“It’s Music to my Ears

By

Gerry Niskern

Has your child brought home the note yet? If he didn’t, get ready, he will shortly.

I’m referring to the notice that invites him to learn to play a musical instrument at school. Actually, research has proven that studying music increases test scores, self-esteem and retention of information.

Most boys opt to try their hand at the brass instruments or drums. If you’ve had a child in that category, I needn’t say more.

One smart fellow I know recalls that music lessons were mandatory at his grade school.  He chose the tuba only because he wouldn’t have to carry an instrument back and forth. The school kept one and sent one home to use for practice.

I was in sixth grade when I brought home the notice and begged for a clarinet. The music stores didn’t rent instruments back then; parents had to buy them. My used clarinet was metal and cost twenty-five dollars which was real chunk out of dad’s pay check.

The only city music teacher covered the eight Phoenix elementary schools weekly. The poor lady traveled by streetcar and bus between schools.

Probably because to my lack of talent and progress, the public school teacher suggested private lessons also.  Every Saturday, I took the Capitol streetcar, and then transferred to the North Central bus to my two-dollar lessons. After the private instructor heard my silver beauty he offered my mother a used woodwind clarinet that was guaranteed to have fewer squeaks. She paid off the difference over time. .

When both instructors asked me after each lesson if I had practiced an hour every day, I did what any red-blooded American kid would have done, I lied.  Each week, after my session, my neighborhood friend Tammy Jo arrived in her grandpa’s Cadillac for a double lesson. Believe me, she practiced.  I was only allowed to be in the orchestra for our spring recital. Tammy Jo, on the other hand, had a solo.

I went on to play in the Girl’s Band at Phoenix Union High School. Our uniforms were knee length white dresses, trimmed in red. I soon learned that band involved a lot of marching down Central Avenue in the Rodeo Parade.

Since then, I’ve taken my hat off to anyone who performs in his or her school band in a parade. That’s hard work!

I didn’t sign up for Band the next year. I don’t know what happened to that old black “Liquorices Stick”, but more importantly, I had been allowed to try my hand at music.

So your excited musical wannabe brings home the note, give it a thumbs up. Who knows? They may become a skillful musician or soon realize it’s not their forte’. Either way, they will be exposed to the world of music and will genuinely appreciate musicians the rest of their lives.

Last blog about Halloween, I Promise

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you know why witches fly around on broomsticks?

There will be a lot of little witches zooming around on October 31 trick or treating as soon as the sun goes down and they have eaten the required few bites of dinner. You can be sure they will be keeping a sharp eye out for monsters and ghosts that are flying too.

We lived out in the country when I was trick or treating age. So I missed out on that great night when grownups pass out big handfuls of candy, but we had something better. We had Halloween parties at neighboring farm houses.

Everyone started planning their party right after school started. But the important work went into their costumes. Everyone tried to create the best disguise so they wouldn’t be recognized. It was a fierce competition and a badge of honor to be the last one recognized. The remaining one whose identity was guessed was always awarded a prize.

One year when I was about eight years old, my sister and I begged to have a Halloween party for our friends. We worked hard cleaning up the basement (the parties were always in the basements). We decorated by dragging huge, dry corn stalks in from the fields and put them in the corners; than our dad put lights behind them for a warm glow. We had lots of dad carved,  grinning jack-o- lanterns and big black paper cats we had been working on for weeks.

We picked the last of red apples in the orchard and filled one of mom’s wash tubs with water for the bobbing for apples contest.

Mom bought Candy Corn and filled several bowls she placed around the room. There were platters of her homemade donuts and a punch bowl of cold apple cider. This young sugar junkie’s mouth was watering in anticipation.

In my quest to be the last one identified, I insisted that my mother pin me securely into my ghost costume, which was one of her white sheets. I wanted to make sure no one could peek around my ghost mask either. Then as the games started and the party got into full swing before the guessing started, I watched in dismay, arms locked tight  in folds of white, as the bowls of candy corn, all the donuts and even the sweet cider disappeared before my eyes!

By the way, witches fly around on broomsticks because the vacuum cord is too short!

Who sabotaged the Candy Corn?

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you noticed a difference in the Halloween candy this year? Come on, admit it. You know you’ve been sampling.  It’s our duty to check it out for the kids. Right?

The candy corn has changed. It doesn’t taste like it did when we were kids. Then again, I’ve heard grumbling about other favorites like Red Vines, Snickers, and lots of others that we used to hope would get tossed into our Trick or Treat sacks.

Let’s face it. After all the shopping for costumes, including the agonizing over Star Wars or Bat Man, Elsa or the current popular  princess, and then trudging  thru the neighborhood, the exhausted  parents deserve their reward. They should get to look over the kid’s loot and confiscate a favorite or two.

Actually, a lot of candy that we all loved as kids has changed. A friend of mine, who is quite the connoisseur of candy, tells me that the little pink hearts we all loved on Valentine’s Day has changed too. And don’t get her started on Red Vines. She remembers when she was five and the family dog ate the Red Vines from her “hard earned” Trick or Treat loot. She was so angry she kicked at the poor dog and broke the glass Arcadia door instead. A really long Time out without her bag of candy to console her was no fun at all!

I remember one Halloween years ago when the kid’s daddy walked in the door with a stack of boxes. “I bought regular candy bars like I always wished I would get when I was trick or treating as a kid.” He volunteered to stay home with our new born while I took our little Chinese Coolie girl out. Guess what? When we got home he said he hadn’t had one single doorbell ringer. How could that be with our neighborhood loaded with children? He said he would hear voices and footsteps, and then they would fade away.

