It’s About Them

I’m a psychologist who, for over 20 years has worked primarily with children and adolescents. Recently I’ve experienced a partial career shift; now I’m seeing patients in nursing homes. (And, if you really think about it, pediatrics and geriatrics aren’t that far apart, really.)

One of my patients, an 86-year-old blind man gave my heart a tug a few days ago. I asked if he needed anything. He gently reached for my hand and said: “Thank you, but I’m an old man. All I need is a good place to sleep and good food to eat.”

Little did he know that afternoon he was doing therapy on ME.

We could all stand to be at a point in our lives where all the excesses of existence are shed to reveal the core of who we really are … a person who doesn’t really need all that stuff.

Kid’s instinctively know the simple life, although they might not know how to get to it. I think it’s adults who try to add too much to it, but it’s also the adults who can show youngsters how much fun they can have fishing with a cane pole instead of an expensive rod and reel. Actually, they can problably teach them that digging for worms can be the best part of fishing. It’s especially the case if the adult is someone who gives the youngster the one thing kids get very little of from adults in their lives … TIME.

Life was not designed to be complicated. In fact, it’s much too fragile to be complicated. So treasure the small things, like a good place to sleep and good food to eat. 

James Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com

Whatever happened to the family traditions, those events that stand out in the memories of children of all ages? Why not build some for yourself and your family.

One of my best Fourth of July memories (and not just the Fourth of July, but summer in general) didn’t even involve fireworks. It involved ice cream … handcranked ice cream, to be specific.

Grandma, Mom and my aunt would mix the ingredients for fantastic vanilla ice cream with just a hint of lemon. Dad and my uncle would get the churn ready. The soon-to-be-made ice cream was poured into the stainless steel inside container, the dasher was set into it, then the top was carefully set down over the container and dasher. After that, Dad and my uncle chipped ice and packed it into the churn, freely mixing in some rock salt as they filled the wooden-bucket part of the churn with ice. They’d pack it to the top, then put the crank on the top of the churn, connecting it to the top of the dasher.

And that’s where I came in. Dad would take a piece of an old blanket and lay it over the ice-packet churn. I sat on top of that folded over blanket to hold the churn in place while the men took turns cranking the ice cream. To this kid it seemed they cranked for hours. They didn’t crank it for hours, but they did crank it long enough for my rear end to get numb as the cold and wet from the melting ice worked its way onto me.

The best part of all this work, of course, was the magical “unveiling” of the finished ice cream. They’d carefully remove the crank, then pull top off the container, and remove the dasher, now covered with lemon-vanilla ice cream. The kids, my sister, my cousins and me, got to take turns licking that dasher.

That still has to be the best way to enjoy homemade ice cream. Pretty awesome stuff!

But the memories are better still.

Have a wonderful Fourth of July.

James D. Sutton, Psychologist            www.docspeak.com

A few years back I was a consulting psychologist to a large childrens’ home in south Texas. One of the caseworkers, Joy, had to go up to the school and bring a girl home because of a behavioral episode at school. (This happened often as these youngsters had been displaced from their homes of origin for various reasons. Many of them were still pretty upset about it.)

Joy, one of the caseworkers, and the staff made it a point that any youngster brought home while school was going on was not going to have a better time at home. She put the girl to work raking and sweeping leaves out in the front of the administration building.

I made a trip up to the admin office and spoke briefly to the girl as I was going inside. She told me Joy had given her that job to do. I returned to the office a couple of hours later, and the girl was still out front, raking and sweeping.

“How long are you supposed to do this?” I asked her, pointing to the good-sized pile of leaves she had raked. 

“UNTIL JOY COMES BACK,” she responded. 

Wow, think of what you could do with that response. In this case she was talking about her caseworker, but the same “until Joy comes back” could be the easiest remedy for the sort of thing that happens with a youngster or an adult who falls into a kind of funk that wants to paralyze them.

Activity helps. By the time we break out of doing nothing and get active in some way, however small, we feel better.

When we decide to DO something, joy might not come rushing back, but perhaps it could be coaxed into taking a “U”-turn.

James Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

As a kid growing up in Abilene, Texas, I recall those times with Mom or Dad would come back from the store with a little plastic, red poppy they had received for making a donation to the Veterans of Foreign Wars. That was, of course, the Memorial Day weekend. My father would wear that little poppy on his suit Sunday morning, although it was years before I really understood what the little flower represented, and that the artificial poppies were made by disabled vets.

As I understand it, the significance of the poppy and the rememberance of faithful veterans killed in action goes back to the Great War–World War I, although Memorial Day (which was called Decoration Day at one time) as an event goes back to the Civil War era. When American troups were lost to enemy action and disease in Europe during the Great War, they were buried in Flanders Fields, where they take their rest to this day.

