"Laugh! You might as well—nobody's going to pay attention to you if you cry." That was the inscription on a card I once received from Lee Brennan, the woman to whom I dedicate this first column. We often think women's dilemma of juggling all the responsibilities of marriage, parenthood, careers, and the care of elderly parents is unique to our place and time in history. In the mid-sixties, when I was in high school and a couple of decades away from these concerns, this woman did it all.
You didn't need to be a genius or bust your butt to pass Lee Brennan's American literature class; you got credit for just showing up, paying attention, and doing the assignments. Her approach to poetry was not to make us memorize the mechanics of rhyme and meter, but to read and listen to how well the words came together and to appreciate the beauty of it. She taught us to love writers as diverse as Edgar Allan Poe and e.e. cummings, and to write poetry and short stories ourselves. An avid reader, she was always eager to share what she had learned. Lee had an easygoing style and frequently digressed into sharing stories about her home life as well as discussing what was going on in the world, yet she always maintained high standards. A girl once plagiarized a short story, and received an automatic F. Getting an A from her was a challenge; she would even lower your grade if she thought you were smart and capable of much better work than what you had turned in.
Entry to her journalism class was by special application, and I considered myself privileged to be chosen my junior and senior years. We were a small group meeting in a tiny room on the third floor, working and having fun. Lee Brennan made us want to achieve and do well, and let us know she cared about us. Although self-esteem was not the buzzword then, seeing my work in the school newspaper and literary magazine certainly helped me to feel competent and good about myself.
I remember Lee Brennan getting really angry only once: our English class had been disrespectful to a substitute (some things never change), and when she found out, she let us have it. She didn't need to scream and yell; we were all literally shaking, as we had never seen her angry before. This was the kind, motherly teacher who would run interference for you if you were in trouble! Thankfully, she didn't have to repeat this lesson to our class.
I depended a lot on Lee Brennan in those years, through all those lunch hours spent pouring my heart out in her classroom, while she patiently listened to the (not-so-unique) travails of a shy, plain, intellectual girl trapped in a small, strict, no-frills, all-girl high school. She was a substitute mother for me when I felt most alienated from my own parents, and became my lifelong friend. I was often a guest at her home, and as a true friend she encouraged and inspired me, and had no qualms about telling me off when she thought I deserved it.
Lee Brennan and her husband, who had a long, successful career in sales, lived in one of Chicago's nicest neighborhoods. They always would do more than was expected: for starters, they adopted four children, including an older brother-sister pair, who had spent several years in foster homes. Some of them had problems; one daughter, despite their best efforts, dropped out of high school, married and had several children in quick succession. Unable to cope with the responsibility, the young couple divorced, then the daughter took off, leaving Lee and her husband scrambling to find a home for the grandchildren.
Few women in her neighborhood were employed in those days. Lee worked full time not just because she loved teaching, but because they were responsible for several households: his father, her mother and aunt, and were, most likely, carrying the financial burden of the daughter's family as well. Did Lee ever get upset and gripe about all these responsibilities? Of course. But she didn't dwell on the bad things, picked up, and did what had to be done. One of her greatest joys in later life was spending time with her youngest daughter's children, of whom she was extremely proud.
Think your career is patched together? Think of Lee, in her early married life selling Tupperware and giving book reviews to women's clubs, then teaching, then simultaneously taking on a second career, running a succession of gift shops. I remember The Peddler as a happy place, with Lee working hard but having a ball, chatting with all the neighborhood people who stopped in. As usual, she continued helping others and was active in her church and community; she once gave a job to a friend whose husband had left her and did not want to pay child support. Always happiest when they were busy, the Brennans would open up a Peddler wherever they moved to, despite their declining health, until Lee passed away a couple of years ago.
I wish that every young woman could have a Lee Brennan in her life, a trusted adult besides her parents that she can talk to, who does more than what is expected, who accepts and encourages her and teaches her something good about this world; a friend who keeps things in perspective, who lets her see that her problems are not so bad or unique, and shows her that it's good to laugh.
Barbara U. Hague is a freelance editor and proofreader specializing in business, education, and women's studies.