“School’s Starting Already?”

By

Gerry Niskern

During  these Covid days, nobody knows when or if their kid’s school is starting this year. Nor do they know if they even want to send them. Some time back, I wrote a column about the first day of school.

Starting first grade, I remembered crying at lunch for the first two weeks; but my husband remembered getting a whipping first day of first grade for being what the teacher decided was a “smart aleck”!

Here’s the original column:

The first thing I always think of when I hear that school is starting is “It’s time to get a Big Chief tablet and a new pencil.”  Okay, now you know I started school in the Dark Ages!

I once asked a few people of various ages “What is the first thing that pops into your mind about school starting?” Here are some of their answers.

One five year old in my family who was  eagerly waiting to start Kindergarten said,” I think I will learn to read,” and after a long pause, “And I think I will be thinking a lot.”  I posed the question to his little sister who was starting Pre-School, but she “took the fifth!”

A granddaughter  in middle school looked surprised at my question and answered, “Why, that’s easy. The first thing I always think about school starting is now we can go shopping for clothes.”

One fifty-something in our family answered. “I remember my first thought when I started first grade was, “I’ll get to ride the school bus with the little red-haired girl. Maybe I’ll get to hold her hand.” He continued, “I did; but after school started she got her long hair cut and I didn’t want to hold her hand anymore.”

An 89 year old friend said when school started each year, “ I worried about getting all my books. I prayed they hadn’t changed the texts so I could use the ones my older sisters had. Then off I went happily in my sister’s hand me down dresses too.”

A friend who has taught Kindergarten for many years answered. “That’s easy. Crying children; I call September the crying month. Only a third of my kids have had pre-school experience. The parents are actually the biggest problem. If they would  say goodbye and just leave!”

My friend, a retired teacher who taught mathematics to seventh and eighth graders for years said, “Now when I realize it’s time for school to start again I think, great. I don’t have to go.” And then he added, “Tennis anyone?”

Can you pick a good one?

By

Gerry Niskern

Watermelons, Honey Dews, Galias, Tuscans, Casabas, Cantaloupe. They are all in the supermarkets right now. Do you know how to pick a good one?

When it came to Watermelons my mother had a tried and true method. SHE MADE THE PRODUCE GUY “PLUG” ONE! The tool he used was a long, sharp, circular knife that he plunged deep into the center of the melon. If the long sphere wasn’t sweet enough, mom didn’t buy it.

Regarding Cantaloupes, she always said to “press on the opposite end from the stem site.” It should feel slightly soft and a little springy.

Speaking of Cantaloupes, the family ‘s favorite. But wait, was it dessert or a side dish at dinner?

When we were newlyweds the cantaloupe debate started. Being a W. VA girl, I always had the two halves of Cantaloupe cleaned and ready to serve after dinner for dessert. My husband, a West Texas boy, was used to his mother putting a heaping platter of sliced Cantaloupe as a side dish with the meal.

One day he got so tired of me being stingy with the Cantaloupe he took the advice of a friend of where to get plenty of the ripe melon. He proceeded to take his pickup out on Grand Avenue to the packing sheds. All you had to do was back your truck up to the loading dock and they would dump the bed full of Cantaloupe that was too ripe to ship. Several times during the season he brought home a truckload to share with all our neighbors.

They were delicious!

“Sounds of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

SOME OF THESE YOU WILL RECOGNIZE AND THEY IN TURN WILL REMIND YOU OF OTHER FOND SOUNDS OF SUMMER.

Do the sounds of summer take you back to memories of childhood?

Sometimes the charisma of summer is all in the sounds. Try to recall the sound of the water drops hitting the dust as the field was watered before the first pitch of the Little League game. And after the first pitch came the crack of the bat. You can hear it now, can’t you?

After the game, nothing was better than hearing the ice tinkling in the ice cold lemonade unless it’s your first crunchy gulp after a hot game. Or how about the merry sound of the Ice Cream man’s chimes and you knew soon that cool ice cream would be sliding down your parched throat.

When I was growing up near the State Capitol, there used to be a family on West Jefferson, around 11^th Ave. that sold the best watermelons in the whole valley. They kept them cold in a large, soda pop cooler. Mom’s

thumbs beat deep thuds as she tapped the  melons.  Later, at home when she slid her big knife in the dark green skin, her choice melon split apart with a loud ripping sound. It was heaven.

Inside the house, the whir of the evaporative cooler motor meant a welcome breeze. Of course if the cooler wasn’t doing too well, in high humidity, that meant we were in for one of our monsoon storms.  The shattering snap of lightening and deep growl of thunder, even today, reminds me of the neighbors who slept in their backyards on hot nights. They had to run for cover many a summer night after hearing the drumbeat of the rain come marching across the yards.

Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Ave. We headed for the sounds of water splashing and the shrieks of kids as they

became airborne off the huge slide and landed with a scream in the pool.

After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the sounds of a snap and hiss as dad opened bottles of Barq’s Root Beer, Orange or Strawberry pop.

The summer week was complete.

A SPECIAL PLACE

By

Gerry Niskern

This is one of the special places that I miss terribly. One of the spots that I can’t go because of the Covid-19. I wrote about this favorite gathering place in Central Phoenix before they remodeled, but you will still recognize it if you were a “member of the club”.

If you pull into the parking lot in the summer time, on your way to this special place, it’s good to see the plumes of misty water billowing out under the patio overhang. The old green hedge embraces the area, and they give a nice cozy shield from cars and noise after you find a table.

The old stucco store front is dusty and scarred with chairs bumping against its walls. It has a shaded concrete area the length of the store containing black wrought iron tables and chairs that have been around, seem like,  since Arizona became a state.

If you are hoping to catch a few rays you can sit in the extra space out front. But if you desire a spot in the shade, it’s a good idea to put your newspaper, water bottle or some thing to stake out a table before going inside the swinging doors to get something to drink.

The pigeons who have had standing reservations for years are watching for you. They know the crumb droppers and pass word along the network, “Here comes the messy eater. Slow down, boys.  There will be plenty for everybody. The muffin crumbs are tasty, but so are the donuts. Wonder what she’ll get today?”

All the food is good, breakfast or lunch, but the thing that makes this place special is the feeling of belonging. Some people have been coming to this patio for years and they know they will be greeted and drawn into a conversation sooner or later. During the past two years, for me and many others, it’s  been my “ home away from home.”

“Don’t worry, the rain is coming”

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s late this year, and worrisome. We usually have a first big storm by the Fourth of July. But, relax, it’s coming, and it always comes with a bang! Here are some memories of past wet summers. Enjoy.

One day, years ago it was raining so hard I could hardly see them out on the sidewalk. One toddler ran by, laughing, the feet of his soggy sleepers slapping the pavement. Little brother came into sight; his drenched diaper, laden with rainwater, dragging behind.  Big sister in pink pajamas led the parade of upturned, wet faces squealing with the joy at the rain that had finally come after a long period of despair.

That year, in the late l950s’, the residents here in the valley had waited months for relief from the drought. On the days  my children ran outside barefooted the pavement was scalding. The dry grass stubble was prickly and so were tempers. Respite came, as always,  sometime in July.

We have had years of drought and years of unbelievable rains. That summer, before the rains came, the huge dust storms,  the weathermen now call them Haboobs, left an inch layer of dirt on the bottom of everyone’s pool.  The kids begged to swim, so I became an expert at pool vacuuming…every single morning!

The thunderstorms that sometimes come tearing thru the valley create havoc, but just manage to give everyone’s grass a good soaking. It’s hard to believe, but sometimes we do get too much precipitation.

Years ago, when I was a kid, the rain finally came and drenched the parched ground, but didn’t stop.  The Cave Creek Dam finally broke. The railroad tracks along Nineteenth Ave dammed the water. The residential area around the Arizona State Capitol building had heavy flooding. We kids, in the blissful ignorance of childhood,  just enjoyed riding our bikes through the knee high water flowing curb to curb in the streets. We didn’t realize that most of the businesses were sandbagged and the Capitol basement had flooded.

We were even treated to our first look at an U. S. Army amphibious vehicle. The Seventeenth Avenue underpass was flooded too and the kids all watched in awe as a group of soldiers came down the street and drove right through the deep water.

I’ll never forget my dad returning from hiking alone on South Mountain. He was caught in a downpour so hard that he said, “I couldn’t see or breathe. I was really beginning to panic!”

I remember a neighbor at that time telling my folks, “Back in l938, the Salt River really overflowed its banks. The Central Avenue Bridge was holding the water back and all of central Phoenix was in danger of being flooded. Just as they were ready to light the fuse to dynamite the bridge, the water started to subside.”

One other summer, when my kids were in their teens, we lived in a different neighborhood and the rains were again unrelenting. The ground was saturated and one Saturday morning police drove through the area shouting on loud speakers,  “Attention, Prepare to evacuate!”  Arizona Canal above us was starting to overflow its banks

The rains this summer won’t end the drought, only heavy winter snows do that; but as always, they will surely nourish our spirits.

