In stores, yellow school bus signs have shoved flip flops and beach balls out of the way. In their place are pens, pencils and loose-leaf paper.

It’s full-on back-to-school time for retailers and a signal to educators, custodians, administrators and support staff to get ready – the kids are coming.

I’d say 99 percent of the teachers are happy to be returning to their classrooms. Their heads are brimming with ideas and they’re excited about getting to teach a new crop of eager students.

That last one percent, however, needs to seriously consider turning in their letter of resignation.

These are the teachers who describe their school building as a prison, whine about overwhelming paperwork and complain that kids today can’t learn.

They grumble about hovering or absentee parents. They think corporal punishment should be brought back and kids are lazy. They’re walking in the door five minutes before the first bell rings and racing to the parking lot after the last bell rings.

In August, they drag out the same lesson plans they’ve used since they started teaching or ones they copied off the Internet, and they refuse to try or do anything new or innovative.

In short, they’re burned out.

If that’s the case, get out.

The educational field is unique because teachers are the ones who have a direct, day-to-day impact on young people. We all remember our favorite teachers – they were the ones who pushed us to go beyond ourselves. They smiled, encouraged and told us we could accomplish whatever we could dream.

When things didn’t go right, they quickly reorganized and tried something different. If that didn’t work, they kept trying instead of giving up. They knew their student’s names and nicknames, their home circumstances and how to read their eyes to make sure they understood the concept.

They knew if the child had undergone a divorce in the home, had recently moved to the district or had health problems. Not because those details were written in a folder but because they took the time to find out what made that child tick.

Most teachers have these super powers. But if you’re only there for the paycheck and benefits, go find another career because attitude and commitment count in the educational field.

In some professions, attitude doesn’t matter.

If you’re a mechanic and you have a brusque attitude with customers, they’ll forgive that if their vehicle runs smoothly.

If you’re a dentist or doctor, most patients forgive a poor bedside manner if you make the pain stop.

Not teachers. They must nurture, care and be willing to invest themselves in their students. They have to risk having their hearts broken when a student moves, gets hurt or brings home problems in the door.

For nine months, a child spends the majority of their day with someone outside of the family. That person should be dedicated to providing the best educational experience for children. That experience not only involves knowing how to use an iPad or writing a term paper, it also encompasses associating learning with passion, fun and a desire to know more.

If you are in the classroom, you deserve all the copy paper, Kleenex, glue sticks and monetary compensation society can bestow on you.

If you’re not willing to commit, then get out before your negativity infects the entire classroom.

To those of you who make the decision to take on this superhuman job, society and families owe you a huge debt because what’s really required isn’t written in the job description. It’s written in the heart.

Never forget – the next generation is counting on you to bring your “A” game.

You should expect nothing less of yourself.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Dinnertime is usually hectic in our house – dash in from the job, throw something on the stove and toss together a quick salad.

In between, my husband and I are catching up on what’s happened that day while my brain’s multi-tasking with how I’m going to get my paperwork finished before the dryer buzzes.

Throw in four rambunctious grandchildren, and dinner prep time becomes a three-ring circus and I’m not the ringleader.

Yesterday, I was bustling around the kitchen, and the 4-year-old was pretending to be a superhero. This particular superhero had the powers of quietly crawling along the kitchen floor and, oh yeah, he was also invisible.

So invisible, in fact, that I tripped over him and did a fabulous flip right over that little superhero onto the kitchen floor. On the way down, I smashed my elbow, hip and shoulder. However, I managed to safely slide all the plates onto the counter before I face planted.

Score one for the klutz and two for the superhero that helped me get back up on my feet.

Some people have natural grace. They glide through life, effortlessly going around every obstacle.

Then there’s me.

Tripping hazard? I’ll stumble over it. Spilled water? I’ll be the one to accidentally slip and slide through the mess. And it’s pretty likely I’m the one who left the tripping hazard in the middle of the walkway and spilled the milk.

I don’t limit my destructiveness to myself.

There’s quite a few dents on the passenger door of my car. For a long time, I thought I was parking next to inconsiderate people in the store parking lot.

One day, I realized I was hitting the car door against the wheelbarrow in our garage every time I opened it to get out the groceries. I looked a little closer, and the dents in the door were exactly at the point where the wheelbarrow handle was poking out.

