on the archery course or turn a canoe like an expert?

Was it worth the heat and miles of walking to watch my granddaughter lead the Morning Prayer in the dining hall, or catch a wide-mouth bass in the camp’s lake?

Was it worth it to watch my 10-year-old granddaughter steadily swim 100 yards to pass a swim test and come out of the pool with a huge smile on her face?

Absolutely positively yes.

 

    This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

I was happy our 8-year-old grandson was going to Cub Scout camp. I wasn’t too happy I was the designated adult to accompany him, especially when the temperatures were predicted to be 110 degrees on the last day.

But off we went for an adventure, water bottles, sunscreen, bug spray and lunches in hand. I didn’t realize I’d also be assigned a group of eight boys to keep track of that week.

I’ve always admired elementary school teachers. I knew there was no way I could tie shoes, dry tears or teach a child how to add. I’m too sarcastic, too math-challenged and a bit too impatient for little ones.

So when I saw I was in charge of eight kids, I was petrified. But I was with another adult each day. We successfully herded 14 second graders from station to station for five days, even though some days it seemed we were herding cats.

The camp letter advised that each child should bring a big bucket, the kind found at Home Depot or Lowe’s, to sit on and for them to store their belongings.

Most of the buckets were as big as the kids, but they bravely carried or dragged them along all day long. At least once a day, one of the boys left his bucket at the previous station, and he and a buddy had to go back and get it.

The activities were not only fun but they allowed us to see the personalities of the boys. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a kid in five days.

We had a wanderer, lost in thought most of the time. There was a complainer, one who smiled no matter what happened and one who cried on and off. There was a bully, and we showed him zero tolerance.

We had a sharp-shooter in the bunch who didn’t miss the middle of the target at the BB range. Another surprised us with his map-reading skills.

Lunch was always fun – they ate everything their parents packed, including the carrot sticks. The only thing left at the end of the lunch break was the crusts from the bread.

Little by little, we got to know each and every boy. The one who complained about others looking at him? We did some coaching, and by the end of the week, he was telling the others “Stop it. I don’t want you to do that.”

The small one who cried that first day? Turned out he had swimmer’s ear. We talked to his mom at the end of the day and she assured us he was getting drops every morning and night.

By the second day, he was feeling much better. For the rest of the camp, he was my best friend. He was also one of the smartest kids in the group, proving size doesn’t matter.

We found out the bully had an older brother who picked on him. There were lots of talks about treating others how you want to be treated and lots of time outs.

He improved a little bit each day. By the end of the week, the others accepted him, and he wasn’t such a bully.

On the last day, the kids were wild, and we let them play tag with each other, get sopping wet under the hoses and keep 10 balloons from hitting the ground, all the while climbing over and under tables.

Watching my grandson make friends and happily go from activity to activity are memories I’ll treasure. He fit right in with the boys, never complained, willingly participated and volunteered at every station.

Every day, I was hot, stinky and sweaty.

It was one of the happiest weeks of my life.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Sunday is Father’s Day, a time to honor those who serve as dads, fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, papas and more. Dictionaries are filled with the definition of father. But the title means so much more.

Books were once the protype for describing a good father. Think Atticus Finch in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Atticus was calm, fair and loving to his two children.

Novels also showed us negative father Afigures. Consider Don and Michael Corleone in “The Godfather.” Criminals who lied in church, to their families and to the law.

Television also showed viewers what writers considered the best kind of father.

Many of us remember Andy Taylor from “The Andy Griffith Show” when we think about dads. Andy’s home-spun advice about raising children still rings true.

Ben Cartwright from “Bonanza” was tough but fair to his sons. John Amos in “Good Times” showed America a strong African American father who worked hard for his family.

So did Sherman Hemsley in “Good Times.” He was a self-made millionaire who was tough and loved his family.

Somewhere in the 1990s, television fathers went from wise patriarchs to buffoons. Tim Allen on “Tool Time” started out as a fun-loving dad who had most of the answers. At the end of the show’s run, Tim was a fool who never did anything right.

Same fate befell Ray Romano on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He and his wife started out as overwhelmed parents of three children with overbearing in-laws.

Over the years, Debra turned into a shrew and Ray became the punchline to every joke. What a shame because both Allen and Romano resembled the everyday dad – one who made mistakes but who always loved his family.