I’ve been told that poppies only grow on soil that’s been broken and turned, as in the preparation and use of a grave. This was the inspiration of one of the greatest poems ever written to the memory and dedication of our uniformed heros past. It was written by John Mcrae in 1915, but it fits today, more than ever:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders Fields

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies blow

In Flanders Fields

…………………………………………………………………..

James D. Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

Jim Gentil, my very talented friend in Austin, Texas, sent this piece in a recent newsletter. It’s a great example of just how much we should love and care for our children. I reprint it here with Jim’s permission, and encourage you to visit his website: www.JimGentil.com

………………………………………………..

“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked.

When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.

Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks.

He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy . . . called me a freak.”

He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.
The boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done?  “I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured” the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, “You are going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret” said the father.
The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs. Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. “But I must know!” He urged his father. “Who gave so much for me?  I could never do enough for him.”
“I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know . . . not yet.”

The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come . . . one of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal . . . that the mother had no outer ears.
“Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they”?
Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known. 

- Author Unknown

……………………………………………..

James Sutton, Psychologist       www.docspeak.com

Since we as a nation have been struggling with the sub-prime loans crunch, high cost of gasoline and an overall slow-down in the economy, there’s been a lot of talk about the role of government. Is it doing enough? What else can be done?

Good questions all.

I was recently reading Tom Brokow’s latest book, Boom! Voices of The Sixties. In the book he has this quote from Barbara Bush, former First Lady. She said this during a 1990 commencement address at Wellesley College.(Incidentally, 25% of the graduating seniors had signed a petition protesting her appearance.)

Barbara Bush said:

Maybe we should adjust faster; maybe we should adjust slower. But whatever the era, whatever the times, one thing will never change: Fathers and mothers, if you have children, they MUST come first. You must read to your children, hug your children, and you must love your children. Your success as a family, our success as a society, depends NOT on what happens in the White House but on what happens inside YOUR house.

I can’t add much to that.

James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com

Read more »

I came across both of these quotes from Thomas Jefferson, the architect of the Declaration of Independence. They ring surprisingly true, especially today. It’s interesting to note that, by all appearances, Jefferson felt that the “least” government was the best government.

When the people fear their government, there is tyranny;

When the government fears the people, there is liberty.

This one perhaps is too true to print:

A Government big enouth to give you everything you want

is strong enough to take everyting you have.

Those of you you have been watching the HBO miniseries, John Adams, will recall the presence of Thomas Jefferson in the series. What a treat to watch history unfold … again.

James Sutton, Psychologist      www.docspeak.com

I live in a small community in South Texas. When we became large enough in population to have our own Super Wal-Mart, it became more than just a store.

It became the cultural center of Atascosa County.

I was in the store one weekend and decided to have a bit of lunch at the McDonald’s there in the store. I ordered chicken tenders.

“Okay,” the young lady behind the counter said, “but it will take six minutes.”

“That’s fine,” I replied. Only in our rushed along world and lifestyle would it be necessary to warn a customer they would have to wait a whole six minutes.

I figured to check the stock market and my email on my Moto-Q while I waited. To my horror, I had left my phone at the house. I actually had to WAIT six minutes.

It was … it was … it was … WONDERFUL! A few minutes peace without constant bombardment of whatever stimuli that keep us way too occupied just about all the time.

I remember an experiment I read about. If a person could be completely still and quiet for at least 15-25 minutes (that’s a LONG time by today’s standards), the corpus collosum (that band of thick fibers that connect the two hemispheres of the brain) will begin to “sing.” Creativity and higher level concentration and thought begin at that point … 15-25 minutes in.

A heavy price to pay for quality thought, huh?

James Sutton, Pychologist     www.docspeak.com

Much inspiration for what I write in It’s About Them comes from a couple of little newsletters sent to me by Jim Gentil of Austin, Texas: Positive People Power! and Positive Spiritual Living (read by folks in over 30 countries).  Somehow, some way, Jim seems to have a knack for sharing something that touches me deeply. This piece is one of them. Since Jim always encourages us to share his thoughts with others, I’d like to pass them along to you.