So much for blaming somebody else for those dings.

There’s a huge scar on my leg from the time I had to pull my grandson out of the pool a few summers ago. He accidentally fell into the pool and, without thinking, I immediately jumped into the water and yanked him up.

Didn’t think about the two cell phones in my pocket.

Didn’t think twice about my electronic car keys in my pocket. My only thought was to get him out of the water.

In seconds, he was back on the side of the pool, both of us gasping and crying happy tears.

A few hours later, as I glumly accepted the fact I’d fried both the phones and my keys, I noticed a huge bruise and growing lump on my leg. Seems I’d hit my shin when I jumped into the water. Because I have all the grace of an elephant, I wasn’t surprised I banged myself up.

A few days later, I was at the doctor’s office with a major wound that involved a weeks’ worth of scalpel scraping to stop the infection. The huge scar reminds me I did save my grandson but also of just how big a klutz I was in the process.

I should probably congratulate myself on the fact that I did save four plates on the way down last night. My sore rear end, elbow and shoulder could be a reminder that I didn’t end up with a broken hip or arm.

I could brag and say only my nimbleness and grace allowed me to come through the event relatively unscathed.

But you and I both know that’s a lie. I wasn’t watching where I was going, tripped and ended up on my rear end on the kitchen floor.

At least there was a superhero there to save me.

 

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Belay on and belay off.

Those were the words going through my head when we were standing at the indoor climbing gym, Momentum, over in Katy this week.

With 98-degree days and the African dust storm making allergies worse, we decided to search for some fun indoor activities with the grandchildren.

We found a Groupon for Momentum and off we went. This was my first time to use a Groupon, so I wasn’t sure how to access the discount. I handed my phone to an expert, the teenager working the front desk, and he had us ready to go in less than 5 minutes.

The inside of Momentum is amazing. Towering rock climbing walls line the spacious gym, and there were sinewy climbers calmly making their way hand-hold by hand-hold from the floor to the ceiling.

A children’s area had heavy-duty harnesses for the youngsters to safely climb, and our 4-year-old grandson had no problem getting to the top and then bouncing down the wall, only to repeat the process about 100 times.

I loved seeing young women climbing the walls, their toned shoulders and arms taking them to the top. We made sure to point out the climbers to our grandchildren, reminding them there’s no limit to the heights they can reach if they put their minds, arms and legs to work and not stop until they reach their goal.

Our kiddos did not disappoint. They climbed every wall they could at least five times, and their confidence and climbing skills improved with every ascent up a wall. We left with the kids sweaty and smiling.

To combine a physical activity with one that strengthens resolve isn’t easy, but it was a great way to get our visit with the grandchildren cranked into overdrive.

Video games are fun and tough to put down, but they can’t compare to watching children climb to the top of the monkey bars, learn how to swing by themselves or, in the case of our 3-1/2-year-old grandson, finally earn the right to wear big-boy underwear.

But that’s just the first half of the summer. We still have a list of activities to conquer, and most won’t break the bank.

On the “avoid-the-heat” bucket list is a trip to one of the air-conditioned Fort Bend County Libraries for the always fun and free Story Time and live-action performances, a little shopping in Rosenberg now that the roads aren’t as tricky to maneuver and the Sweet Shop in Fulshear for some summer sugar highs.

Their dad purchased season passes to Typhoon Texas, so we have water rides and fun within 20 minutes of our house. There’s no shortage of sno-cone stands in the area, so we know we’ll have no problem finding blueberry, watermelon or Tiger’s Blood sno-cones when we need to cool off.

If the budget and time cooperate, there’s the educational and fun Fort Bend Children’s Discovery Center in Sugar Land, the step-back-in-time Rosenberg Railroad Museum and fountains, walking trails and restaurants galore.

For rainy days, we’ve got plenty of coloring books, finger paints and board games to keep us busy. Connect 4 is as much fun for them as it was for their dad and uncles, and nothing beats a Popsicle or slice of cold watermelon under the fan on the back porch, even on the hottest of days.

I’m sure there’s plenty of activities we haven’t discovered yet, and I’m still searching. One thing I’ve learned – we don’t need to leave Fort Bend County, or even our back yard, to make some fun summer memories. All we need are four ready-to-roll grandchildren and a fun-lovin’ pirate’s attitude.

