“Let me call you Tweetheart”

By

Gerry Niskern

There are red hearts and Cupids everywhere you go. The stores are bursting with chocolates in heart shaped boxes, teddy bears with red bows, and tons of jewelry.  I remember receiving a gold heart locket on Valentine’s Day years ago. I still wear it with the photos of two sweethearts inside.

It’s even easier today for a young man to select a Valentine for his love. He can go online and order any type of Valentine he wants. Doesn’t even have to leave the house. Actually, maybe that’s the problem.

I can’t tell you who is buying the Valentines this year, but I can tell you who isn’t.  The Millennials And Gen. Z too!  That crowd is having none of it. According to statistics a large percentage of their age span has opted out of the entire commitment idea. Dinner and a movie are out and “non-dates” are in.

When a guy wants to see a girl he texts her with a tender message such as, “What’s up” or “Want to join me and some of my friends at the local hangout?” What girl wouldn’t want to hear a romantic invitation like that?

The days of courtship where you actually picked up the phone and asked someone for a date are over. That required an investment of considerable thought, planning, and investment of ego. Today’s convenience of texting, tweeting and e-mail did away with the need for even a little charm.

Guys don’t waste time on long expensive first dates. Dinner at a romantic new restaurant? Scratch that. The woman is lucky to get a tweet to meet up somewhere. The long “get acquainted” first date is no longer necessary. He already knows all about her from Facebook and Google.

The “Hook-up” champion of the campus has carried his habits into his supposedly adult life. Now he’s afraid a formal request for a date will send the wrong message. It might say he’s getting too serious, way too soon. And if he did want to buy some jewelry on Valentines Day for the woman he’s been “meeting up” with for weeks, the Millennium man is hesitant to make the purchase. It’s his lose

Back when Cupid was alive and going strong, my number one son was in first grade He saved his pennies for a long time in order to buy a tiny Valentines box of Whitmans with two chocolates inside for the little red-haired girl in his class. Now that kid wasn’t afraid of commitment!

This story about Eva, my mother, is one I never get tired of telling

VALENTINE’S DAY, 1922

Around ten-thirty on Saturday morning there was a loud knocking on the front door. Eva slammed the hot iron down on the trivet and hurried into the living room. “It’s probably that delivery boy from Darwishes grocery store again. He’s already been here twice this morning,” she fumed. “I am never going to get done with Sophie’s work blouses.  I need that quarter that she always gives me for pressing them! Mom will let me go to the movies tonight with Ruby if I have enough money.”

She had already mopped the kitchen floor that morning and then helped her mother do some clothes on the scrub board.  Eva was just glad it was Saturday and she didn’t have to drag the big tubs into the kitchen and fill them with hot water for her dad, a coal miner, to wash the black grim away.

It wasn’t good to be the youngest of six girls in a big family. Her older sisters were all working and it fell on her to help their mother, who had been left crippled after the birth of Harry, the baby of the family.  Of course, the younger brothers were no help at all.

While she was out in the yard hanging the clothes on the line, Walter, the Russian man who was courting Annie, had been teasing her about being the only one in the family that didn’t have a boyfriend sending fancy valentine hearts. He was helping her dad hoe the garden while they discussed the union meeting last night at the mine. “Boy, he must really love Annie; he’s even helping dad hoe” she thought.

Earlier that morning she had trudged upstairs twice, careful to avoid her mother’s hot pies for Sunday dinner, cooling on the narrow wooden steps. Those first two  beautiful heart shaped boxes of candy to arrive that day were for Sophie and Sarah from their current beaus. Just thinking of all that chocolate candy made her mouth water.

This time the boy called out “Delivery for Katherine Gunto” as he handed Eva a red satin box.  As she pushed open the bedroom door again, she saw the usual Saturday morning activity. Her sisters were all working and were happy to have the weekend off. They were laughing and trading dresses and secrets. Some were busy washing their hair over a tub of heated  rain water to be styled later with their curling irons heating downstairs on the coal stove. “Oh, this is from Paul. He wants to see me this evening,” her sister Kate bragged. That was the last straw. Angry tears welled in Eva’s eyes.  It wasn’t fair. Her childhood playmate was deserting her for a boyfriend!

