When I was 18 years old, my dad entrusted my younger brother and me with the job of driving our family home to Louisiana from New York State. We’d been visiting my grandparents, but as we were packing up the back of the covered truck, I spotted two bulging cardboard boxes by the back bumper.  

“What’s in there?” I asked.

“Rocks,” my mother said.

“We’re taking two boxes of rocks back home? For what?” I wanted to know.

“To remind me of home,” my mom said.

That made no sense to me. I didn’t understand why we had to drag 75 pounds of rocks over a thousand miles.

That is until I drove 50 miles to buy three little rocks to go in our yard.

Rocks have played a part in our family for a long time. Not just from my mother, but two of my brothers are geologists. They’re always stopping to look at rocks on the side of the road, and all rock piles are an adventure.

When our sons were young, they saw some of the rocks my brothers had collected and begged Santa for a rock polishing machine.

Santa obliged.

What Santa didn’t know was that it takes hours to polish a few rocks. He also didn’t know a rock polishing machine is louder than a jackhammer pounding away on concrete.

We ended up putting the rock polishing machine in the garage but I could hear that machine clanking and banging inside the house.

But when the rocks came out of the polisher, they were stunning.

Although I’d never admit this to my mother, for the past few years, I’ve grown increasingly fascinated by rocks. Whenever we go to a park or creek, I’m always on the lookout for geodes – rocks that are bumpy and coarse on the outside.

It’s easy to walk right by a geode because they’re plain and unattractive. But when you break one open and look inside, it’s like gazing into a crystal palace of purples and silvers.

People unfamiliar with geodes are always surprised when they see the beauty inside, and I like to think that people are the same – often rough on the inside yet beautiful on the inside.

I thought about the rocks I love one afternoon when my husband and I decided to update a small, round flower bed in the back yard. I could envision a few small boulders in the center, surrounded by flowers.  How hard, I thought, could it be to find those rocks?

It was about as hard as, well, a rock.

I love to shop locally, but the nurseries here said they didn’t carry what I wanted. One nice sales person told me to look for a rock yard and I found Apex Stone near Sealy.

When I walked out the showroom’s back door, I couldn’t believe the acres of rocks, granite slabs, pebbles, stones and boulders stretching out in front of me.

I was in heaven.

I took my time marveling at all the different shapes of rocks, examining the different colors in the dozens of varieties of rocks.

Thanks to my mom and my brothers, I knew to look past the rough exterior and to instead search for veins of silver, flecks of sparkling granite and interesting color curves.

An hour later, I gave the cashier $2 for my rocks, came home and arranged them in our flower bed. The flowers I’ll plant there will add color but the real beauty, for those who know where to look, is hidden in those three simple rocks.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

I overheard two mothers talking the other day. One was aggravated with her daughter’s teacher. It seems the mom had called her daughter while the girl was in class to tell her she was picking her up after school.

The teacher made the girl put the cell phone away, angry the student was answering her phone during class time. The mother was angry with the teacher for not understanding she needed to tell her daughter something right then and there.

As a teacher, I was furious.

As an observer of human behavior, I was saddened but not surprised.

Because I was at a friend’s house, I didn’t jump into the conversation. If I had, my reply would’ve been that her daughter is in school to learn, not take mom’s phone call.

I also would’ve reminded this mother that the phone call not only interrupted her daughter’s learning, the call disturbed the teacher and other students in the class.

And for what? Because this mother believed her needs outweighed the needs of everyone else.

Our society has a bad habit of thinking about ourselves before we think about others. What we want is much more important than what anyone else might want or need.

We mostly put teenagers in this category. We have a stereotype of a teenager as a self-centered boor, mindlessly texting while walking in the mall, oblivious to everything around them.

But adults are just as attached to their cell phones as the younger generation. In meetings, employees think nothing of answering text messages or checking their email while someone else is talking or presenting.

At the park, I see mothers pushing their children on the swings with one hand while the other is holding a cell phone. Their child is performing daredevil acts on the monkey bars; and because mom is so engrossed in her cell phone, she misses the whole show.

She is, however, reviewing the latest texts from her friends and her child has to deal with an adult who’s there in person but not there in mind. No more chatting with other parents in the park – the cell phone has become the new friend.

Couples in restaurants are on their phones instead of talking to each other. Worse is when everybody sits quietly at the dinner table, intent on their cell phone, and not talking with each other.

In the grocery store line, people no longer slyly scan “The National Enquirer” covers or talk to the person behind them in line. They’re too busy texting, talking on their phone or reading the latest Yahoo headlines on their cell phones.

In their quest to stay connected, they’ve forgotten the importance of human contact. People are much more fascinating to watch than anything on a cell phone and you never know what you might learn from having an actual conversation with another person, face to face.

But first, you have to put away the cell phone. Talk to somebody.

Put the cell phone away when you’re at the park. Your child will never be this age again. Savor the moments.

Turn off the phone when you’re in a meeting and give your attention to your colleague. He or she will remember the respect you showed them.

And moms, quit expecting your child to answer your phone calls and texts when they’re in class. Show them you value education.

And don’t get mad at the teacher for doing what he or she is there to do – provide your child with an education.

Teachers can do that if your self-centered wants and demands don’t get in the way.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

“Hi this is Diane. I’m not in at the moment, but leave a message at the beep.”