Let the adventures continue.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Today is the fifth of July, the day after a major holiday. I have to feel a little sorry for the day-after holiday. There’s no fireworks, no mattress sales. Families aren’t rushing around sampling ice-cold watermelon, slicing up apple pie or throwing burgers on the grill.

It’s just an ordinary day-after. That’s what happens after major holidays. There’s a huge disappointment after all the celebrating, and that letdown starts right after we sing “Auld Lang Syne.”

Jan. 2 might be the most dreaded day after. The first of the year is when we make resolutions to lose weight, eat healthier and follow a new self-improvement program.

The second of January is the day we have to start making good on those promises. Not the best way to start the new year, but there are some advantages for the lowly day-after holiday.

Some of us, especially chocoholics, love Feb. 15. All the Valentine’s Day candy is 75 percent off, and chocolate stays fresh for months. It doesn’t matter to me if those M&Ms have red hearts stamped on them – they taste great every day of the year.

For Cajuns, Mardi Gras is a huge holiday. “Fat Tuesday” shepherds in parades, king cake and wild fun accompanied by gallons of adult beverages. Ash Wednesday rolls in the day-after Mardi Gras, starting fasting, going without meat on Fridays and giving up something you love for 40 days, including that chocolate you got for 75 percent off.

Easter rolls around, and the day after is a repeat of Valentine’s Day. Plus there’s the dilemma of what one is supposed to do with the two dozen hard-boiled eggs. They’re taking up space in your refrigerator along with a pound of ham nobody touched on Easter Sunday.

Then there’s Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. For retailers, the days leading up to these two holidays is heaven. People spend all kinds of money on sentimental coffee mugs, funny T-shirts and flowers.

The day after these dates, we’re trying to make room in the cabinet for those mugs, figuring out how we can wear that “bald, tired and broke” T-shirt in public and watching wilting flowers drop petals all over the kitchen counter.

Halloween is a holiday parents love and hate. Finding the costume your child just has to have is one of the biggest headaches for trick or treating. We’ve lived the meltdown when there’s no more Paw Patrol or Wolverine costumes in the store.

All that ends on Nov. 1, but no one celebrates the fact that we’re finished shelling out money for candy we’re willingly giving away. No, this sad day dawns with a sugar hangover and parents wincing every time they step on another jelly bean in the carpet.

But all is not lost for the sad day-after holiday.

Dec. 26 can be a fabulous day-after celebration. Not only are the regular top 40 tunes back on the radio but, yes, you guessed it, all the Christmas decorations are 75 percent off.

It’s a great time to replace the Christmas ornaments the kids broke and the lights you stepped on while decorating the tree.

After Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, those who’ve lost a parent are relieved they can keep from biting their tongue every time someone whines about having to spend the day with their parents.

The day after Thanksgiving means leftover cornbread dressing, hot turkey sandwiches and the start of the Christmas season.

Unless you’re a retailer – Christmas sales start today.

So let’s celebrate the lowly day-after holidays. May they finally get the respect they deserve.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

While visiting my mom, we came across a light green digital camera in a desk drawer. Seeing the camera brought a smile to my face because I remember seeing that camera at family get togethers.

I complimented her for always having the camera handy, but secretly I thought she was probably one of the worst photographers in the family.

Family picture duties usually fell to my sister, Diane, an outstanding photographer. I’d also take my fair share because photographer extraordinaire Russell Autrey taught me to have my camera with me at all times.

Kodak Moments happen when we least expect them. But I’d get busy with the kids or other chores, and forget to take pictures.

In the background was Mom with that little green camera, snapping away. I’d always worry about the quality of the images based on some of my Mom’s early photos. The black-and-white photos in the albums usually showed a group of people – taken from far away — either off to the right or off to the left.

One of my favorite memories is when the girls in our family went to see interior decorator Christopher Lowell. We couldn’t wait to have our picture taken with him, and Mom remained seated because she didn’t want to wait in a long line.

When it was our turn, we realized the only one with a camera was Mom. There she was, all 4-foot 9-inches, crouched behind the autograph table with that little green camera.