The next box that came was for her older sister Annie. Annie was a young widow, with two little girls. She had moved back home with her folks after her husband was killed.   This valentine, of course, was from Walter. He had already asked her to marry him. He loved Annie’s girls and they adored the kind red-haired Russian.

Later, as Eva was washing the dishes, there was another demanding banging on the front door. She wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door just as the boy announced loudly, “Delivery for Eva Gunto!” Then he laid a large golden heart tied with a gold satin ribbon, the largest valentine box that she had ever seen, into her arms.

Slowly, in a fog of bewilderment, she carried the box into the kitchen and reverently placed it on the table. “Come see what Eva has,” her mother called to everyone. They all gathered around and watched as their little sister opened the most elegant box that had come to the house that day.  “Who is it from?” demanded Katherine.

“Why would anyone send her a valentine?”

“Strange, it doesn’t have a card.” Sophie chimed in after checking it over. For the first time in her young life in that big family, she was the center of attention, and even a little envy. Her twelve-year-old ego was getting a huge boost.

When Walter came to take Annie out that evening, he asked “Well, Evie, so who’s the secret beau? And what does your dad think about all this?”

“Look Out! The Green Wave is Coming!”

By

Gerry Niskern

The wave is full of danger. If you have been trying to lose those extra Christmas pounds, look out. There are Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samores, and a new cookie this year called something like “Salted Carmel”.

Some of the girls still come door to door, but you will usually find them set up in front of your grocery store or other local businesses. You can even buy the cookies online, but you have to have an app on your phone to order from a specific girl on her phone. Yes, Girl Scouts have Smart phones today!

When I belonged to troupe # 11, here in Phoenix in l942,   I was excited at the prospect of selling cookies door to door. They were plain vanilla with the Girl Scout emblem imprinted on the top. My mother said “Absolutely not! I won’t let you ask our neighbors to buy a box of cookies for 25 cents that they can buy for ten cents at the store.” If nothing else, my mother had her ethics!

Sure you can find less expensive cookies, but why not support the organization that develops girls of courage, confidence and character worldwide?

I was in fifth grade at Jackson School when Girl Scout troop # 11 was formed. The year was l942. The leader’s name was Miss Curlee, the second grade teacher. She was young and pretty when the other teachers all looked to be over 100 to this fifth grader. Our dues were 2 cents per week.

My main Christmas present that year was a Girl Scout uniform. Since I was the only one in our troop with an official uniform, I was allowed to represent Troop 11 on the horse drawn Girl Scout wagon in the annual Rodeo parade along with other girls from other ten troops in the entire Phoenix area. We were standing and it was a bumpy ride.

Among other duties, Scouting in l943 found us helping to direct people and baby sitting while citizens signed up for ration books for shoes, meat and sugar at our school throughout the year on weekends.

There were no cookie sales that year. They were suspended until after the war.

The highlight of the year in 44’, seventh grade, was earning the square dance badge. Our leader said she would let all the boys in 7^th grade know they were welcome to come and learn square dancing along with us. I decided to invite my own date. He came to pick me up on his red Schwin bike and rode me home after the dance. He was  my resident historian when I was writing my column for the Arizona Republic all those years later.

Girl Scouts promise “to help other people at all times” and that you will love their cookies!

In recent years I had come to dread that question. Friends would ask how my Christmas was and then proceed to tell about taking their entire family on a Christmas Cruise, skiing in Colorado, and so on….you get the picture.

Christmas was pretty low key in my family, but a lot of fun too. When  the grandkids came along I started having a small pre-Christmas party early in December with lots of old fashioned party Igames and a big pot of Chalupa,

However,  this year, due to some crazy health incidents,I wasn’t up to giving the party. You have all heard me complain (ok, whine) about being sidelined for several months. I was eventually able to do a little shopping for our family gift exchange at my daughter’s and son # 2 and his wife offered to pick me up.