 —————————————-

 What does it mean to live like you were dying? 
It means to squeeze every drop of juice out of life that you can. 
It means to live life to its fullest potential. 
It means to do things that give you an adrenaline rush. 
It means to open your heart and mind to a world where all things are possible. 
It means to smile and laugh and play a little more everyday. 
It means to become more than you currently are. 
It means taking the time to dream. 
It means pursuing your dreams with everything that’s within you. 
It means to stretch yourself and go beyond the known into the unknown. 
It means to follow your heart and fulfill the desires that inspire you.
It means to forgive others and find true freedom and peace of mind. 
It means to love others like there’s no tomorrow. 
It means do what you have always wanted to do. 
It means being the person you were created to be. 
It means to have faith in the process of your life and trust that everything is going to be all right. 
It means taking control of what you can and accepting what you can’t. 
It means daring to believe. 
It means never giving up on your dreams. 
It means focusing on what’s really important to you personally. 
It means you ignore all the petty stuff of life. 
It means you don’t let things get under your skin. 
It means seeing others through eyes of compassion. 
It means giving mercy to every one you meet.
It means creating meaningful moments that you’ll never forget. 
It means being your personal best. 
It means acting in spite of your fears and discovering that fear is an illusion. 
It means doing something you’ve never done but have always wanted to do. 
It means feeling the fear and doing it anyway.  
It means saying “I Love You” more often. 
It means to give more hugs and holding the embrace for a second or two longer. 
It means saying what you mean and sometimes not saying anything at all. 
It means breathing deep and letting your cares go. 
It means to give away what’s precious to you. 
It means to hold all things loosely. 
It means to understand that we don’t really own anything anyway, we just get to use things for a while. 
It means to lighten up and not be so serious. 
It means to go for it whatever it may be. 
It means to take a leap of faith. 
It means to be free. 
Faith, Hope and Love,
- Keith Cameron Smith

If we were to truly live these words, our lives (and the lives of those we touch) would never be the same, would they? What a positive challenge. Thanks, Jim.

James Sutton, Psychologist        www.docspeak.com 

I just came back from Mobile, Alabama, where I trained about 70 educators, counselors and administrators in skills of working with difficult students.

During one point of the presentation, I used a participant to demonstrate a method of communication with a student. His name was Bill; he was an assistant principal at an elementary school in the area.

To make a long story short, Bill loves to sail in Mobile Bay. He shared how, when he was discharged from the military he had been so impacted by what he had experienced in Vietnam that he decided to get away from everything and everyone for awhile. So he sailed around the world … several times.

I casually asked him his branch of service in Vietnam.

“I was Army, 101st Airborne,” he said.

I offered him my hand. “First Marines.” (I was Navy, but I lived and worked with the marines of the First Radio Battalion in DaNang.)

I think Bill and I were both surprised by what happened next. The participants began to applaud.

I know I was touched. How so different that response was to my Vietnam service than the one I often got when I first returned home. Truth is, we were often spat upon, called “baby killers,” and were considered something less than a human being. We were encouraged NOT to mention that we were Vietnam veterans or to wear our uniforms.

The applause from that group was neither anticipated nor expected, but it was certainly appreciated.

James Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com

It is an ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way.

Dr. Rollo May (1909-2004)

Dr. May shares some interesting wisdom here. According to Dr. May’s work, there are positive aspects to human potential and the will of individuals is toward self-fulfillment … unless they allow fear and confusion to overide their will.

If there seems to be a spiritual component to Dr. May’s existential philosophy, perhaps it’s because he was once a Congregationalist minister.

If we run faster when we have lost our way, then it seems that calmness is an attribute of courage … the courage NOT to run when every fiber in our being is saying, “RUN, NOW!”

I’ve heard of a calmness that can come over a person when they are about to die, when death is unavoidable and imminent. James Bradley, in his book, Flyboys, talks of an aviator who was shot down during WWII, was captured by the Japanese, then sentenced to be executed.

As the officer raised his sword to cut off his head, the aviator had not doubt at all that these seconds were his last. Yet he was calm, he later shared. He was spared, of course, or we would not have known the story.

Do we “collect” calmness in times of greatest stress. Is is a spiritual gift, a preparing of the soul when the body is about to expire?

If so, can we encourage our children, in times of dire need, to be still and call on the calm instead of running faster?

James D. Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com

Whiloe on a 6:00am flight (YAWN!) from Monterey Bay, California, to Denver, I took to reading a magazine near the end of the trip.

Something told me to take a look outside.

At that very instant we were passing over the tops of the Rockies, the early morning sun glinting off the snowy peaks.

Words fail to describe it. And I came close to missing it completely.

There will be time and opportunity to read magazines. Even in our hurry-up, crazy, time-compressed world, we always can take a moment for a magazine, or to check our email (again), or take in another re-run. But sometimes the most beautiful parts of life are right there, just outside our window.

They don’t require a special trip. They don’t even require extra effort.

All we have to do is turn our heads, take a look … and take it in.