That’s the message my sister has on her cell phone, and it’s the only way I’ve heard her voice for the past two months. She’s busy with meetings, I’m usually at school and it seems our schedules seldom mesh.

So I’ve taken up having a relationship with her phone.

Before you laugh, consider what a cell phone’s answering service offers you.

First, it listens to every word you say. And doesn’t interrupt. Just patiently waits for you to finish saying everything you want to say.

When’s the last time you had a conversation with a human like that?

Secondly, the answering function doesn’t remind you of all the bad mistakes you made in your life. We’ve all had those conversations with friends…

“I bought a new sweater today.”

“You didn’t get a yellow one. You know yellow looks awful on you.”

Silence.

“You bought the yellow one, didn’t you,” says your friend while you shove another piece of candy into your mouth and look for the bag of Doritos hiding on the top shelf of the pantry.

But the answering machine conversation is quite different.

“I bought a new sweater today. It’s yellow. I know that color looks awful on me, but I think I can wear this particular shade of yellow and, best of all, it was on sale. If you think that’s a good idea, give me a signal.”

At that moment, the end-of-message beep comes on and you rejoice – someone agrees that the on-sale, puke-lemon yellow sweater is a good idea.

Sometimes I find myself hoping the person I’m calling doesn’t answer the phone, especially when I have bad news, want to complain or am in a rotten mood.

When it’s a friend, they either set you straight or try and talk you out of the bad mood. But, let’s face it, sometimes you want to just vent.

But when that nasty mood strikes, I don’t call Diane’s cell phone. We have too good a relationship to ruin it with a petty rant about how tight my pants are getting as I sip on a chocolate malt, complete with whipped cream and a cherry on the top.

So I dial my own cell phone and wait for the inevitable green light: “Leave a message at the beep.”

“Hello,  cell phone, I just had to get this off my chest. I know you’re going to think I’m an awful person but I just had to vent.”

And with that, I go on for as long as it takes to feel vindicated and then end the call, feeling much better.  Later I replay the message, chagrined at how dumb I sound and quietly delete the message.

No one hurt and, better yet, nobody knows.

“Hi, this is Diane. I’m not in at the moment but leave a message at the beep.”

“Hi Diane’s cell phone. I’m driving home, looking at the sunset and thinking about our Dad. When you see Diane, ask her if she remembers how Dad would come home late at night and bring us comic books?

“See if she remembers when he’d stop the car on the railroad tracks and open the door. He said it was to let the train through, even though there wasn’t a train in sight. We’d yell for him to get us off the tracks and he’d just laugh.

“Cell phone, you don’t have that memory but it feels good to share missing Dad with somebody who won’t tell me I’m being silly. Thanks for being there and for listening.”

“Beep. Message recorded.”

And remembered.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The sign by the side of the road was simple– sign up now for Little League Baseball. I smiled just seeing the sign, even though my boys finished baseball games a long time ago.

For at least 10 years, we rode around with lawn chairs in the back of the van and we ate many a meal at the ballpark, watching practices or waiting for games to start. I miss those days, but I learned a lot through my child’s baseball teams.

Not all coaches are fair. My experience with Little League coaches is 50/50. Half are there because they genuinely love the game and want to pass that enthusiasm and knowledge on to their son or daughter.

There’s a small minority who are there for the wrong reasons – they believe their child is the next Craig Biggio and other players should stay out of their superstar’s way.

They recruit only the kids they think are the best, and they want to win at all costs. Doesn’t matter if a child never gets to play as long as the team wins. As bad as this style of coaching is, what’s worse are the parents who let these bullies get away with that type of bad behavior.

So, parents, choose your coach well because their influence over your child will last a lot longer than the cleats.  

Organized sports are good. And bad. Nothing beats a sand-lot or school-yard Saturday afternoon baseball game where the same kids get together week after week to play ball. But those days are long gone now that our catch phrases are “stranger-danger” and “no trespassing.”

Organized sports have stepped in to allow kids a safe place to play sports, learn the rules and meet other kids. If the rules stayed like that, we’d all be better off.

Instead, we become slaves to the rules and never question why a simple game of hit the ball, catch the ball and throw the ball has more rules and regulations than the federal government.

What we need to do is keep organized sports organized and not allow them to morph into a totalitarian state. See “not all coaches are fair” above.

Teams are just for the kids. As much fun as my sons had playing baseball, I think I had more fun in the stands.  When you’re parked on a wooden bench for three hours twice a week, you make friends.

We laughed in the stands, cheered each others’ children on in the stands, weathered the cold, wind, heat and rain in the stands and, along the way, saw the best and the worst of each other and still accepted each other.

That’s because we understood that when our child is involved, our hearts often overrule common sense. And we forgave even the most hot-headed parent in the stands. Because we knew that could be us one of these days, and we hoped others would be as forgiving as we were that evening.

Patience.  When there’s 15 kids on a team, it takes a while for your child to get up to bat. We had to act as if it wasn’t a big deal if the game ended right before our child’s turn.

We learned patience when the bases were loaded and our kid was at the plate with two strikes and three balls. Bleacher parents know there’s always another turn at bat and always the possibility of an over-the-fence home run.

They also know nothing beats having somebody at the gate at the end of the game wearing a big smile, proud no matter what the scoreboard says.

These are just a few of the lessons I’ve learned through Little League. Life on the other side of the first-base line is where you can always learn a few more life lessons.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.