“Ted Lasso,” a popular show that ended its third season, shows a variety of fathers.

Ted is a dad who misses his son so much he has panic attacks. He took a job coaching soccer in England because his wife wanted some space or a divorce. He called his son every day and ached when his son wasn’t with him.

One of the athletes, Jamie Tartt, has a despicable father. He’s an alcoholic who beats up Jamie. But this father checks himself into a facility to get sober, and we see that even the most wretched of fathers are capable of salvation.

Player Roy Kent stands in as a substitute father for his niece, Phoebe, and viewers see someone who stepped in to fill the role of dad for a family member. Roy adores Phoebe, and she adores him. Another form of realistic fatherhood.

There’s Sam Obisanya who has an incredibly loving relationship with both his mother and his father, but particularly with his father. Their scenes are filled with warmth and love, so wonderful for writers to finally acknowledge that good parenting knows no race or cultural boundaries.

Quite a few cable watchers were glued to “Succession.” I watched it but not with any pleasure. The father on this show, Logan Roy, is a despicable, cruel man to all his children. This show is considered top-notch television. I don’t know who’s running that poll but count me out.

Honestly, we really don’t need television or writers to show us good fathers. They’re all around us.

They’re in the grocery store with their children, at the playground and ball parks.

They’re dropping their children off in the school carpool line.

They’re taking time from work to attend school plays, gymnastics classes with their babies and allowing their children to paint their fingernails or build a rocket and then launch it.

Happy Father’s Day to all who willingly take on the role of dad, no matter if they’re a biological dad or a dad by choice. Don’t underestimate the power you have over those who call you dad.

How you treat and love your children will last generations.

Treat them with care.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Most people don’t like attending funerals. As a society, we know we should attend to pay our respects to the person who passed away and to show support for the grieving family.

Our grandmother, Marguerite, was specific about how she wanted her funeral plans carried out.

She wanted the visitation and funeral on the same day so people wouldn’t have to stay overnight.

She wanted a happy event, and we were instructed to make the eulogy fit that mode. For the closing song, she wanted “When the Saints Come Marching In,” and we obliged.

My cousin, Sylvia, and I gave the homily sporting Mardi Gras beads and sunglasses as Grandma was a native of New Orleans. She always signed letters to us “have fun along the way,” and we felt the service needed to fit her philosophy.

This past week, I attended the funeral of Theresa Elizabeth Schulte McGarry, the mother of our brother-in-law, Jimmy.

Mrs. McGarry had been in ill health for the past few years, and people say it’s a blessing when they pass.

That’s not so.

It’s one of the hardest goodbyes in the world, but especially for this incredible woman.

Siblings, cousins and in-laws sat around my sister’s living room and watched a slide show with pictures from Theresa’s life. They had so many stories to tell.

First of all, there was a happy marriage for 67 years to Rod McGarry. Theresa was the love of his life and he was hers.

Photos showed a couple that went from a typical 1950s small home to filling a house with cribs, toys and children. Siblings said their mom made most of her own clothes and theirs, even when there were seven of them.

Whenever they went on vacation, Jimmy said they knew to pack a bathing suit, casual clothes and their Sunday best. Theresa always knew where Sunday Mass would be celebrated, and the entire family went to Mass.

Her son, Mike, wrote her obituary which revealed a life of service and love. She’d considered becoming a nun, but changed her mind and became a teacher and then a mother. She was active in her church, and ran their home like a brigadier general.

Along with rearing seven children, Theresa was a Girl Scout leader and volunteer for over 25 years. She served as president of the Baton Rouge Girl Scout Council for two years. She got her commercial driver’s license, Mike said, so she could drive the troop around the country on a school bus.

She and Rod visited all 50 states in their RV, often taking a grandchild or two along. They also visited the same number of foreign countries.

Once their children had families of their own, Rod and Theresa rented condos at Gulf Shores, Ala. every summer. Everyone attended because they knew the importance of keeping in touch and making sure the next generation was as close as the uncles and aunts were.

After the service, their daughter Kay asked the grandchildren to raise their hands if Grandma and Grandpa had attended their graduation from high school or college.