“Don’t take our knees!” yelled Diane. “Focus on our faces!”

But that was the only picture we had from that day and it was because Mom had her camera ready.

I’d forgotten about the camera until she brought it out from the drawer. She’d never uploaded the images on the camera card, so we sat down and unloaded 270 pictures from the card.

We found a treasure.

Mom dated a wonderful man named Bert Bauerlin for many years until he passed away. Bert treated my mom like a queen. He always sent her flowers, and we were able to see pictures of most of the arrangements, thanks to Mom.

There were pictures from my niece’s graphic design show, and I marveled at the creative displays Kayla created. I’d heard about the reception, but Mom had captured the whole event with that little green camera.

Mom grew up in New York State and misses seeing the leaves change color in the fall. One year, she and Bert took a trip to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and she took lots of pictures of the mountains.

Sure some of the images had the car side window in the shot, but there was no missing the gorgeous scarlets, oranges and yellows dotting the countryside.

On that trip, they visited my niece, and seeing pictures of Hope’s children was a true delight. Today, Landon and Camryn are ready for middle school, and the pictures Mom took had us reminiscing about their escapades as little ones.

There was a baby picture of her great-granddaughter, Sophie. We got a little misty-eyed looking at little Sophie because her mom was exposed to a virus while pregnant.

Only because Courtney knew what to look for and was vigilant about taking every precaution to make sure her baby was healthy was the reason we have that beautiful girl with us today.

Seeing the picture of Sophie as an infant reminded me how precious our family is, and Mom’s pictures were the reason I was reminded.

Mom will continue to document our lives. Some of the images will be out of focus because that’s her style, but she captures the moments.

Keep snappin’ Mom and keep recording our lives.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Father’s Day is Sunday, a time to honor the people in our lives who fulfill fatherhood responsibilities.

These days, the line between mom duties and dad duties has practically disappeared, but parenthood, no matter if you’re male or female, has a long list of responsibilities.

Here’s my list of what it takes to be a father in a Snap Chat, Netflix world:

First, be a good listener. It’s difficult to listen when we’re bombarded with constant noise, either from Pandora or a blaring television. When your child wants to talk, listen to the words they’re saying and the ones they’re not saying. Don’t interrupt –listen with an open heart and mind.

Second, be a disciplinarian. That doesn’t mean spanking or sending a child to bed without supper. That means making tough decisions and sometimes being unpopular. Parenting is hard, the hardest job in the world. Pull up those big-boy pants and take care of business.

Third, be a good citizen. Make sure your children see you vote. Keep your home and yard neat. Don’t throw loud parties until 2 a.m. Drive the speed limit and wear your seat belt. Respect law enforcement and teachers.

Fourth:  Be there. When your children are sick, when they’re well, when they win a game and lose a game. Pick them up on time, especially if you’re divorced. Call just to hear their voice and be available 24 hours a day. Not when it’s convenient. All the time.

Fifth:  Pay up. If they need braces, piano or dance lessons, car insurance or math tutoring, write the check. Check their school lunch account every month and don’t let them be embarrassed because you forgot to put money in their account. Pay your child support on time. If you’re the one receiving child support, spend that money on the children.

Sixth:  Pay attention. Children don’t come right out and tell us they’re lonely or being bullied. The only way to know what’s really going on is to pay attention – has their appetite dropped? Are they sleeping too much or too little? What clothes are they wearing and who are they hanging out with? A child chooses their friends. If that crowd isn’t what you think is best, it’s your job to find out why your child’s self-esteem is that low.

Seventh:  Have a sense of humor. YouTube is filled with videos of dads having fun with their children, so take a clue from these fun-loving parents. Dress up, tell them corny jokes, dance in the kitchen. Wear crazy aprons when barbecuing and have water-balloon fights in the back yard. Let loose and have some fun before they leave the nest.

Eighth:  Show up. If you said you’d be there, be there. Don’t miss a dance recital, awards ceremony or birthday party. Don’t miss an opportunity to pick your child up from school because that’s when they’re ready to talk. If you don’t show up, you miss those golden chances.

Ninth:  Provide for your family. That doesn’t mean you need a six-figure income, but it does mean that you provide them with food on the table, a roof over their heads and making sure they have what they need. You also provide them with the security that you won’t abuse them, you’ll protect them from harm and you’ll love them no matter what.

