Alchemy of love

My son attended a parent-teacher meeting this week and the P1 teacher waxed lyrical about his youngest child. She pointed out that he was exceptionally loving and kind. Always full of joy and eager to volunteer in activities. The teacher said that a new Spanish student who spoke absolutely no English had joined their class and our grandson had appointed himself her guide and led her from one activity to another by hand. Floored by all this praise my son pushed the teacher to let him know what areas my grandson still needed to focus on and improve. Reluctantly, the teacher pointed out that he had not yet mastered the skill of holding a pencil! How sweet was that Scottish P1 teacher to focus on only the positives. A hug to all the hard-working teachers whose kindness and perceptions help rear noble souls.

My uncle in New Zealand is practically blind and every Friday his in-laws hold an evening meal where everyone starts the event by stating one thing they are particularly grateful for that week. All ages participate even the three-year year-old twins.  What a lovely way to end the week in such a positive tone. My uncle’s contribution was his gratitude for a young man who had spotted my uncle trying to navigate his way into a toilet cubicle in a busy restaurant. Realising he was finding it tricky the young guy helped him locate the door handle and even opened it. Then, when my uncle had finished, the same young man waited outside the cubicle and escorted him to the taps and then the dryer. My uncle said this unexpected kindness filled him with hope for this younger generation. A big thanks to the youth out there who have not forgotten to care for the vulnerable and provide a lesson to the rest of us.

Finally, I attended the funeral of a dear friend of mine from Omagh this year. She was one of those quiet folks whose presence was always strangely comforting. The funeral was high in the mountains in a forest 7 miles from the town. I had to trust the Sat Nav to find it along twisting forest roads. The venue was well hidden along a path in the woods. Despite this, I was shocked to find the room was absolutely packed with people. In fact, the staff kept having to add extra rows of chairs, one after another as more people flooded in. Just when they thought that that was it, another crowd arrived to pay their respects. So eventually wall-to-wall with others standing in the doorway and corridors they carried in the coffin and the entire room rose as one to their feet in silence as she was carried to the front of the room. Speaker after speaker spoke about her kindness and quietness. How acts of thoughtfulness were practised by her as a normal routine that had touched so many. We all became aware of just what a giant of love we had lost. The feeling of gratitude for a life well lived grew. 

Much thanks to all those quiet, selfless souls that operate beneath the radar but work their special alchemy of love in hearts across the world.

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone, let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path."

ʻAbdu'l-Bahá

Nasty History - learning from the shadows

I always hated history in school. There were several reasons.

1. I have long suffered from the blackboard memory. In order to learn a date or name or event something else has to be erased. The actual content in memory banks does not seem accumulative but substitution in nature.  I cite for evidence, the fact that I studied French for seven years without any success. Spent 10 years in Greece and remain bereft of the Greek language. In fact despite my love of writing the reason I chose science as a profession was largely due to my atrocious spelling in English.  Anything requiring memorisation, I have always sought to avoid.        

                                                               

                                                                        

2.  For some reason history syllabus’ all around the world have a ‘cockeyed’ view of history. So, for example, in the UK thousands of years of history is almost ignored in favour of modern world wars. Which always struck me as a wasteful direction of human intellect. If we studied war history with a view of avoiding future conflicts and their associated catastrophic loss of life then perhaps it would be beneficial. Future generations could learn from past mistakes. Instead history, wherever it is taught, seems to focus on the glorification of battles and nobility of killing fields. Stirring up nationalistic fervour in the younger generation so they will be willing fodder for the warfare of the future.

Or as in the words of George S McGovern

“I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in.”

More impressive still when you know the background of George S McGovern.

• He was a pilot of World War II 
• Holder of the Distinguished Flying Cross 
• On one his missions as a pilot, his plane had 110 holes in the fuselage on its return
• Was a history professor
• Sought to end the Vietnam war
• Was instrumental in the creation of the United Nations World Food Bank program
• Was the First UN Global Ambassador of World Hunger 

Not bad for someone who once was known as an average student, painfully shy and afraid to speak a word in school when young.  On to my third reason to dislike history.

3.   My history teacher was a vindictive woman who really should not have been left in charge of children or indeed sentient animals of any kind. In future, I think we should look at teachers and “ask would I trust this person with an ill hamster”. That sensitivity to see to the needs of vulnerable dependents, nurturing their well-being and their growth and well-being, free of any hurtful tendencies to those under their care should be the basic benchmark.

Having said all that I am a voracious reader even at school loved Edward Gibbon’s ‘The history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire’. It covers the period from 98 to 1590. In particular, I liked one of his lines of bitting comment,

“As long as mankind shall continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than on their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be the voice of the most exalted characters.”

or rather more pessimistically still,

“history is indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.”

If you ever despair of today's morals and standards. Feel that they have reached levels of degradation beyond that ever encountered before. Read Gibbon’s book and be reassured that humanity has ever had the ability to sink to levels almost beyond our imagination  in their grotesqueness and cruelty. In fact, it is our ability to sink to levels  far below those of wild animals that almost defines us as a human species. Don't get me wrong. I believe humanity can rise to heights we cannot see in the shadows of the present valleys. But if we are to attain future summits we must never lose sight of the very real gorges and chasms that make up our historical landscape. We need to recognise the dark places and hateful deeds that make this world hell like. Register them for the decline they represent and turn away from such darkness.

Then, when we hear the hateful prejudices that have ever blighted mankind’s history we can make wiser choices. Or when nations flee from war or starvation to our borders we would realise our response is a test of our very humanity.  When cities of civilians are bombed into oblivion does our silent acquiescence not speak volumes?  For history always judges on what was actually done to our fellow humans and our role for better or worse in response to that. These heroes or villains are made, today and in history, by how are they responded to what went on around them. Hard choices in difficult days by heroic individuals, down through the ages, create lights that lead to better days for us all.

Corridor and playground conversations

The PE teacher at my son’s school in Greece was going through a rough time.  Every break time he would tell my son another installment of the bitter divorce he was going through.  It was a kind of debriefing and my nine-year-old son drank in the whole sorry tale.  How love can turn to hate.  What women can say and do to make your life miserable. 
How betrayal colours not just how you see the world but even yourself.  Custody battles, court hearings, his hatred for his in-laws, this plot was as twisted as any soap opera.  My son loved it and looked forward to the next installment.  Being new to the school and a foreigner my son was lonely and having these conversations let him see that suffering was universal not just his own lot in life.  It came at exactly the right time and I hope on some level having a listening ear helped Mr Anastasis too.

As one of my sons, Lewis, walked along a school corridor a heavy set teacher, middle-aged and built like a barn, no neck, half shaven with a smoker’s hack stopped him and said,

“Never long for any day, any moment but this day and this time.  Enjoy this second.  Remember this and you will have a happy life!”

Decades later Lewis, as best man, shared this with wisdom at his brother’s wedding and I feel grateful to this insight from an unlikely source.