Meanwhile, the scent of wet creosote bushes on the mountain above me, mixed with the pungent smell of desert grass below will be like heaven as I watch the rabbits and quail scurrying for shelter from  the rain that is sure to come soon.

“Arizona River Cruise Line”

By

Gerry Niskern

This was from a column of mine in the Arizona Republic a few years ago: A Fourth of July weekend.

Is your family thinking of taking a cruise this summer? Have you sent for all the brochures and picked out an interesting itinerary? Before you make any hasty decisions, let me suggest you commemorate the Fourth of July with an Arizona River Cruise.

The residents and visitors of Phoenix have been tubing down the Salt and Verde Rivers for a long, long time. Before all the dams were built, the two rivers flowed wide and full. As soon as there were old patched inner tubes available, there was a way to cool off in the Arizona heat in July. Before Resorts or even RV’s, Arizona families used to spend their vacation camping along the rivers.

Unlike the mandatory fashionable wardrobe for an ocean trip, let me describe the proper attire for a river cruise.  No matter which river you choose, you will need a bathing suit, a pair of cut off jeans; (to keep your backside protected from submerged logs and sharp rocks.) You’ll also need some old tennies, sun block, sunglasses, and a hat. The tubes heat up in the Arizona sun, so a towel to drape over the sides is a good idea too.

Typically, when our extended family took their 4^th of July cruise on the Verde River every summer,  it went something like this.

Grandpa couldn’t swim so he didn’t join floating party. He trucked the inner tubes to the river and met us down stream at the end of the day. Grandma’s Romel style straw hat had a bill. She wore it like the general when she directed the launching of our summer river cruises.

In the middle of July, it wasn’t necessary to be a good swimmer, just a strong walker. You were always glad you had your tennies on when you had to swing your leg down inside the tube and push off against the rocks if you were grounded. In no time at all, you would be bobbing along with the current.

Our kids, along with their cousins, wiggled into their tubes, clomped down the muddy bank and with a whoop and a holler, were on their way.  They delighted in the heady freedom of being allowed to go on ahead of the grown-ups.

The water was pure and cold. It felt like melted snow against our hot skin as we floated away, one by one.

We cruised the low, clear river over water sculptured rocks in ever changing moods and colors. As the desert glided by, we passed Mesquite, Palo Verde and an occasional stand of giant Cottonwoods, their green and yellow foliage hanging over deep green pools.

Invariably, as we floated by, we were ambushed by a band of river pirates dropping from the branches above. Waves swamped our river craft and grinning kids who looked familiar popped to the surface.   Sooner or later, one of the river pirates asked grandma for a safety pin to hold up his bathing suit; or another needed a Band-Aid. Grandma provided the items without fail from her waterproof plastic purse. You name it, she had it.

We floated on past little hidden pockets of lush vegetation. Blue herons swooped above the trees and settled on their skinny legs in the shallow water. Meanwhile, the strong, sentinel mountains held the brooding July thunderheads at bay.

Later, we sailed into a deep, green pool. Shouts and splashes echoed from the nearby cliffs as kids cannonballed off huge rocks. Tiny rainbows arched through the sprays of water.

One uncle always took along Sparky, their family dog. On one trip, he decided to let the little pug enjoy the river because, according to him,  “all dogs know how to swim”.  Sparky immediately sank like a rock in twelve feet of water. While his wife screamed, he abandoned ship and dove repeatedly, finally saving the drowning dog. Later, when it was time to drive home, he realized that now, instead of Sparky, his car keys and billfold were at the bottom of the river.

In late afternoon, we rounded a bend and saw the orange sunset reflecting off grandpa’s glasses as he stood waiting at our rendezvous point. The river moved swiftly there, so the men hauled themselves out of their tubes and waded us in.

Soon the smell of hot dogs sizzling from supple sticks filled the air. Damp towels hung like limp capes from kids’ shoulders while we listened to the ripple of the river, chirps of crickets and an occasional owl.

The moon rose cool and bright we reluctantly packed up to go home. We knew we would be back to celebrate another Fourth of July on the river that enticed us again and again.

How soon can you pull your wardrobe together for an Arizona River Cruise?

“Leap of Faith”

By

Gerry Niskern

When you think about it, Fathers have always taken a “giant leap of faith”

My grandfather brought his young wife, pregnant with their second child from Austria to the United States with only the vague promise of a job in a coal mine in Pennsylvania. He finally got the job in West Virginia and worked ten hour days for six days a week. It was back breaking work, with bad accidents and cave ins often. He managed to buy a large piece of land to farm to supplement the food supply for his large family. That was a giant leap!