All 21 grandchildren raised their hands. She asked if any of them had received funds from an educational grant the McGarrys set up. A sea of hands went up. They said they might not have gone to college without the encouragement of their parents and grandparents.

When some of the grandchildren came up to talk to Mr. McGarry, who lost his sight a few months ago, there was only love and interest. It was “I’m so glad you’re here. Tell me everything you’ve been up to. I can’t wait to hear all about you.”

Theresa’s priorities, Mike said, were never in question – faith, family, education and adventure. As I looked around the room at the McGarry children, spouses, cousins, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I knew this family had sewn a legacy of love and friendship that was continuing into the next generation.

What an incredible life you lived, Mrs. McGarry. You will be remembered with laughter, cherished, loved, emulated and never forgotten by family, friends, the many girls you inspired and those lucky enough to have known this gentle yet strong woman of God.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

For 13 years, I was a public school teacher. It was my fifth career, actually.

First, I was a secretary for a major oil company. Then I was a stay-at-home mom. Then I became a writer and reporter for this newspaper.

My fourth career was as a teacher. Now I’m a retiree, trying to find my way through occasional boredom, wonderful hours babysitting grandchildren and doing some part-time work, both in the school system and writing this column.

But as the school year ends for most of our kids, I found myself going down memory lane. I remembered those last days, especially as I’ve been in a couple of schools recently.

The kids are ready to start their summer, and teachers are anxious for them to go so they, too, can begin relaxing and get away from demanding lesson plans, discipline and being on stage for almost eight hours a day.

As many staff developments that teachers attend, nobody prepares an educator for that last week. They know they’re supposed to pack up books, give back all papers, take down posters and lock up supplies.

We read so much about kids who don’t want to learn, overzealous parents, and dangerous situations at schools. The pay’s not great, the work is overwhelming, a teacher’s heart breaks every time there’s a shooter drill, and the morale among the staff can be lower than low.

While all that is true, there’s a few things a teacher often doesn’t realize until the year’s over.

When the last batch of kids leave the building, the faculty luncheon is over and everyone’s waiting for the “all-clear” call on the intercom that teachers can leave, educators realize one thing – it’s too quiet.

Halls and schools aren’t meant to be empty and quiet. They’re meant to be full of laughter, learning, and sneakered feet tapping their way down the hall, teachers reminding them to stay in the line.

During the year, bells ring, doors slam and lock and announcements over the loudspeaker interrupt instructional time on a regular basis. There’s the phone calls and emails from frustrated parents, emails from administrators wanting lesson plans, forms filled out and, quite frankly, mind-numbing data they want collected.

Educators didn’t get into this profession for that.

Teachers want to be the ones imparting information to their students. They’re supposed to teach them how to spell words and write essays. They’re supposed to teach them multiplication, division, addition and subtraction. And let’s not forget the names of the 50 states, their capitols and the life cycle of a butterfly.

That’s the requirements of the job, but teachers often overlook what students taught them.

They taught patience. Picture that student in the class who asked endless questions, despite having the instructions on the board and repeating them endlessly in class.

Not all of us absorb information the same way. Teachers need to thank that young person for teaching them that learning doesn’t arrive in a tidy, square box.

They reminded their teachers to laugh. Sometimes, the best attitude a teacher can possess is the ability to laugh.

Teachers need to remember the class where they made a mistake and then laughed it off. The thing is, kids laugh with you, not at you.

They teach that it’s okay to be human, okay to laugh instead of cry and to let them see teachers can have a great sense of humor.

They taught acceptance. That student a teacher thought was beyond redemption turned in a fabulous paper. The kid who almost dropped the camera a dozen times caught some of the best photos in the class. The child with the IEP paperwork turns out to be the most dedicated kid in the room.

All teachers make mistakes.

The kids overlooked them.

Teachers will lose their temper.

The kids showed forgiveness.

Students teach the intangibles. They tested the teacher every single day, and that, in turn, taught teachers that it’s okay to be frustrated with a job but still love what you’re doing. Nobody tells teachers how much they will love those children. They get into your heart and stay there forever.

Those halls will be filled in a few weeks. And that’s how every school building should be – noisy and brimming with possibilities. Without the kids, a school is just a building.

Have a great summer, educators, you’ve earned it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.