This holiday turned out to be one of the best. The light were fantastic on the homes. The Christmas concerts were all beautiful on television. The personal notes from friends and cousins on cards meant more to me this year, The video I received of my little l8 month old great-great granddaughter doing her best to march to the beat of her brother’s school orchestra and even better a movie of her trudging thru her first snowfall looking a little excited but perplexed?

Son # 1 had crazy work hours this year and the two  of us celebrated Christmas on the Saturday before. Dinner was at six o’clock and we were still sitting at the table talking at 2:30 A. M.!

# 2 great-grandson, home from college on Christmas break insisted we go for a kind of New Years lunch. I thought he would get busy and forget about it, but he persisted and we had a wonderful lunch and came home and talked and shared some tangerines from my tree. We touched on every subject under the sun.

His older brother, #1, a third year medical  student in Pennsylvania called me and we talked for an hour out of his hectic schedule of rotations! He filled me in on his classes and experiences; I couldn’t have received a better gift.

At one time or another, almost everyone told me they missed my old fashioned Christmas party this year and said they were looking forward to it next year.

So, thanks  for asking, I had a wonderful Christmas.

“Everyone can make an Ethical Will”

By

Gerry Niskern

I wrote about Ethical Wills once before, years ago. I believe the idea bears repeating for new generations of readers in this New Year. An Ethical Will is an opportunity for you to communicate your hopes and dreams for the future generations of your family. Your morals, regrets and yes, your opinions are all included.  They are usually written by people at a turning point in their lives.

An Ethical will  is not a legal document; rather it is a record of your nonrepresentational wealth. Although parents would like to see their children financially secure, they would also like to leave some philosophical provisions as well.

Think of the many phrases stated by your parents or grandparents that influenced you while growing up. One of my mother’s favorites comes to mind. “Be kind and respectful to the elderly, their life is hard.” When I would argue, “But, Mom, what if they’re crabby with me?” She always replied, “That doesn’t matter. We still respect the old.”

Then there was one of my grandmother’s admonishments, in her broken English. “Don’t go where you no belong.” Her advice still serves a purpose in our family. These examples are not exactly an ethical will, but certainly examples of the making of one.

Writing an Ethical Will does not require enormous education or wisdom. It’s what you have to give of yourself.  Every will is as unique as the person writing it, but there are common themes. Personal values are important, as well as “life’s lessons learned.” Families are mentioned often. “Take care of the family. Value the family.”  Many give instructions on how to maintain the strength of the family.

If you need help getting started, start keeping a journal. Over a period of time themes will emerge that you can use in drafting your ethical will.

.          Many newlyweds sit down and share their values in ethical wills. It doesn’t matter if you are an engaged couple, brand new parents, divorcing, empty nesters, or end of lifers, there is no time like the present. Not everyone can pass along a financial legacy, but everybody can transmit some of the richness of life. You have lived and learned and have thoughts to pass on. Just be yourself. Open your heart and write the gift that your family will cherish.

THE BEST KIND OF CHRISTMAS

By

Gerry Niskern

I had two Christmas celebrations as a child. My sister and I woke up on December 25^th to the smell of pine. Santa had brought presents and a beautiful sparkling tree too. What more could a kid ask for.

But on January 6^th, at my grandma Gunto’s house, we had our favorite Christmas. We looked forward to Grandma’s Orthodox Catholic celebration because we were with our many cousins. Mom came from a family of l3, so there were a lot of cousins. There were no presents exchanged, just the joy of the whole family being together.

My grandma’s living room was cleared of furniture and long tables and chairs were set up. The tables were groaning with food. After a prayer by one of the grownups in my Grandmothers native language, my little Austrian grandma would always say, “Now Geddy, you say in English”. She could never pronounce Gerry. I don’t know why she always chose me, out of all the kids, to say the blessing. I was painfully shy so I guess she thought it would be good practice for me!

We had Hulupkis. They were boiled cabbage leaves filled with browned ground beef and spices and rice. The cabbage was then folded like an envelope, rolled up and placed in a large kettle and covered with the savory brown gravy made from the browned beef. They were delicious.

