Happy Poetry

Here is your Sunday STORY on: LOVE OF WISDOM: Do we ever need to work out why people are how they are? It seems that when we see someone we judge. We judge how they look and how they react, it maybe that we do it in awe, or we do it in disgust. Part of being wise is to drop this need to judge. As soon as we start to make a judgement we are doing it with very few facts; we're filling in the gaps with assumptions. Whilst this maybe fine to contribute to gossip, it gives us tunnel vision. We cannot SEE what is truly there. It is what is in the heart that truly counts, not in the way that people dress. Yet we can acknowledge this fact whilst we are reading it amongst some expressive text, but the moment we step back into our own little world we'll do it again. It is an art to let go, it takes practice and the experience to see the benefits before the real payback begins to arise. When you are reading information on WISDOM you'll realise the frailty in EMOTION. You'll understand how this aspect of our character can engulf our vision and cause us to make seriously incorrect decisions. We make take years to begin to control its influence. The next step however is to recognise it in others. Do not criticise when all you can SEE is an emotion controlling their behaviour. Tackle the emotion and not the behaviour. Today's story illustrates the host of occasions that people pre-judge someone's life and cast aspersions on others unnecessarily. HER NAME WAS RITA The effects of my interactions with Rita* were profound. (*Names have been altered) At 45-years-old, I finally did something I had wanted to do for far more years than I can remember: I enrolled in college. I had lost two full-time jobs within an eight-month period and knew I couldn't continue this pattern - I needed a career. At my age, it was a bit unnerving, but I was adamant about moving forward and, admittedly stubborn, I knew I could do it. Even though I was the eldest in most of my classes, I wasn't alone; nearly half of my classmates were adult students. Her name was Rita*. She was a bit overweight, and her clothes - somewhat plain and untidy, weren't as nice as everyone else's. Even though it was against school policy, she was always partnered with a soda, from which she drank freely. She oftentimes had others pick lunch up for her from nearby fast food locations that she'd inevitably inhale seconds before class began. She toted a backpack with her schoolbooks and snacks and, huffing and puffing, she'd usually arrive to class out of breath from trekking the stairs. When the school year began, Rita's hair was unkempt and stringy. She arrived at school one day with orange hair; an obvious attempt at a home dye-job-gone-wrong. Clearly, Rita wanted to belong. Although we had different majors, Rita and I shared several classes that first year, because regardless of degree, we had some common core courses. Although I had much to learn, and admittedly (and jokingly) self-taught, I knew more about Computer Concepts than Rita and she learned to lean on me for help. She was in my English class too, and I found that Rita treated all her studies the same - like me - with the determination required to succeed. She sat next to me in Accounting class and, on more than one occasion, she was unable to locate her apparently-buried ruler from deep within her backpack, or would realize she had forgotten her textbook, so she'd borrow mine. Accounting was tough for both of us, and not unlike me, Rita stressed over exams and was disappointed if she got even one problem wrong. Disheveled or not, I quickly learned that Rita was very bright and worked hard to obtain good scores. One afternoon, near the end of the term, the front-office receptionist knocked on the door of our Accounting class. He had a message for Rita. Her husband had called - she was supposed to pick her children up at school. She seemed confused and distressed, unable to imagine what could be wrong. Following that message, Rita was absent from school for more than a week. I worried about her, but I had no way to contact her. When she returned to school, she confided in me: Her husband had emptied the house - he packed everything, leaving behind one lone mattress - he went to live with his new girlfriend. Rita was left with no money and four children at home to care for - one who is mentally impaired. Our school had a culinary program and we were sometimes the beneficiaries of the students' work (practice). Some weeks later, as I was getting settled into my seat in Computer Concepts, I noticed several of the adult students filing into the classroom with dessert-laden napkins. Apparently, there had been some kind of function for the community at the culinary center that day and it had concluded, leaving 'leftovers' behind. My mouth salivating at the pastries, I craned my neck to see what other goodies they had. I looked at the clock and realized I didn't have enough time to make it to the lounge to scavenge some for myself and make it back in time before class began. 