Tenth:  Teach them what the word “honor” means. It means you do what’s right instead of what’s easy. It means you never speak harshly about someone they love. Honor means taking time to help others, even when you’re bone tired yourself.

So to all our dads out there – grandparents, mothers, men, brothers, uncles, neighbors, step-parents, foster parents, cousins – Happy Father’s Day. Now get out your goofy ”Kiss-the-Cook” apron and enjoy that back-yard barbecue with the ones most precious in the world – your family.

 

       This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My husband hadn’t seen his hometown since he’d walked across the stage at Eastern High School in Middletown, Ken. in 1968, but the invitation to attend his 50-year high school reunion aroused his curiosity.

Looking through his old high school yearbook brought back memories of high-school pranks, dances, football games and track meets.

A few months later, we found ourselves on an airplane headed to Louisville, curious as to who’d come to the reunion and how their lives had unfolded.

We had an afternoon to explore the Middletown and Louisville areas before the activities began, so we drove through neighborhoods and streets he remembered as a boy.

So much had changed – there were sprawling subdivisions where there were once acres of woods and familiar landmarks were gone, replaced with shopping centers.

He was thrilled to find the same barbershop in the old downtown section. The traditional barbershop sign had seen better days, but the inside had been preserved just as it was back in the 1950s, down to a bottle of witch hazel by the sink and a vinyl green barber’s chair near the window.

We went to the high school and lucked up when a gracious assistant principal volunteered to take us around. Each corridor brought back memories – the gym where my husband had taken so many pictures because he’d been on the yearbook staff, finding the walk through from the neighborhood to the school parking lot and the sadness at seeing the school track in poor condition.

Soon it was time for the first activity of the reunion weekend – a scavenger hunt. Betty Southard Stokes was the yearbook editor at Eastern High School and once again was coordinating the reunion.

People arrived and greeted each other with a “Hey, weren’t you…” and then smiles and hugs. We divided up into teams with instructions to take pictures at city landmarks.

As we drove around, Emily and David, who’d stayed in the area, filled my husband in about where friends had gone, who’d passed away, their current and past jobs and, of course, reminiscing about life at Eastern High.

That night, almost 50 people came to reunion dinner, and classmates were remembered with fond anecdotes. As people shared stories of high-school escapades, they also updated folks about the status of those who weren’t there.

There was the suicide of one of their most talented artists, and the room collectively grieved when thinking about their talented friend. The man sitting next to us was ribbed about falling asleep in math class.

Later, his wife told us that he had a severely handicapped sister, and he had to take care of the sister when mom was at work. Often, those duties went on into the night, so naturally he was tired during the day. We discovered many people had obstacles no one knew about at the time.

Some classmates had fulfilled their dreams, others were still working on them. Some had remained relatively unchanged – the funny one, the engineering guru, the gifted writer – and others had followed a totally different path after they’d left high school.

On that one night in Louisville, a room was filled with people who stepped back in time, laughed about the time a group of boys cut down a neighbor’s prized dogwood tree to use as a decoration for the senior prom and still debated who was responsible for stealing the neighboring city’s landmark anchor.

For most of us, high school is the place where our personalities begin to blossom into who we’ll become as adults. Reunions are a time to reconnect with those who helped us maneuver through those tough, turbulent years.

Classmates are the ones who remember when we agonized about our first love, the decision about who to take to the senior prom and the feeling of accomplishment when we walked across the stage at graduation.

Knowing there’s people out there who experienced what we did is reassuring. We didn’t imagine the past. We lived it and so did they.

You go, Eagles, Class of 1968. You did the world proud.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

I’m on a committee to help plan a retirement party for a dear colleague, and we met today to finalize plans. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was in way over my head when it comes to party planning.

These wonderful women discussed chargers, table drapes and runners. My thoughts were cell phones use chargers, drapes hang from curtain rods and runners are what people do in the early mornings to stay in shape.

Not so with party planning.

Growing up, my mom took care of festivities. Over the years, she collected all the needed equipment for great parties – cake platters with lids, silver serving trays and specific party dishes – one for deviled eggs, a divided tray for olives and vegetables and others that remain a mystery.