There was Perogies too; my favorite. After making the dough, it was rolled out and cut into 3 inch squares. Then a mixture of mashed potatoes and chunks of yellow cheese was spooned out onto a square and folded over into a triangle and the edges pinched with a fork. The pockets were then dropped into boiling water for a few minutes to cook like a noodle. Then they were lifted out and plopped into a large skillet sizzling with chopped onion browning in butter.

There was always a bowl of stewed apricots, and fruit pies from the summer’s canning; cherry, peach and berry. The only cookies were plain round sugar cookies with a spoonful of jam in the middle and another round of cookie on top, with a hole in the middle for the jam to bubble thru.

The most important dish of the evening was a platter of round cooked noodle balls covered with honey and poppy seed.  Everyone had to eat one in order to have good health in the coming year. I dreaded that Austrian tradition, but I was always required to choke one down!

The evening was concluded with polka dancing with the music provided by my Uncle Paul from Italy. His sparkling blue accordion shimmered as everyone, young and old. danced. My grandma’s old frame house vibrated with fun. Then, of course, my Uncle Walter, from Russia, gave a command performance dancing the Mazurka. He crouched low, with arms across his chest and his boots kicking high into the air. Everyone tried to imitate him, but no one else was strong enough.

Every year, I ended up on someone’s lap in the living room in front of the fireplace watching the coal fire hiss and spew out plumes of yellow, red and purple flames. Mesmerized by the symphony of color I fell asleep; and always the next thing I knew. I woke up the next morning in my own bed!

“What puts you into the Christmas spirit?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Sometimes it’s the scent of something that you haven’t smelled for a while.This year, for me, it was when I peeled a tangerine from the tree in the back yard. Suddenly,I  was transported back to my childhood and memories of my Christmas stocking. The little mesh see thru stocking (my sister had one too) always contained some nuts, ribbon candy and a tangerine. I realized later that the tangerine was the most expensive item in the sock. Back then, none could be found where we lived so I’m sure my parents had to travel to a larger city to buy the exotic fruit that I loved.

While the tangerine put me in the Christmas mood, it saddened me too. What I have always loved most about the season as an adult, was the preparation. The cookie  baking, candy making and most of all, planning the parties. Physically, I am not up to those activities this year, I guess you could say,  I feel like I’ve been “put on the bench”and I hate it!

I decided the only way to compensate for the “out of the game” feeling was to concentrate on the gifts that I could find (with a lot of help from Amazon!) And also remember some past success at gifting.

Do you try to find the best gift ever for someone on your Christmas list? I do.

I can only get excited about Christmas after I start thinking of something as a really special surprise for at least one person. I can’t do it for everyone, but one’s enough to give me the Christmas spirit.

I get into the spirit of the season remembering some other special gifting. My earliest memory was of a tiny ladies lapel pin. It was a glowing lantern with some holly. I wrapped it in an empty Oxydol box to fool my mom. I saved all year for that special gift that cost 25 cents.

My resident historian was quite a harmonica player in his teens and my steady. I saved baby sitting money for months to buy him a large Hohner chromatic harmonica. I was serenaded many evenings for my efforts.

Back in the 50’s after the Russians had launched Sputnik, rockets were all kids in the U. S. could talk about. I found magazine ad for a heavy cardboard put-together-yourself rocket ship. Our kids were the envy of the block. They stood in line to blast off in our rocket ship.

During the “Maverick” years I scoured Phoenix and found 4 matching cowboy hats for our two boys and their two male cousins. Not just any cowboy hat. When you whipped it off your head a secret cowboy pistol popped out, pointed straight at the “outlaw of the day.”

I remember sewing and smocking two matching dresses for my daughter and her little cousin. If you have ever smocked, you know it was truly a gift of love. Some years later I sewed a gold with brown trim Velour shirt for my first little grandson and an exact duplicate one for his daddy.