My own father who worked on crutches for years as a time study engineer in a factory drove his young   family across the United States during wartime. He needed to get to the dry climate of Arizona to have surgery to save his leg. He settled us into an Auto Court while he looked for work and found a house to start buying. He learned to service an evaporative cooler so that his family was finally cool during that sweltering August long ago!

My own kids dad worked as an Apprentice Carpenter until he got his Journeyman’s card, then he learned to install floor covering. He eventually got into sales and then consulting across the country and in foreign countries too. He provided for his family, but his travels took him away from the kids during much of their “growing up” years. He always regretted that because, you see, Father’s role was beginning to change.

Dads were starting to do more with their kids. As work changed, society changed.  Fathers gradually learned the importance of spending time with their kids and employers were more lenient with work schedules. And, of course, the dads who had their own business could sometimes coach a sports team or another kid oriented group.

That brings me to my Grandson “father”. He confided to me recently that he didn’t see the need for Father’s Day celebrations. He said, “The way I see it, the pleasure was all mine!”.

This piece ran in the Arizona Republic previously. Maybe you missed it, or enjoyed it and would like to forward it to a new dad this father’s day?

“Dads learn easily, from the kids”

By

Gerry Niskern

We all know that new dads have a lot to learn. They catch on easily however, because they have the best teachers in the world; their kids!

From the time they hold their first baby, who is giving them that piercing “so you’re my dad “ stare,  they start thinking that maybe  this dad stuff is going to be a tough gig.

However, later on, at home, Dad is soon able to detect a hungry cry from a “give me some attention” noise. He also learns to remember if it’s his turn to get up. He finds out real quick that you can’t hurry the process, Junior doesn’t tolerate shortcuts; change diaper, give bottle, get burp up, change diaper again, then fall back into bed at last.

First time father’s love to put their little girl or boy into a toddler seat on the front of their bike and ride for hours.

As time goes by, dads learn another important lesson from their children. Some fathers make a lot of money and some are not paid what they are worth, but kids value the commodity all kids have an equal amount of: time.  They learn they need to care enough to spend that precious time just talking, sitting, watching his favorite football team and paying attention or just doing nothing together.

If dads learn their jobs well, they will look around someday and realize their offspring  have become pretty terrific adults. And of course the kids are relieved. They can get on with their lives. After all, they taught him all they could.

Then, one day, when dad receives a phone call, “Could you watch Junior for a couple of hours?” Grandpa’s ready. He was trained by the best.

“Let’s Go, Fly a Kite”

By

Gerry Niskern

I received a photo the other day that “warmed the cockles” of my heart

My great-grandson had launched  a beautiful purple and yellow kite and his just turned three-year old daughter was flying it.

What a thrill it is for a little child when their dad finally lets them fly the kite all by themselves.

I imagine my great-great-grandaughter felt just like I did when my dad finally let me hold the string of our kite. Dad always constructed our kites from thin scrapes of wood and newspapers. But one day he came home with a surprise.

He called our new kite the “All American Beauty”. He paid a whole 25 cents for it.The red and white vertical stripes were topped off with a blue field of white stars. Then dad told us to write a secret on a slip of paper. He said we were going to send a message to the heavens. Somehow he attached the paper to the kite string and it went scooting up the line as we watched in amazement!

Her great uncle, an avid kite flyer, says she has to launch a kite by herself someday before she can be a pro. I’m sure she will; with the help of her dad just like he is going to help her learn all kinds of new fun skills!

“A Different Kind of Memorial Day”

By

Gerry Niskern

We all know that Memorial Day is dedicated to the remembrance  of the war dead. In years past, we visited the cemetery with flowers for the graves of any member of a family that passed away, but we seem to have gotten away from that. Too bad.

I have a suggestion for a new kind of Memorial Day. Lets have a memorial day that is devoted to the memory of families. Is there someone’s grave you need to visit? Take the kids. Let them place the flowers on the grave and answer their questions.

If you are having a family party of Memorial Day, stop for a minute and remember to start a dialogue about any grandparents that are gone. See how much the little ones know about great-grandfather or a great uncle. Get out the family album and point out the pictures. Tell who was respected and who wasn’t. Get ready to answer some tough questions here.

What kind of man Grandpa was, where he worked. What games did Grandma play with her children. How did she dress? Were they born here or did they come from another country?

The whole country is weary of hearing about Covid 19, but take a moment and talk about the people who have lost the lives to this pandemic, many, many more than was necessary. Have your family party, but take a moment to remember. Not just the war dead, but everyone who is gone. The word that unites all families is “Remember”.