My Greatest Teacher

 

People who know me say that I am a people person. It is true and I know that I got it naturally from my maternal grandmother, Louise Espanola Jackson-Wright-Wilson. Grandma Wilson was my best friend and confidant until she died in 1960. From the time I was a little girl we were extremely close. She was the first person from whom I felt the wholeness of unconditional love. I don’t remember her ever chastising me for anything that I did, but she always made me take a closer look at my decisions and subsequent actions, by asking me one question; “Why do you think that you did that?”  She gave me my first opportunities to be consciously introspective and taught me think things through and make better choices for my life. Her acceptance of me, no matter what I did, made it easier for me to understand others. I can now empathize and not judge their situations because I genuinely want to help them. I think that my grandmother saw some of herself in me and she seemed to have made it a life mission to expand my knowledge about the differences and the sameness of people.  Through her example I learned to make no distinction between rich or poor, white, Hispanic, black, or Asian. While observing her I developed my interpretation of what love is; true love is when one has an all-consuming desire to understand a person or situation and then is not only less apt to judge, but rather more likely to expand one’s concepts of true empathy. Like my grandmother, I find all people and their situations fascinating and always feel that there is no end to what I can learn from them. Her interest in people was contagious, and I got the bug, big time.    

When I was in fifth grade my grandmother decided that she wanted to move to New York City to be near my uncle.  I was devastated as it seemed to be the end of our adventures; shopping downtown in Minneapolis, going to the movies, and lunch at the Nan Kin Chinese restaurant.  Through tear-filled eyes I watched her board the Greyhound bus bound for the big apple, sure that my life had collapsed like an undercooked soufflé.

I could not have been more mistaken by concluding that her move to New York City would sever our ties.  It actually catapulted me into an expanded life experience, because every summer she would send for me and our adventures became even more unique.  I never knew where the two of us would end up; walking down an alley and then ushered to the backstage of the Zeigfeld Theater to visit a friend and cast member of Finians Rainbow in her dressing room, or chatting with fellow passengers on the Staten Island Ferry. With New York’s boundless supply of great ethnic variety, our culinary ventures went into full throttle. She introduced me to my lifelong passion of international cuisine.

I must admit that some of our excursions could be a little frightening. I loved being with my grandmother and knew that she would never let anything bad happen to me on our subway escapades to the Bowery in New York City.  Those rides were always exciting, although sometimes, I will have to admit that I was afraid since we always traveled at night. This was the time when the train was between cleanings and reeked of urine and was littered with trash.  There were always men and women cocooned in filthy blankets sleeping in their rolling dormitory, apparently with no other place to go. My grandmother always found it easy to begin a conversation with someone who was still awake. It became clear that no matter the setting, being backstage at a theatre; riding on the ferry, eating in a restaurant, or sitting on the subway, her queries were always the same; “How did you come to this place in your life?”.

She particularly liked going to the Bowery, so that I could observe the people, hear their stories about the choices they had made, and learn of the hardships that they were experiencing in their lives. So when we arrived at our skid row destination and got off of the train, she would immediately begin searching for the first person to interrogate.  I was always fascinated while watching her interactions with total strangers; men and women in dirty clothes with liquor on their breath and vacant looks in their eyes. My grandmother interacted with these folks as though she had known them since infancy. She would ask them questions about their lives and how they got to be residents of skid row. Sometimes in tears they would pour out the stories of their demise from former positions as bankers, neurosurgeons, or aspiring actresses, to being homeless substance abusers, and in some cases detailing their battles with mental illness. They respectfully answered all of her questions as if this inquisitive little lady was their own grandmother too. Because of her example, I often find myself extracting information from surprised individuals who can’t believe they are telling me the secrets of their lives.  My ex-brother-in-law used to say that I had chosen the perfect profession as a counselor since I was always in every one’s business anyway. I’m not sure, but I think that maybe he was joking.