Another time, in the sixties, I found a six year old niece a “low rise skirt and Poor Boy top” and she exclaimed, “Oh, a Beatles dress!”

Of course, I’ve received my share of special gifts, but the one I loved the most was during the “baby” years of the 50’s. My resident historian brought home a portable dishwasher. It was like being given a maid for Christmas!

Have you found the best gift ever ?

“How Christmas Wishes have changed”

by

Gerry Niskern

A funny thing happened on the way to Christmas one year. We had a party.

We had  been giving this annual party for thirty some years and most of the people attending had been coming to our house to celebrate the season since we started.

That year I decided that we would test their knowledge of each other with a “guess who that was” game.

I phoned to ask each one to tell me the one special thing that they had wished Santa to bring when they were a kid. Don’t tell me if you received it or not, just something special that you remember asking Santa Clause to bring.

In most cases, before I even finished my question, these “depression babies” named an item they remember vividly yearning for and declared, “And I didn’t get it either!”

A couple of the stories tugged at your heart strings a little more than others.  A lot of farm families used to gather at the grandparent’s house and all the toys for the various cousins would be placed under the tree. When my resident historian, Ken, was a little guy about four, he woke up before dawn and went down stairs to see if Santa had come. Yep! There was a train set all set up around the tree; just what he had wished for. When he came down later with his parents, his cousins were playing with their new train set!

Another Oklahoma  girl asked every year for a Shirley Temple doll. Year after year she saw other cousins unwrapping Shirley Temple dolls!

A little boy from Texas asked for any kind of airplane. His mother managed to buy him a little balsa wood flyer propelled by a rubber band. The problem was the first time he launched it, the little plane flew down the hill right into the hog pen. They pounced on it thinking it was food and ground it into the mud.

A Glendale girl always yearned for a pair of roller skates. She skated on friend’s skates once or twice, but Santa never had enough money for a pair of skates for her.

One Tennessee girl asked for  a Dionne Quintuplet doll, but more than anything she yearned for some clothes that weren’t three sizes too big, so she could “grow into them”.

There were wishes for Monopoly games, BB guns bicycles and basketballs. One young fellow found a basketball in the attic and assumed he was receiving it for Christmas. He and his friends built a backboard and hoop getting all prepared. Imagine his shock when a neighbor came to retrieve her son’s basketball that his mother was hiding for her.

It kind of blows your mind when you realize all of today’s children have to do is go online and  record their choices that are easy for grandmas, aunts and other relatives to consult and purchase for them!

Kids Christmas Coup

Every year we hear the same lament.  “Christmas is getting way too commercial.”

I have a great idea of how we could put some of the enchantment and wonder back into the Yuletide season for the children. Ban the photo sessions in the malls!

Let me explain.

Years ago I accompanied a young mother when she took her two little boys to the mall to visit Santa Claus. While standing in a two hour line with a chorus of babies’cries ringing in my ears, I watched various groups of teenage girls, taking turns sitting on ST. Nick’s knee to have their picture taken. There were also some idle retirees who thought it would be cute to send a photo taken with Santa to the kids back home. To be fair, I’m sure they didn’t realize how many minutes of precious toy ordering time they were wasting.

I saw scores of children climb onto Santa’s lap, settle in for a nice chat, only to be commanded to say “cheese, hit with a blinding flash, and when whisked away to make room for the next victim. The elf brigade with their cameras had landed!

As we waited in line with our toddlers, the joy of the season slowly disipated like whip cream losing its’ “oomph” on the season’s hot chocolate. The five-year-old had completely given up waiting and was polishing the mall floor with his new jeans. His two-year-old brother’s screams of hunger were echoing throughout the halls.

A shoving match broke out behind us. One discouraged four-year-old tried to take hurry things along by taking cuts. The offended kid cut on sent the cuttee packing with a hard shove. Tiny nerves get shot too, while standing in long lines.

How can we recapture the Yule tide season for the kids?

Easy. The same way the young mother with me did. She politely declined the photo pitch from the cute little elf with the camera. I could have sworn I saw the elf shoes curl tighter in shock when my young friend explained. “My boys are here to do some serious talking with Santa Claus, not to have their picture taken.”

