Let me tell you a story of a little fireworks fun that went out of control in the “flash of an eye” or shall we say “of a rocket?” I’ll never forget the sight of that raging fire that surrounded our home. Many other homes were in danger on that hot night on the fourth of July.

A few young married men in our extended family had pooled their hard-earned money and sent away to other states for fireworks before they became legal in Arizona. After all, what could it hurt? They were going to be real careful.

When the sky grew dark that evening, their first rocket filled the sky with bursts of red, white and then blue stars. From what they thought was a safe sand-filled wash down below our house, the second rocket rose majestically. The third lifted off with the usual speed then, suddenly plummeted straight down the other side of the mountain!

One of the guys raced up the road to the house at the top of the mountain and down the other side. He found the tiny, smoldering fire that had started when the defective rocket hit the dry grass on the mountainside. He tried to snuff it out with his shoes. All at once, an updraft pushed the flames towards him. He stumbled backwards as the fire raced upward, singing the hair on his legs.

“Call the fire department,” he screamed down the mountain. “It’s spreading fast.” He turned on the neighbor’s garden hose and a pitiful stream of water trickled out. There’s not a lot of water pressure when you live on top.

Some of the fellows doing the rocket launching, fearing for the consequences of their activity, jumped into a car and drove off the dispose of the evidence. They threw their expensive fireworks in a dumpster and stayed away several hours. There was a lot of guilt and not too much Fourth of July fun.

Panic was beginning to set in, but cooler heads prevailed and soon everyone was grabbing beach towels, soaking them in the pool and racing back up the mountain to try to beat out the flames.

The fire truck arrived, but the driver couldn’t get the truck up the steep drive. The firemen finally hiked on up with portable equipment on their back. The slippery shale formation on the steep North Mountain slope made it difficult to keep they’re footing as they worked to put out the flames skittering through the brush tops.

The waves of heat were overwhelming. Wind gusts stoked the tinder provided by bone-dry leaves, twigs and dead branches. The fire sped towards the houses that ringed the bottom of the mountain and the homeowners worked desperately with their more abundant water supply.

“We sure want to thank you folks for helping us put out this fire tonight.” One fireman said when it was over. He pushed his helmet back from a face etched with grimy patterns of exhaustion. “Especially all you young people. I’ve never seen a group pitch in and work so furiously,” he continued.

Eyes were kept downcast as the young males in our extended family tried their best not to look guilty. “By the way,” the sweat-drenched fireman continued, “Does anyone know how it started?”

“Sure don’t”, our generous neighbor quickly answered. His home, on top of this mountain, had survived flames lapping at its foundation, minutes before.

The next morning, the black remains of mature Paloverde trees stood in mute testimony of the near disaster on the scorched desert mountain. It was three or four years before enough green foliage allowed the small desert animals to return and the sound of morning doves were heard again.

In many hospitals here in the valley over this weekend new dads will hold their babies for the first time. They will look into the eyes of a unique little person who will give them that piercing “you’re my dad” stare. If he sticks his fist in his mouth, dad knows he has a genius for sure.   A nurse will then have the boldness to suggest that now they will be instructed in how to give their minutes old infant their first bath.

-With their heart pounding in their chest and with hands too big to pick up such a fragile treasure, they will proceed to lay the infant out like football on  their hand as big as the baby’s chest. He will  learn to sponge warm water over the rolls of fat, being instructed to get between every wrinkle. All the while vowing never to be separated from this little person who is waiting for him  to dry them off carefully. He’ll help pull on a little nightgown and place the tiny stocking cap on his baby’s head.  The new dads this weekend will have so many plans for the future. They’ll leave the hospital visualizing a million skills  to teach their new child.  They plan to spend time, hours and hours. But the problem  is,  none of them plan to spend it onlyt on the weekends.

We’ve all seen them; the weekend fathers. In the restaurant where you’re having a Sunday breakfast.  They’re with the little girls whose hair is all tangled in the back. She tells him, “You’re hurting me, Daddy” when he tries to brush it, so he lets it go. Their sons hate to have their face washed first thing in the morning, so Dad doesn’t.

Father’s Day, 2015 style.

Actually, every Friday is Father’s Day. Their divorced dads pick them up on Friday evening. They get to have their company for the entire weekend, usually every other, and they have to bring them home to Mom on Sunday by bedtime.

The fathers come to their children’s grade schools in SUVs, sedan, little sports cars or pickups.  Dads pull up to middle schools and grab the kids back packs and load them into BMWs or Hondas. ( no hugs at this age!)  They arrive at preschools in Porches or 85 Chevys.

You’ll see at the batting cages, in Discovery, at soccer practice, waiting for gymnastics class to be over. They might visit the toy store; then again, they might end up at dad’s laundromat. At lunch time, no matter what dad does for a living, a good portion will lend up at Mc Donalds, the great leveler. It’s safe to bet they’ll end up back at dad’s apartment, sooner or later, watching the ball game on television.

My granddaughter tells me she remembers learning the names of all the pro football teams and their quarterbacks by the time she was five. He daddy knew all her Barbies names and their friends. He was pretty good at color coordinating their outfits too.  HAPPY FATHERS DAY!