It’ll do more than make your day. It’ll make your life.

So, go ahead; take a look. What’s outside your window.

James Sutton, Psychologist     www.docspeak.com

We try to teach our children that kindness never goes out of style. I was reminded of it just this morning. 

 When the 9th printing of my book, 101 Ways to Make Your Classroom Special, came in from the printer, I stood in for the publisher and met the freight truck. (Hey, that book has done a lot for me; why not return the favor, right?) Since 18-wheelers need a LOT of room to turn, they generally drop the freight off out front, and someone (ME!) has to break open the pallet and haul the cases to the unit. And it would have taken ALL morning.

As I was signing for the freight, a man appeared from nowhere. He was dressed in workclothes: roughout boots, jeans, work jacket and ball cap. He asked me if I was taking this load inside.

I told him I was.

“Listen, if I can get my forklift to start, I’ll haul it in there for you.”

Somewhat stunned, I believe I said something like, “Uh, okay.”

And that’s exactly what he did. He sat the whole pallet down inside the unit; I didn’t even have to remove the shrink wrapping. It saved me a morning’s work.

I thought of tipping him, but something told me NOT to do it. Good decision; he turned out to be the OWNER of this whole complex and a construction company that builds them! He had seen the freight truck pull in, and thought he might be able to help.

In times when a lot of folks TALK about customer service, this man DROVE the point home … with a lift truck.

He’s got ALL of my business.

 James D. Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

 ———————————

I wrote a couple of FREE e-books you might find helpful. Just click on the titles below to download them.

 Resolving Conflicts with Your Children (for parents and teachers)

Help Johnny WANT to Write (for teachers, helpful to parents)

Here’s a story worth sharing with young people. It helps sometimes, and is considerably less painful, to gain from the experiences of others.

A friend of mine shared an interesting story; it would be a hands-down entry for “The Best Thing I Ever Learned the Hard Way” Award.  He sold electric motors for a living, and he was good at it. One customer like his product and ordered a large shipment of the motors through the purchasing department of the company.

Everything was set for a BIG sale, or so he thought. The purchase order never materialized … as didn’t his plans for the fat commission check.

Concerned about it, he made a visit to the purchasing department of the company. It was then and there the director of purchasing explained why there would be no order for the motors.

I’ve seen you come in here a number of times to visit with our engineers and operations people. Not once did you ever stick your head in the door and say as much as a “hello”. It seems that my department and I weren’t important enough for even a few seconds of your time. That, sir, cost you the sale. I’m NOT buying your motors, regardless of value or price.

And he didn’t.

My friend owned up to his mistake and vowed to never repeat it.

From then on, he spoke to everyone.

James Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

—————————–

I wrote a couple of FREE e-books you might find helpful. Just click on the titles below to download them.

 Resolving Conflicts with Your Children (for parents and teachers)

Help Johnny WANT to Write (for teachers, helpful to parents)

A friend shared this brief quote from Ann Landers. I must caution you; it’s powerful.

“Maturity is the ability to do a job whether or not you are supervised, to carry money without spending it, and to bear an injustice without wanting to get even.”  Ann Landers

You know, you could search for months and not find a better definition. And it’s NOT about age. A 16-year old can be mature and a 61-year-old immature by this definition.

And we’ve seen both, haven’t we?  

Here’s what I got from Ann Landers’ definition of maturity in terms of how it affects instruction to our children:

1. An agreement to do something, whether it’s to build a house or take out the trash, is a binding promise. Why should we have to be supervised to start and finish a job we promised?

2. Money is a tool, and there are places to keep tools until we need them. If we want our tools to last, we take care of them.

3. Those who rise to the top in this world know how to manage their anger and frustration. It’s the sign of a civilized person. Sometime we take injustices very personally when they weren’t intended that way at all. Wisdom is accumulated in recognizing the difference.

 Thank you, Mrs. Landers, for some wise thoughts.

James D. Sutton, Psychologist     www.docspeak.com  

It’s kinda interesting that my last post quoted Shawnee Chief Tecumseh, because today I spoke at Marty Indian School in the southeastern part of South Dakota, a small community about two miles or so from Nebraska. The school is on the Yankton-Sioux Reservation.

As I was catching my flight from San Antonio, a mother with two children was in front of me trying to get through the TSA metal detector. She was carrying a baby and a little boy about two or three was following her.

Mom and the baby got through the scanning machine just fine, but, when the boy was asked to come through, he froze. He wasn’t crying, not yet anyway. Mom and the very pleasant TSA officer were standing on the other side trying to coax him and encourage him to come through. The more they talked, the more terrified he became.