I wanted to shout, “Hooray! Good for you!”

There was a time, not so many years ago; when watching a child visit St. Nick was a joy to behold. The wait in line, sans photo sessions, was no more than five or ten-minute’s tops. The child could climb on Santa’s knee and talk to the big guy to his hearts content. No one cut short the serious conference about which type of baseball mitt was best, or was Wedding Barbie better than Tahiti Barbie was.

I don’t know when the annual visit to deliver the wish list was turned into a photo session. Parents have gradually been caught up in the trap of “everyone has their child’s picture taken with Santa. How else will they remember the occasion?”

Trust me. The kids will remember. The memory will be tucked away in that special place in their heart where one on one conversations with larger than life adults always reside.

Wouldn’t it be great to pick up the newspaper one-day and read these headlines, “All Santa’s helpers carrying cameras banned from the malls?”

I’m sure it would please one tired, little boy I overheard as I was leaving. He looked up and said,  “ Daddy, couldn’t we just go home and fax Santa my Christmas wish list.”

“When was your family’s first Thanksgiving?”

By

Gerry Niskern

When did your family celebrate its first Thanksgiving? Perhaps it was when they found a place to sleep or the day father got a job? Maybe it was when he collected his first pay and your family could finally send some money home.

I’m sure by now you realize I’m talking about your grandparents or even great-great- grandparents. Most people think of Thanksgiving as family, food and football.  We take it for granted, but those immigrant ancestors of ours didn’t.

Thanksgiving is the time to gather the family together and give thanks for what we have and remember where we came from.  Most families have stories of the their first member who settled in this land. They also have favorite foods that they serve on the big day. African-Americans might have Ijera, tiny loaves of bread that’s great for soaking up the turkey gravy. You’ll find Menudo for starters and Calotes al Horno (yams) on the Mexicans table. Perhaps you roots are Italian; then Taralli, made from your grandmother’s recipe, will be passed with the coffee.

According to my mother, her siblings a hard time explaining the traditional Thanksgiving to my grandmother who emigrated from Austria in the late 1800s. She was puzzled because, “People should give thanks every day.” Grandma  was willing to cook the meal, “But not buy turkey; we have chickens”. I’m sure there was halupkis on her table too.

America hasn’t suddenly become a multi-cultural nation. It always has been a nation of immigrants. Those ancestors of ours who poured into America in the 1800’s and early 1900 learned about Thanksgiving gradually, as well as the laws, taxes, and social mores.  They came from all over the world to work. Many took the toughest jobs and were paid the lowest wages. The United States needed the cheap labor and with it this country changed and prospered.

However, the immigrants changed too. Whether you forefathers were European, Irish, Italian, Jewish, Black, Latino, the list goes on, they surely felt a sense of alienation. For the first time in their lives, they didn’t belong. They were the foreigners. The impact of separation from family and familiar surroundings was harsh. Every decision was crucial. It’s not surprising that many didn’t plan to stay. They wanted to work here, save and perhaps return to buy land or a business in the old country.

Many struggled to send money home too. According to Michael Barone, author of “The New Americans”,  ‘by 1914 the Italian men were sending 14 million dollars annually to their families back in Italy. Many of the men went home and stayed until they needed money again. They made the ocean journey back and forth several times; it was a routine part of their lives until they were able to bring their families over.’

A good portion of our labor pool today is made up of immigrants. Among numerous tasks, they cook and serve our food, clean our homes, cut our grass and look after our elderly parents in nursing homes. They give energy to our work force by bringing in younger, eager workers. They contribute to the system through the many forms of taxes they pay. Most jobs they perform pay low wages and provide no health care for their families.

Of course, illegal immigration is and will remain a source of tremendous concern. Our government must deal with the illegal immigrants already here who have the documentations to become citizens and then, establish the long, over due law.

Our history is an ongoing process of learning and change by many people. There is room for many voices. And as my grandmother used to say, “You should give thanks every day.”