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

Teachers mold the character and and lives of children of all ages. Here’s a page from my story.

……………………………………………..

Mrs. B., your influence in my life has been substantial and ongoing, although I am only now putting the thoughts to words. Why so long, why so late? I really don’t know.

Forty-seven years ago you came to teach English and literature at my small-town high school. I was drawn into the web you spun on fine literature. Although your expectations of the class were high (not always to their liking), I always felt you were pushing me a bit more than the others. At the time I didn’t know why, but I believe I responded to it.

I remember the day you brought a magazine to school. You showed us a short story in it you had submitted. I was impressed; I never knew a real, published author. You even let me take the magazine home so I could read the story for myself. Although I never told you, Mrs. B., that evening I dared to imagine that I, a tall, skinny kid out of the oil fields of south Texas, might some day make some of my living with words.

Dare I dream something like that? 

I still remember the day when you asked me to stay after class and visit with you. You told me I had an appreciation for literature and, most likely, a talent for sharing it. You suggested I consider entering inter-high school competition in poetry interpretation.

With your help, I selected two poems: William Cullen Bryant’s “Thanatopsis” and Vachel Lindsay’s “Abraham Lincoln Walks At Midnight.” It was no big chore for me to memorize them, but you knew that already. You coached me after school until I could recite them to your satisfaction.

THAT was the tough part.

My first competition involved close area schools. I won easily. I also won the bigger competitions that included the “big city” schools. The hayseed kid from a town of barely three thousand blew them away, thanks to you. I never won state, but I came close.

When I tried my hand at writing, you helped me get a piece published, but you helped me handle rejection letters, too. In fact, Mrs. B., you gave much more than an appreciation for literature and a love for writing. You gave me the confidence to know when and how to speak up.

I spoke up once in a college literature class, and thoroughly surprised myself. We were studying Wallace Steven’s short poem, “The Emperor of Ice Cream.” The instructor glared at the class and challenged us to interpret the piece. I glanced around; no hands went up, so I put mine up.

“It’s probably open to a number of interpretations,” I remember saying, “but to me it’s a poem that depicts life as often being, difficult, indifferent and even fatal. The reader is urged to take shelter in the small pleasures, wherever they can be found.” 

The instructor smiled and nodded. “Excellent,” was all he said. But it was enough.   

Thank you, Mrs. B., for ALL you taught me.

James Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

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