A line was forming behind him, with me at the head of the line. He wasn’t going anywhere. He stood there, perfectly still watching his mother and baby brother. They could have been standing in the next world for all he knew. Close … but so far away.

Mom did a wise and loving thing. She put the baby in the stroller and stepped back through the screening frame. She got down on one knee, smiled, and opened her arms wide. He threw himself into her arms and she carried him through the detector.

The problem was solved. Not with harsh words. Not with an impatient posture. Not with a response to the building embarrassment that her son was holding up the line. She solved the problem by recognizing he was afraid.

When she removed the fear, he complied willingly. There can be a world of difference between “I don’t WANT to” and “I’m AFRAID to.”

Wisdom is knowing the difference.

James Sutton, Psychologist                 www.docspeak.com

“When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies with yourself.” Tecumseh, Shawnee Chief

I was pouring through my collection of quotes this morning and this one came to my attention. I believe what Chief Tecumseh said is not only true and a standard to live by, it’s something we must pass on to our children.

If we cannot express gratitude, we will sour from the inside out. If happiness is a worthwhile state (it could never be a goal, lest we lose it in the capture), much of that state relies on being truly thankful.

Have you ever met someone who was too bitter to be thankful for anything? My guess is you didn’t really want to spend much time in their presence. Besides, bitterness is quite contagious.

On a personal level just the name “Tecumseh” brings a smile to my face. My parents were raised in Shawnee, Oklahoma. Although my sister and I grew up in Texas, and live there still, Shawnee was a very special place … Grandma’s. Anyone who knows the area knows that, when you come from the south on 177 (through Stratford and Asher), Tecumseh is just a few miles from Shawnee.

Tecumseh was near the end of our journey at Christmas and on summer vacations, a sure sign that Grandma was but moments away. I’d have to say that, in those days, I knew more about WHERE Tecumseh was than WHO he was.

But either way, the gratitude is still there.

James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com

Today I flew into Pensacola, Florida for only the second time in my life. The first time was over 40 years ago when, as a young sailor, I attended communications training there at Correy Field.

 I’m pretty sure I was the only person above 30 on the flight from Houston to Pensacola. I had a pretty good idea that just about everyone on the plane (mostly guys, but a few young ladies also), were Navy personnel. After a little discussion, I discovered I was right. They were a fine group of men and women; polite, engaging, and even a little interested in hearing about what it was like in the “old” Navy.

I’d put myself in their hands. I mean it. Some folks think it’s stylish to put down our young people today, but they’re wrong to throw everyone in one big category.

On this trip to Florida I saw a number of military folks in the desert uniform. The next time you see a young man or young woman in that uniform, check out their right shoulder. They carry the American flag there. Some of their ranks have died with that flag on their shoulder.

That’s worth remembering from time to time. Indeed, It’s About Them.

James Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

Note: My friend in Austin, Texas, Jim Gentil, sent this piece to me. It is from his bi-weekly email newsletter, “Positive Spiritual Living!” (Issue 70-December 20, 2007). It touched me so much I wanted to share it with you. The writer was not identified, but it was obviously a young mother. I have edited the story a bit.

 ———————————

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed how everyone was quitely sitting, eating and talking.

Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and shouted, “Hi!” He pounded his little hands on his tray, his eyes twinkling with delight. He wriggled and giggled with glee.

I looked around and found the source of his merriment: a man with baggy old pants and toes poking out of worn-out shoes. His shirt was dirty, his hair uncombed and his whiskered face unwashed. He waved at my baby.

“Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy. I see ya’, buster,” he said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged “What do we do?” looks, while Erik continued to laugh and shout, “Hi!”

Everyone in the restaurant was now watching. The old fellow was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.

Our meal came as the man began to shout across the room: “Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look! He knows peek-a-boo!”

No one thought he was cute. He was obviously drunk.

My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; Erik didn’t. He ran through his repertoire for the old man who, in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally finished our meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and said he’d meet me at the car. The old man was poised between me and the door.

“Lord, please, please just let me get out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed. As I drew closer, I turned my back trying to sidestep him. But as I did, Erik leaned over my arm and reached for the man with his arms raised. Before I could stop him, Erik had launched himself from my arms to his.

Suddenly a desheveled and smelly old man and a young baby connected in love and kinship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love and submission, laid his head on the man’s ragged shoulder. 

The man’s eyes closed; I could see tears clinging to his lashes. His rough, aged hands gently cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back.

I don’t believe two humans ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I was awestruck. He rocked and cradled Erik in his arms, then his eyes fastened squarely on mine. “You take good care of this baby,” he said in a firm and commanding voice.

