The ties that bind
By
Gerry Niskern
I had a phone call last week that “warmed the cockles of my heart.” It was my cousin Joann. She was going to be in the valley for a few days and wanted to get together with me for a mini reunion. We hadn’t seen each other in eighty-some years! I have to tell you, the joy that I felt on hearing her voice was awesome.
My mom and dad both came from large families so I had loads of cousins. What I remember best about those cousins was playing outside in the evening after dark, up to nine or ten o’clock. The grownups would be in Grandma’s kitchen or sitting on the swings out under the grape arbor, laughing and talking, while we kids were running all over the neighborhood at the direction of Joann’ older brother. He had the imagination to led an “army “ of kids, including little three-year-old Joann, in make believe games. If I remember correctly, many included him as the “Lone Ranger”.
‘This is great’ I thought. I’ll be able to ask her lots of questions about Moundsville, the little town we both came from and places that I missed because my family moved to Arizona when I was ten and she was three. She remained there through high school before moving away.
She clarified a lot for me; I loved to hear about some of my favorite places and how they had changed. My favorites were hers too! I was able to answer a lot of her questions about the family history that I had learned about the time our grandparents had come over from Austria.
We reminisced about the story of the time my mother saved my cousin’s dad. I’ve told it before in my writing, but it’s worth repeating. It seems a group of little boys were breaking a strict rule at the elementary school one morning and my mother saw her six- year- old brother among them. Later on, from her third grade class room, she saw the principal yanking her little brother down the hallway with a strap in her hand. Mom was only eight but she ran out and grabbed the principles strap and said, “You aren’t going to strap my brother unless you strap those other boys too!” Back then, boys from foreign families were always the first to be punished. The lady was so astonished that she stopped, let the boy go, and said, “Both of you just get back to your class right now!”
However, the more we talked it became clear that my memories of fun at our grandmother’s house; the wonderful Christmas celebration (and polka dancing) on January 6th, my grandma’s Christmas, were not Joann’s memories! Even though they lived right around the corner, her little family did not feel welcome. “You know, Gerry, “ she sighed. “The family was not nice to my mom. We kids played together, but my dad’s sisters did not speak to my mom. “ “Well,” I replied. “What I remember is your Mom made the best donuts in the world. I was always told not to go around the corner to your house, but I couldn’t resist! I didn’t lie, I just neglected to mention my furtive visits where I always received a warm sugar coated donut from your mom.”
When you are a kid a lot of things go over your head. I knew there was tension when her mom and dad walked by and a lot of whispering among the women, but knew enough not to ask questions. Kids weren’t allowed to question everything back then. I never knew that when she went around to see our Grandma, one of my aunts wouldn’t let her in. I broke my heart to hear that she wasn’t allowed to be with our grandma anytime she wanted as I always was.
To her credit, over the years Joann always kept in touch. She sent Christmas photos of her kids and then grandkids. I’m in awe of her tenacity in keeping track of all our many cousins. She valued her ties to all of us.
As we spent hours catching up last Saturday I was able to tell her about the time I was finally able, as an adult, to truly know her mother. You see, years ago I had flown with my daughter and her new baby, to a cousin’s home in Long Beach to get away from her volatile situation. Lucky for us, Joann’s mother was visiting the cousin in California. This aunt that I was never permitted to know was the most vivacious and fun loving person I had ever met. She told us story after hilarious story. She joked and made a sad time bearable, all while her fingers were crocheting bootie after bootie for the baby. I often think how sad that petty family differences had kept this woman apart from our family. My daughter and I went home with our spirits greatly lifted and baby had a diaper bag full of booties!
In this season of all kinds of family celebrations: graduations, weddings and large family reunions, I’m so grateful for my cousin who created our little mini-reunion because she knows the value of the “ties that bind”.

“Ask Mom”

By

Gerry Niskern

While sitting at a sidewalk cafe recently, I overheard two Middle Eastern boys explaining to another boy how to pronounce their Arabic word for bread. One said, “Wait, I’ll ask my mother” but the other laughed, “No, I’ll ask my mom”. How easy, just ask mom.
Moms know about everything. At least we thought she did when we were little.
Of course, when we became teenagers, mom didn’t have a clue; it was a wonder the woman didn’t need a keeper.
However, when 2,000 miles away at college it’s seems perfectly logical to kids to call mom and ask, “What do I use on my whites at the Laundromat?”
As we married and started families it was mom who we called to ask about a recipe or a petulant child. Or to try to help us understand men! Or women!
I asked several people whose mothers are gone this question: “Is there something you wish you had asked your mother when you could?”
Several said they would ask, “What was your childhood like? Where did you and dad meet? What attracted you to him?
Another wants to know her grandmother’s stories about growing up in Germany; what her feelings were when she left? Who did she work for when she got here?
One friend who’s parents marriage was “arranged” in Iran would ask her mother what her true feelings were at her wedding.
A friend from the Philippines told me she grieved that there were no baby pictures taken of her and she wants to know why.
Several wondered what kind of day it was when they were born?
One would ask, “What happened to my baby brother; what did he die from?”
I would ask my own grandmother about the sadness of leaving her infant in Europe when she immigrated to America.
My mother, an avid storyteller, loved our family and tradition. I would ask her thoughts the situation of our family today.
The mothers we see on greeting cards with the saintly smiles are perfect, but are they really mom? It’s through mom’s sheltering arms and the comfort of home that we learn to trust others and life itself. Mother is the twine that holds the family together. And yet, she is a mysterious set of contradictions. It’s hard to sort out your feelings for her: frustration, anger, companionship, apprehension, love.
Speaking of questions, I ran across a suggested list of soul-searching questions for everyone to ask himself on Mother’s day. I hope I fulfilled some of them when I had the chance. It read: When was the last time you visited your mom? What are the things that make your mom happy or sad? How many minutes do you spend in quality talk with your mom in a week? When was the last time you cooked for your mom? How much do you know about your mom’s mother? How well do you actually know your mother?
We can honor and show respect by trying to learn about the real person who we call mom. Have you asked your mother what she really wanted to do with her life, besides being your mom? What was her dream while growing up? Did she achieve her life goals? In other words, who was she, really?
I think one friend answered my question best. She said, “Well, the question wouldn’t really matter. Calling her would give me what I wanted: to hear the love in her voice, because more than anything, I miss her love.
So on this Mother’s Day, go ahead, ask mom now!