'Oh well, I didn't need the calories anyway, ' I convinced myself. Rita entered the classroom, interrupting my thoughts. Dragging her backpack behind her, the strap looped around her arm, she maintained a balancing act that could only have been executed as gracefully by a seasoned circus performer. She carried two little plates piled with desserts and a paper towel that was also apparently filled with goodies. Regardless, she managed to arrive at her seat with everything seemingly intact. Mumbling to herself, she must've realized she had forgotten something and exited the classroom. Immediately, the row of (adult) students behind me began chattering: 'Did you see how much food she had?' 'Oh my gosh, is she gonna eat all that?' 'No wonder she looks like that!' Carrying paper towels, Rita scurried back into the classroom just in time to hear some of their snide remarks. Her feelings clearly hurt, she snipped, 'I'm taking some home for my kids!' She quickly wrapped the snacks in the paper towels and put them in her backpack. It wasn't until a few minutes after the instructor began to lecture that I noticed the tears on her cheeks. The next afternoon during one of my breaks, I was sitting outside at a picnic table, alone. I looked up from the assignment I had been reading to find that Rita had come and quietly sat down next to me. Reading the sadness in her eyes, I asked, 'Are you OK?' The tears easily trickled down her cheeks and her sadness spilled: Several weeks earlier, after collapsing, her brother, Ted*, had been taken to the hospital, where he remained comatose for some time. Her brother had children at home and there were financial concerns. Rita had just recently received her school loan which, surely, she needed for her own family but, instead, spent it on food and necessities for Ted's family. Ultimately placed on life-support, the family members struggled with the difficult decision of whether to maintain the life-support or to let him go. Ted's wife and his mother made it clear that they didn't want Ted's life-support removed. Rita told me of a conversation she had had with Ted some months earlier - one that included the fact that he would never want to be kept on life-support. Not surprising, her brother's wishes and the family's emotions got tangled in a web and arguments ensued. One day while Rita was visiting her brother at the hospital, Ted's wife and mother had left his room to get some lunch. While they were gone, Rita played one of Ted's favorite CD's, knowing he would hear it. One of Ted's favorite songs was playing when he went into cardiac arrest. Doctors and nurses came running and, ultimately, one of the doctors advised Rita that it was time. She nodded and said, 'He's ready, let him go.' Worn and still crying, Rita told me that Ted's family had now ostracized her - they had even gone so far as to call her a murderer. We sat there for nearly an hour while she poured out her heart and soul to me. She spoke of her tormented childhood and of her many struggles over the years, all to seemingly get her nowhere. I wondered, 'When was the last time anyone actually listened to anything Rita had to say? Had the family even considered Rita's feelings about her brother and how difficult it must've been for her to remove the life-support? Did Ted's family even know how much Rita gave up, financially, in order to help them through their difficult time?' I thought back to the day when Rita wrapped the pastries to take home to her children. What transpired in the classroom that day happened so quickly - stunned at the behavior of the supposed adults, I didn't have time to actively react. I remained distracted throughout the class and, subsequently, for the remainder of the day. Did Rita take the goodies home to her kids because they truly needed something to eat? Perhaps. Could it be that she simply wanted to take some culinary artistry home to share with her children who never get to experience such frivolities? Perhaps. Perhaps she took them because she wanted them all for herself, as personal comfort food. Perhaps lots of things... (Did it really matter why she took them?) My point? (And I do have one.) It's not our place to judge. We never know what someone else's circumstances are and how those circumstances affect his or her everyday life or how those same circumstances affect his or her self-esteem and self-confidence. Even if we know every detail of someone else's life, it's not our place to judge, nor to suppose we have all the answers. I learned a lot about myself because of my interactions with Rita over those many months. I'm a firm believer in the theory that everyone has something of value to offer, if only we'd take the time to listen. I've found that if I listen, I learn and grow. And from growth, positive change is born. The next time you see a child in the grocery store with tattered clothes and ratty hair, or a homeless man on the street who looks like he hasn't bathed in weeks - Catch yourself. Stop and smile at the child... Talk to the man... For just one moment, look at that person without judgment - with an open heart and an open mind. I promise, if you allow yourself to do that, your efforts will make an indelible mark on that person's heart. And it's my sincere hope that it will forever change yours. I dare you to tell me it won't make a difference in your day. Just my thoughts... What about yours? (Tami C Ryan, February 10, 2003) QUOTE: "Success is getting and achieving what you want. Happiness is wanting and being content with what you get.' (Bernard Meltzer)

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