When it came time to plan parties for my sons, I didn’t have to think deeply. A couple of packs of hot dogs, a store-bought cake and a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream were all the necessary ingredients. Throw in water balloons and I could’ve called them galas.

I helped out as a room mother for classroom parties, but I was the mom who raised her hand when the question was “Do we have any volunteers to clean up?”

I left the high-level party planning details to the sophisticated mothers who possessed all the secrets to throwing a terrific party.

Today, I marveled at the finesse these moms had for planning this retirement party. One mom brought a bag filled with a sample table runner and a tablecloth. She knew the silver and black would look stunning together, and she was right.

When she pulled a round mirror out of that bag, I knew to keep my mouth shut. I figured out from the pictures another mom had that the mirrors went on the table to reflect the candlelight.

Flowers were next on the list, and these moms knew the best deals for ordering bulk flowers.

They knew what bakeries could duplicate a photo for the top of the cake and that there’s a variety of frostings for cakes in every size and shape.

They also knew how to make a balloon arch.

“Impressed” doesn’t come close.

The clincher was when the mom coordinating the event brought out a color-coded chart for the tables and chairs, complete with directions as to how the traffic would flow.

I have no clue how she created that diagram on a computer and the correct way to arrange the tables so people would still have room to mingle and sit down.

“Why would people want to sit down if it’s a reception?” I asked.

These very nice women did not look as if an idiot had spoken. Under different circumstances, I would’ve rolled my eyes at someone who asked that dumb question.

“Some people like to sit down with their cake and visit so the tables and chairs are for them,” one said.

At the parties I’ve hosted, the kids stood up the whole time because boys have a hard time sitting while someone else is unwrapping a Nerf water blaster.

I came away from the meeting a smarter person.

Runners go down the middle of the table and add pizzazz to the tablecloth.

Chargers are not what women with a new Visa card are called – chargers are oversized plates that dress up ordinary plates.

And table drapes hang down the front of the tables to hide extra supplies.

When the day comes that I have to throw a grown-up party, I hope my mom will lend me her three-tiered tray.

It’s perfect to serve ketchup, mustard and relish for those hot dogs.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The first time I met Rhonda Klutts was at a funeral.

Rhonda was the choral director at B.F. Terry High School, and the varsity choir was singing at the service of a former Terry Ranger who’d been killed in action during the Iraq war.

I remember being quite impressed by the poise of these teenagers and the compassionate teacher leading them through an incredibly difficult tragedy.

Over the past 15 years, I’ve discovered that helping students understand life is just one of the many traits that make Rhonda such an incredible teacher.

On the first day of school, Rhonda purposely trips over something and tells the teens “I’m a klutz. Get it?!” They immediately know this smiling teacher has a great sense of humor and isn’t afraid to laugh at herself.

But that won’t happen in the fall.

After 21 years at Terry High School, Rhonda has decided to retire. She’s always had the dream of owning her own piano studio, and that dream is finally coming true this fall.

The teaching world, however, is losing an incredible educator. She’s the teacher everyone hopes to have, the teacher every mother prays her child will have and the teacher educators hope to be like.

She willingly welcomes and teaches every child who comes through the door, from those who have perfect pitch to those who arrive in wheelchairs. Even though they have limitations, Rhonda works with every child and coaxes notes and lyrics from them.

Her students feel at home in her choir room and, most importantly, they want to give “Mama Klutts” their very best.

That commitment is reflected in the dozens of awards and trophies her choirs have earned over the past two decades.

That love is reflected in the faces of the elderly when Rhonda takes her choirs to area nursing homes to sing Christmas carols.

That love of music is etched on the face of every youngster who encounters Rhonda when her varsity choir sings in the halls at Terry or performs at elementary schools.

She’ll spend hours with a student struggling with life and she’ll make sure a teen gets back on the right road if they’ve strayed. She often cries herself to sleep because she’s worried about a student making poor choices.

That servant’s heart is evident outside the school room. Rhonda has a deep belief in God and has played the piano at Calvary Baptist Church every Wednesday and Sunday for years.

She adores her family, her husband, Joe, her son and daughter in law, Jeremy and Tara, and especially the light in her eyes, her grandson Everett.