Dads Know the Best Games!

By

Gerry Niskern

I passed a scene the other day that  “warmed the cockles of my heart”. At a city bus stop a young father and mother danced, laughing around their baby’s stroller,   “flipping” each other with one of the infant’s blankets. The baby was standing in the stroller waving his arms and giggling at the antics of his parents. I’d say that daddy had a sense of fun, something dads need in abundance.

We all know that some dads make lots of money, while other dads are worth more then they earn. Smart dads learn to make their own fun with their children.

In the summer my dad helped us make kites out of newspapers. He put a message on the string and the wind carried it up out of sight. We believed him when he told us we were sending secret messages to the heavens. He took us hiking in the woods and in winter, we careened down icy hills on a sled, clinging to his back.

My cousin’s dad could always be counted on to pull his big, black Oldsmobile up to the curb and call to us kids, “Come on, let’s go get an ice cream cone.” Another cousin’s daddy teased us unmercifully, but I think we loved him best.

Our sons remember playing “submarine” with their dad every summer. They clung to his back while he swam underwater the entire length of the pool. Each year they tried to beat their record of trying to stay with their personal submarine the whole way. One toddler, in turn, taught daddy patience when he “played” donuts on his dad’s pricey record player.

The little girl in our family had tea parties with her daddy, but the tea was hot chocolate. For some reason, he felt it was important to teach her chocolate was one of the five food groups.

One young mother in our family laments the condition of her house when she comes home from shopping and daddy has been in charge. Pictures are tilted on the walls, lampshades are askew and pillows are everywhere. Nobody seems to know what happened, but she can pretty much guess there was a ball involved and daddy invented the game. He also started the game of  “get me” when someone needs to be dressed after bath time or a diaper needs changed. The child gets to chase through the house evading dad as long as possible.

Today’s fathers are lucky. The women’s movement in this country over the past forty years has helped young mothers realize they don’t have to do it all. Dads are no longer assigned the lone role of disciplinarian as the majority was in days past. Fathers share the hands-on job of raising the children. Instructors in parenting classes find that most fathers excel in the “burrito wrap”.  Most dads can fold, wrap and snug a receiving blanket around a newborn better than mom does. They get to feed, dress and share all the activities of their kids.

I see mothers trotting behind jogging strollers along the walking path every morning. Babies are usually sleeping out of sheer boredom. On weekends, it’s a different story. When Dad’s in charge, they’re flying down the path, blankets flapping and bare feet waving in the breeze.

I think the baby belonging to the young couple at the bus stop will remember the good times when he grows up, because after all,

Mothers might know best, but dads sure are fun!

“Who will teach Mom and Dad?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you heard the old saying, “Home is where the heart is”?  Well, I have another one for you. “Home is where civility begins”.

As you make your way through the day at work, school or play here in the valley, don’t you sometimes wonder where all the manners have gone?

Good manners are not just a discussion of which fork to use at the table. Although good manners help people glide more gracefully through life, I’m referring to the rudeness that is rampant.  The need for civility is everywhere.

For example, do you ever get a “thank you” wave when you stop to let a car into traffic? How often do other drivers pull over and wait for funeral processions to pass as traditions suggest? At the airport, do you constantly dodge large bags swinging from someone’s shoulders? Actually I believe they are the same fellows who sling their carry-ons out into the aisle to stop everyone from deplaning, while they retrieve their bag from the overhead.

Okay, now to the kids!  What ever happened to having dinner out with mom and dad being a treat?  Have you ever sat near a large table of parents and kids; kids who were allowed to get up and run wherever they pleased, that is? Pity the poor waiter who has to balance large trays and hope that they don’t stumble over a speeding munchkin and send the scalding food flying.

Or perhaps you’ve been treated to the screeching of little hands on balloons while you dine. Of course, that’s preferable to the jolting bang when the balloon finally bursts.

My favorite is the screamer. The toddler who is allowed to yell at the dinner table at home because it’s cute is suddenly embarrassing to mom and dad when he exercises his vocal chords when having dinner out. Sorry, folks, it is too late then to try to shush him. Manners begin at home.

According to an article in The Arizona Republic by Mark Schwed, of the Palm Beach Post, it’s never too early to teach proper behavior and it’s never been more timely.  Recent studies show that teachers spend 40 percent of their time on discipline that could be curbed greatly if the kids were just taught a few rules of common courtesy early on at home.

Parents can give their children music lessons, French lessons, and sports coaching, but if they don’t have the basic idea of how to act civilly, they will not do well in life.

The problem is, more and more people live for them selves and do not feel morally accountable to anyone for their actions. They resent being limited the freedom to be themselves.

Everyone agrees that civility is the glue that holds our society together. Showing respect for our fellow citizens does not take fancy words or gestures. We all know that when your children or grandchildren see you practice consideration, they will mimic your actions.

Perhaps some social rules are too old-fashioned for today’s society; but I still cringe when I hear some one say, in public, “get your butt over here” as I heard a store manager say to a clerk the other day. Sometimes it is hard to curb the use of foul language in aggravating situations, but it is worth the effort to try.

When you teach your child civility, you are teaching life skills.

Now who is going to train the mommas and the poppas