With difficulty, I managed to whisper, “I will.”

Longingly and lovingly he lifted Erik from his chest and passed him to me.

“God bless you, ma’am. You’ve just given me my Christmas gift.”

I said nothing more than a muttered, “Thanks,” and ran with Erik to the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and why I was saying,” Oh, God, forgive me.” I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a small child who saw no sin, who made no judgement. The child saw a soul, where a mother saw only a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who had been blind, but I was holding a child who saw perfectly.

I felt it was God asking me, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?” when He shared His for all eternity. Indeed, the ragged old man had reminded me of something Christ taught: “To enter the kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”

—————————————–

Have a blessed Christmas.

James Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com

Years ago, I worked with a 13-year-old girl who lost both parents in an automobile accident. She fell completely apart, which, I suppose, is understandable. Attempts at living with relatives did not work out for her, so she was placed in an emergency shelter. That’s where I met her. One of the child care workers in the shelter brought me something the girl had written. This piece was titled simply, “Alone.”

I’m all alone.

And I rock myself with my arms around me,

Thinking someone loves me.

But deep down inside, I know it’s nobody.

I watch everyone being loved but me.

As I look for someone to love me, I get hurt.

The pain I’ve been through, I can’t forget.

I feel it strongly I wish I can forget it all.

But, as I know, I’m all alone.

With nobody at my side.

Alone.

In a few sentences this girl has stated and restated her “terminal uniqueness” with 20 references to self (”I,” “myself,” “my,” and “me.”) Even though there were plenty of adults and peers around trying to reach out to her, she was not receptive.

Wouldn’t it be easy to become angry at this girl for rejecting our attempts to help her? If you said, “Yes,” welcome to the human race. It helps to keep in mind that, if she knew exactly what she should do to be happier and for her life to work out, she would have done it a long time ago.

When we help a youngster break through their “terminal uniqueness,” we move them a step closer to resiliency and recovery. It’s not always an easy task to help a youngster break through a potentially devastating condition–their own thinking.

But it’s a task well work the effort.

James Sutton, Psychologist      www.docspeak.com

I just got home from a trip to Florida and forgot that it was Pearl Harbor Day when I woke up this morning. I didn’t remember until I saw the neighbor’s flag out.

 I put ours out, too.

I remember my mother telling me what she was doing that sleepy Sunday afternoon in 1941 when she heard the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor by the empire of Japan. She was listening to the radio as she was ironing clothes in her home in Shawnee, Oklahoma. She had just turned 16 in September. 

A somber voice interrupted the program to make the announcement, and lives in this country were forever changed.

We as a people, under the leadership of Franklin Roosevelt, came together to protect and defend what we held dear. And, as we did following September 11, 2001, we laid aside our political differences and squabbles to focus on a common enemy.

It’s too bad we have to experience tragedy in order to experience unity, but it seems to happen that way sometimes. It is possible we could improve on that?

 James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com 

On my last trip out of state, I experienced something that caused me to reflect on the value of family. (This seems to be a recurrent theme in many of my blog posts, but I can’t think of anything that has more inpact on the development of our young people today than an emphasis of family and spiritual values.)

I was in the Cincinnati airport trying to catch a ride home. My American Airlines flight had mechanical trouble, but, fortunately for me, there was a straight flight on Delta that got me home even earlier. I was waiting for the flight when I noticed a family of three next to me. There was Dad, Mom and a very young girl. Their airplane was delayed.

Dad sat with the daughter while Mom took off to do a bit of shopping. (Terminal “C” at that airport is a world in its own.) She had been gone only a short time when the gate announced that their plane was ready to board.

The little girl sensed this was a problem. How could she get onto the airplane without Mommy? She began to cry.

“Honey, it’s okay,” her father soothed. “We’ll wait as long as we can,” he said calmly. “But if Mommy doesn’t get back in time for us to catch this plane home, we’ll get the next one. We’re together; that’s the main thing.”

The mother did show up in time for them to catch the plane home.

What the father said to his daughter was sage wisdom–and right on target. There are things much worse than missing a plane.

I shared this little story with my wife when I got home, and she agreed. When you have your loved one(s) with you, home is with you also, wherever you are. We thought back through the years where the same kind of thing happened to us, like the time when the four of us had a bit of trouble getting home from Jaimaca. We were together, and that’s what mattered the most. When 9-1-1 caught us in Las Vegas trying to get home when no planes were flying, our son’s company bought a new Lincoln for him so he could get home with his wife and his parents. But we had to do it quickly, because they had to close on a house. Now THAT was an adventure–a rocket-quick trip from Nevada to San Antonio with only potty and fuel breaks.