She never hides her love of life and of her chosen profession. Never was that more evident than at her last concert this week. The auditorium was packed, including many former students who came to watch their beloved teacher one more time.

They weren’t disappointed.

Every student in Rhonda’s choirs sang their heart out. For the last song, her teaching assistant, Marlayna Shaw, arranged for her former students from the past two decades to join the varsity choir for the last songs.

Rhonda stood in the middle of the auditorium, tears streaming down her face, as she conducted over 250 current and former students in their final concert with her.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Most of us hope to leave the world a better place than how it was when we arrived. We pray our families will be proud of us and hope we’ve left them examples of the best way to live their lives.

There is no doubt that Rhonda Klutts is leaving a legacy of creating outstanding choirs with students who’ve never had voice or music lessons in their lives.

But more important than the trophies on the shelves is Rhonda instilled the belief in her students that they matter.

Teachers like Rhonda don’t come along very often. They’re a rare and precious gift because they plant seeds that grow for generations.

Terry High School was incredibly blessed to have this wonderful person behind the piano for so many years, and I’m fortunate to call her my friend.

Enjoy your retirement, Rhonda, but know – you will be missed and, as you so loved your students, you, too, will always be loved.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

We’re wrapping up Teacher Appreciation Week and on Sunday we’ll celebrate Mother’s Day. In a way, those two events are one in the same because our moms are our first teachers.

According to Hallmark, mothers teach us to be kind and gentle, how to share and how to make the world a better place. Teachers do the same thing with one major difference – they can flunk us if we don’t do what we’re supposed to do.

All of us have fond memories of our favorite teachers, and I’m no exception. But there’s a little twist this year – I’m also grateful to the slacker teachers I had.

Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely adore the great teachers I had like my high school English teachers Ms. Pruyn and Ms. Phillips and my chemistry and physics teacher Mr. Bizet who gave me B’s even though I didn’t deserve them.

In reality, the slacker teachers made me appreciate the really good ones.

There aren’t enough flowers, cards, gifts or expressions of gratitude for those educators who can teach a child that letters on a page translate into words that convey ideas to illuminate minds.

Or that a math teacher can take a reluctant child, get them to solve an algebraic equation and have them leave the class feeling successful.

And that’s what great moms do.

They make us feel like a million bucks when we feel like chump change. My mom makes me feel like a millionaire, and I’m thankful beyond words she’s still around mentoring and mothering.

Dee Hebert taught me to make a meal out of seemingly nothing in the pantry. She taught me Sunday dinners with family was sacred and to use the good tablecloth when serving that dinner. Your family, she taught me, deserves the best.

She taught me a mom can work outside the home and still be a fabulous mother. She showed me it’s really possible to have every one of your children secretly believe they’re the favorite because you treat each one as an individual with their own special talents and gifts.

As I think about all the wonderful things my mom has taught me, I think back to what I taught my sons. I did teach them how to bake a Chef-Boyardee pizza and how to work the can opener and microwave.

That counts as home cooking, doesn’t it?

I am almost ashamed to admit I introduced them to swearing. Yes, I used profanity in front of them but there’s almost no way to drive in rush-hour traffic or to come away from the grocery store after getting behind the neighborhood coupon queen and not drop a few choice words.

I’m hoping my sons will cut their slacker mom a bit of a break this year and remember I was really doing the best I could.

Even if that meant trying to pawn off Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup as home-made.

Even when I put on the Cartoon Network so I could grab 15 minutes of shut-eye after a sleepless night because you threw up at our bedroom door at 3 a.m.

You were showing us that it takes gumption to be a parent and a teacher. Luckily, moms and dads learn to roll with the flow. This includes natural parents, step-parents, mothers stepping up as dads, fathers stepping up as moms and relatives and friends taking on the parental duties.

And here’s a little secret:  these two jobs are the absolute best and most fulfilling callings in the world, even though the hours are long, the pay doesn’t come close to covering what you do and the thanks are few and far between.

So Happy Teacher Appreciation Week and Happy Mother’s Day to all those teachers and moms out there. You deserve all the thanks, hugs, kisses, flowers, bathroom slippers, perfume, chocolates, ceramic figurines and hand-drawn cards, complete with jelly smears, your little darlings can bestow on you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.