I care about people because I know that although unseen, we are all connected through a network of electro-magnetic physical interactions. I will have to admit that my concerns are not always altruistic, but rather are motivated by self interest since the well being of others eventually affects my personal security and happiness. I also get great satisfaction seeing others happy and content with their lives.

We all have what I call “leaky edges” and the emotions that we feel, whether happy or sad, vindictive or compassionate, seep out and become contagious affecting others around us like a fast-moving tsunami. We have all been in situations where one person could change the mood in the room from good-humored to sad or vice-a-versa, just by their presence without a word being said. Recently a friend of mine shared her experience when she went to the funeral of a friend’s father out of respect to the family.  She did not know the father, but she said for that hour, all the sadness in the world was in that church sanctuary. In spite of her attempts to focus on other things, she too became so distraught that she also began to cry uncontrollably.

I had the privilege of working as a volunteer at the Fred C. Nelles California Youth Authority Detention Facility a few years ago and during our sessions I would watch these usually guarded adolescents soften and shed their callousness as I asked about their childhoods, their families and relationships, both inside and out of the institution. The boys appeared stunned that someone was actually interested in their lives.  The authorities reported to me that they saw a shift in the boys’ behaviors and that these youth became more caring in their interactions with fellow inmates.

Everyone needs attention to feel alive and vital. Some people do not care how they receive it, whether it is negative or positive. I am a firm believer that if each person shows a genuine interest in another’s life by letting them know that they are seen and heard, we could prevent many problems.  Imagine what could happen if everyone took the time to inquire of a troubled teenager by asking how they are feeling and showing a genuine curiosity about their reality.

On another occasion, I was meeting some of my friends for lunch outside their office in Santa Monica, Ca.  When we had all convened on the sidewalk, a scowling young man approached us to ask for money.  As I looked at him, I could see that he was dirty and his clothing was ripped and shabby and his shoes were worn.  We all agreed to give him the cash that he had requested, but I told him that before we gave him the money that I wanted him to promise me something. I could not resist my Grandma Wilson’s spirit as she directed me to tell him to find a mirror and see what he had done to himself and to question the condition of his life.  He was furious, but wanted that money, so he agreed that he would do that.  Several weeks later, I got a call from one of my friends who had been there on that day.  She had been on her way to lunch and said that the young man was standing on the sidewalk outside of her office building. She did not recognize him at first, but when he approached her, he explained that he remembered that she had been one of the people who had helped him a few weeks ago.  He wanted to know if I was working in that building, because he wanted to thank me.  She explained that I did not work there but she could give me a message.  He said that even though he had been upset with me that day, he felt driven to do what I had asked.  When he did look in a mirror he was shocked at what he had become and vowed to himself to do better.  From my friend’s report, he was wearing new clothes; his face was clean and smiling.  He told her that he now had a place to live and was starting a job that week.  He told my friend, “Tell that lady that I said thanks for caring about me even when I didn’t”, and he walked away.

My grandmother and I had so much fun together, that I did not realize until much later that she was teaching me life lessons which would become part of the fabric of my life. I know the importance of reaching out my hand and heart to everyone that I meet, no matter their circumstances.  I want everyone that I encounter to know that I see them and want to hear their stories because each is important in my life experience. Everyone matters to me and is a valuable piece of my life’s puzzle.  I know that every day offers the opportunity to change a life through showing a caring and concerned interest.

I have never been back to New York City’s Bowery since those soulful journeys with my grandmother so many years ago, but I cannot believe that some of those late-night conversations with those men and women, and with me, a child at her side did not help to awaken a desire in some to begin their lives anew.

Thank you, Louise Espanola Jackson-Wright-Wilson, for teaching me the true essence of dynamic empathy and unconditional love. It was because of your nurturing of my desire to understand human behavior that you gave me the introduction to my life’s work of motivational speaking and counseling.  Because of you, I learned to see my connection to my fellow man and to recognize that we are all truly one. I feel your presence and hear your voice every day of my life.

“You make your life too hard.

It’s really easy when you know how to live it.”

          Louise Espanola Jackson-Wright-Wilson,

1889-1960