We were together, and that’s what mattered the most.

“We’re together, and that’s what matters the most.” What a powerful and comforting message to share with our children.

 James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com
 

I don’t recall eating turkey for Thanksgiving as a kid. Our family was pretty small: just Mom, Dad, Sis and me. Mom would always buy a large chicken hen, then she would prepare it like a turkey.

It was always like that for as long as I could remember because we had that meal to ourselves. Dad would be off for the day, of course, and it was family time–very precious family time.

(Christmas was much different. We’d pile in the old Chevy and go to Grandma’s in Oklahoma, where there was always PLENTY of family. Grandma lived in a small duplex, so there were kids sleeping on the floor all over the place. One bathroom, too; I don’t know how we survived the holidays. But we did.) 

One Thanksgiving stands out in my mind. It was the time Dad brought home two ducks for Thanskgiving dinner. Someone at work had gone duck hunting and shared the bounty.

These weren’t dressed ducks; they arrived feathers and all, wrapped up in newspaper. I was spellbound watching my father remove the feathers and prepare the ducks for the stuffing and roasting.

My sister and I EACH had a wishbone that year. Pretty cool.

The most important thing about those small Thanksgiving gatherings was the coming together of our family with love and gratitude in our thoughts and hearts. Obviously, that kind of family tradition and closeness is still around, but there also seems to be so much so much more around to distract us from both family and thankfulness.

Our children need generous helpings of both. Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

PS: My blog, “Five Kernels of Corn-The Thanksgiving Story,” has received a ton of hits, and I’m at a loss as to why. But it was neat to see it. It would make a great story to read before you dive into the turkey on Thursday. Blessings.

 James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak

I recently spoke at an association conference in British Columbia (Canada), and was coming back home through Vancouver. We boarded the connecting flight to Las Vegas right on time, only to sit in the airplane as a mechanic worked on one of the engines.

We sat there for over two and a half hours. When we finally took off and made the flight to Vegas, I missed my connection. I gave the ticket agent at US Airways my story, but there was nothing they could do except book me with another carrier early the next morning. (But I did get two meal vouchers in the deal.)

I was stuck in the Las Vegas airport from 1:00am until my flight at 6:45am. It wasn’t much fun.

So there I was, trying to sleep with my head resting on my luggage. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what was obviously a homeless person. She was dressed in several layers of clothes, and she shuffled along carrying two good-sized plastic bags.

She took a seat and reached into one of the bags for a large envelope. As I watched her out of the corner of a half-closed eye, she opened the envelope and looked through the contents. She then replaced the envelope into one of the bags.

I was snoozing lightly at this point. I was awakened by what seemed to be the sound of soft chuckling, laughter. I searched for the sound. It was the homeless lady, only she wasn’t chuckling; she was sobbing. She wiped at her eyes, grabbed her bags, and slowly walked off.

“If you’re homeless, there’s no place to go,” I whispered to no one in particular. I felt a sense of sorrow for her and her plight. But it also caused me to realize how minor my overnight residence at this airport really was.

She returned and again sat down. Again she took out the envelope, and again she sobbed softly. In fact, she sobbed herself to sleep.

I’ve spent time away from loved ones, once for two whole years, but I always knew there were a number of folks who loved me and cared about me and how I was doing. I cannot begin to fathom what it would be like to be completely alone, destitute, aged and probably sick.

And I don’t care to ever find out. Maybe, just maybe, this whole existential “detour” was intended to wake me up to smell the “coffee” of God, family, love and purpose.

It’s gotta be the best smell goin’.  Oh, I also learned something else.

Luggage makes a lousy pillow.

James Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com

The greatest joy of being a person is the unselfish capacity to interact with others. Still, there are some who seem to want no part of it.

A friend’s newsletter got me to thinking. He told a brief story of a man who complained to his doctor that he was so unhappy. (Interesting, huh, how doctors are supposed to have a pill that will fix ANYTHING.)

“Go out and make three new friends, then come back and tell me about it” the doctor advised. The man left the doctor’s office not too pleased with the “prescription.”

He was back in a couple of weeks.

“Did you go out and make three new friends,” the doctor asked?

“I did,” the man replied. “But it didn’t help. Now I’m STUCK with these three new friends!”

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how folks who are depressed and down often get that way when they shut themselves off from others. They “sour” and soak in self-pity until they are all but paralyzed. At that point, any action at all is a major effort.  

You can see it in children as well as adults. They might not be content in their misery, but they are COMFORTABLE with it. 