We solved the puzzle when we opened the door and found the “Shhhhh! baby sleeping” sign that had been left on the door after nap time. It was a few years late, but Dad got his wish after all.

As for the change in the candy corn, I speak as somewhat of an expert. While my mother did her weekly food shopping when I was a kid, I stood staring at the penny candy case in our grocery store and agonized over how to spend my penny each week, but always ended up asking for a penny’s worth of candy corn. In my expert opinion I think the corn used to have the tiniest taste of salt. Nowadays Candy Corn has a cloying, sweeter taste, without that tang that gave it character. What do you think?

Has your childhood favorite changed?

Are you ready for Halloween?

By

Gerry Niskern

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As early as August you could ask any child “What are you going to be for Halloween this year” and you would get a confident reply like, “I’m going to be Batman. Of course, that statement is always followed by “or maybe Spiderman, or if it’s a little girl, Elsa from Frozen” No sense in getting locked in too early when a better hero might come along. Of course, this last character switching drives the parents crazy; especially the moms who were planning to make the costumes this year.

Halloween, dating to when it officially started around A. D. 830, when Pope Gregory IV proclaimed Nov. 1 as All Saints Day, also known as Allhallows, has by tradition been a kid’s night for fun. It’s their one night to depict their favorite characters, act out their fantasies, and have a really creative good time.

This is the one holiday that the kids own. They don’t have to go to Grandma’s house and they don’t have to mind their manners, (well, maybe a little). Then, on October 31, when night falls, it’s trick-or-treat time. Adorable queens and courageous characters from Star Wars take to the streets, allowing mom or dad to come with, of course. Sometimes, grandparents tag along too.

I remember when I took my first child, just turned two, trick-or-treating. She had blue silk Chinese pajamas and I fashioned a coolie hat for her. The gregarious two-year-old practiced “trick-or-treat” until she could say it perfectly. But, at every house, she just held out her paper bag and gave the occupants the meanest look she could muster, refusing to utter a word. As I recall, my mute China Doll came home with quite a little sack of loot anyway.

Of course, times have changed. I’ll be the first to admit that times have gotten a lot scarier in recent years. Take the children to the houses where you know the occupants. It’s a little more trouble, but who can deny them the fun of being out after dark and passing shadows of ghosts and goblins on the way?

Caterers and restaurants say adult Halloween parties are increasing rapidly. That’s fine, but just don’t forget this one special holiday really has always belonged to the kids.   They deserve this opportunity that comes so seldom in school these days to let their imagination run wild and act out their fantasies.

“Field Trip to Yesterday”

by

Gerry Niskern

School has been under way for a few weeks and now it’s time for, you guessed it, field trips! Sooner or later, you parents and grandparents will be asked to help with a class excursion. Go ahead, volunteer. You might enjoy a journey down memory lane as I did some years ago when I accompanied my granddaughter’s fourth grade class to see the place where our illustrious state legislators convene, the Arizona State Capitol.

When the bus full of excited children drew close to the lush, beautifully landscaped grounds of the capitol, the sight of the green grass brought back many fond memories.

On any sweltering summer day when the word went out over the old neighborhood that the capital grounds was being irrigated, it brought kids from every direction. The cool, bubbling water flowing out of big clay pipes quickly filled with children running and shouting through the knee high water. Droplets showered any state official who happened to be walking by.

A few minutes later I was brought back to reality as the kids filed off the bus. My granddaughter’s teacher was explaining the history and architecture of the capitol. As instructed, they looked up the sidewalk to the front doors of the gray building. “Oh, those wonderful sidewalks,” I mused. “If these kids could just try those smooth paths of roller-skating ecstasy.”

I remembered how I used to strap on my skates, give the metal clamps a hard turn with the key, squeeze a drop or two of oil on each wheel and cruise one block over to the capital sidewalks with my friends. At that time, the entire capital block was criss-crossed diagonally with slick paved walks juvenile skaters’ dream about. Slamming our feet down and pumping our legs faster and faster we delighted in the clickity-clack as we raced down the walk bearing down on groups of employees, swerving around them at the last second and rocketing down another walk.

The best surface was inside the building. The rotunda had mirror smooth marble, inlaid with the state crest of Arizona. Of course, those skating sessions only lasted a few minutes each time. Our sounds would invariably bring an indignant adult out of an office door, shouting, “You kids get out of here; you know better than this!”

As my granddaughter’s class was solemnly shown the various chambers where the state legislators worked at the time, we walked past the library door. I recalled a friend and I happened by that same door many years ago. An older boy, Ken, asked “Would you like to see the lady on the dome?”

“Sure,” we replied. We followed him on tiptoe through the deserted library to a corner where we climbed some empty shelves and through a scuttle hole to the roof. Breathless, we looked with awe across the city below. Startled by a creaking sound, we glanced up to see the golden winged lady weather vane moving slightly in the breeze. We left the same way we had come and then wound our way down the circular stairway to the ground floor.

When my granddaughter’s class walked down the big staircase they were allowed to stop and lean forward over the railing to study the state seal on the rotunda floor. As the teacher explained the meaning of each part of the seal, one boy was reprimanded for causing his loud voice to echo. “Too bad,” I thought. “This was the neatest place in the world to test your yodeling and hear your voice resounding back to you, again and again. That is, until some grownup ordered you to leave.”

Back on the bus later, as we headed home, my granddaughter turned to me and asked “Did you like the state capitol, Grandma?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “The capitol is always fun.”