It’s not the making of friends that brings the most joy in one’s life. It’s the BEING a friend, the magical capacity to make another person (or even an animal), not myself, the object of my kindness and effort. It’s the stepping down from center stage and putting someone else up there for awhile. And it’s getting BEHIND the spotlight instead of in front of it.

Kids today are no better or worse than they were a century ago. They are simply the results of the cultures that rear them. The day they truly learn the world doesn’t revolve around them is the day the best of life gets going.

James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com 

With the World Series upon us, I thought this piece from my newsletter might be timely. Enjoy. 

James Sutton, Psychologist  www.docspeak.com 

——————————  

It was early December, 1993. I had just finished a keynote address at a very elegant hotel in downtown Dallas. It was an especially rewarding experience.

“There’s no way to improve on this day,” I mumbled to myself, as I searched for an overhead bin on the crowded plane headed home.

But I was wrong.

I stowed my bag and focused on the task of buckling in. I glanced down the aisle and saw a familiar figure heading for one of the few remaining seats near me in the back of the aircraft.

It was baseball legend Nolan Ryan.

As he busied himself stowing his things, I busied myself picking my chin up from the floor.

Ryan took his place in the middle seat across from me and one row back.  There was just no way I could speak to him, not there anyway. I wanted to tell him how much of an inspiration he has been to me, and that I have used him in many presentations as an example of a solid role model for our young people.

I wrote him a note on the back of a business card and, with a stretch, passed it to him.

He acknowledged it.

I had the opportunity to speak to him briefly as he waited for a rental car. I couldn’t help but notice his hands as he accepted my handshake. There was something quite unique about those hands.

What was unique was there was NOTHING unique about his hands, the hands that could make a 98 mph fastball dance across the plate consistently and effectively year after year. Those hands looked pretty average to me.

The best of Nolan Ryan’s skills were never in his hands, arms or legs, although he stays in incredible shape. The skills that carried his career across the 60s, 70s, 80s and into the 90s were those of commitment, dedication, desire and plain old hard work. 

We can’t be Nolan Ryan; God made only one of those. But we CAN grow in our commitment, dedication, desire and effort. Then, like one of sports’ truly greats, we can deliver across the plate consistently and effectively—year after year after year.

My 33-year-old son got a troubling phone call last week. His best friend in high school had wrapped himself in plastic in the cab of his pickup … then ended his life with a shotgun.

It was interesting to hear how the funeral of a person who felt so hopeless was so largely attended that it took an hour and a half for the attendees to file by the casket.

What would have to happen for a person to feel so bad that not living another day, another hour, another minute would sound like the best plan? The emotional pain would have to be unbearable. Such a person would not be in their rational mind. 

And consider the pain of his parents. These are GOOD and decent people; I know them. How would you EVER get past grief like this? 

It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? Even under the worst of it, the vast majority of us would find a way to keep on keeping on. 

But that in no way means it wouldn’t be difficult … incredibly difficult. 

This all stood in contrast to me when I stepped into a convenience store near my hotel here in Knoxville. The lady behind the counter was white-headed, bent and stooped. She was 75 if she was a day. But she had an infectuous spirit and a smile and a way with customers that had to make her boss KNOW she could never be compensated for the value she brought.

I don’t know why she was still working; there might have been a good reason.  And there might even be some folks who would resent her filling a job that could go to a young worker. But, frankly, she was doing it ten times BETTER than most folks young enough to be her grandkids.

Joy oozed from this woman. I managed to even get a little of it on me.

And I was better for it.

James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com

My friend in California, Dr. Marvin Marshall, shared this letter from a parent in his most recent newsletter. I’m printing it here with his permission, and direct you to his website, www.MarvinMarshall.com. My comments are after the letter.

————————— 

Dr. Marshall,

The teacher who loves to give “Oops” notes is back this year as my son’s talented and gifted teacher. “Oops” notes are
given out when a child misbehaves or does not have his homework. The notes show a slumped stick figure whose head
hangs in shame and must be signed by the parents.

Yesterday, the 8th day of school, my son, who is mostly a straight “A” student, asked me to sign his Oops note for
not having a quote written down on paper.

My son said the assignment, as he remembers it, was simply: “Bring a quote about achievement to class and be prepared to share it with the class.”

So on the appointed day, student after student went to the front of the room and read their quote from a piece of
paper. When it was my son’s turn, he walked up without a paper because he knew the quote by heart and recited:

     “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

The teacher said, “Where’s your paper?”

My son said, “I don’t need a paper. I already know the quote.”

The teacher said, “Go over to my desk and get an Oops note.” The teacher said this while he was still in the front of the
class. The teacher knows he is shy and easily embarrassed because she had him last year.

He felt embarrassed and humiliated and went to g