Instant Genealogy

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s that time of the year again; the holidays. Families will be criss crossing the country, going back home.

The truth is, there is something everyone will look forward to more than Grandma’s cooking.  That’s the sharing of family stories.

I recall as a toddler, standing around my Austrian grandma’s kitchen and listening to her chuckles and chatter with cousins visiting from Europe. They were having a good time reminiscing.  I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, except for my grandma’s one and only  English phrase,  “Damn right!”

Years later, I was a teenager when relatives visited my parents out here in Arizona. My first reaction was, “I don’t have time for these people. I don’t really know them anyway.” But before I knew it, I was hanging around the dining room table late into the evening laughing at the stories being recalled. I was amazed to learn that my very proper daddy had burned down the family garage when he was four years old…and he couldn’t tell his mother what he’d done because he still couldn’t talk.  After all, my aunt explained, “he was the baby of our family and he didn’t have to talk.”

Years later, after my husband’s parents were gone,  some cousins stopped at our house to visit. Our kids learned a thing or two about their dad’s childhood.  They couldn’t believe that when their daddy was about five years old he was allowed to go badger hunting with his older cousins and their pack of greyhounds in west Texas. According to the story, “he was talked into sitting on top of one badger hole and another little cousin was told to sit on another hole. That strategy was supposed to slow the badger down when it came out, and the older boys could shoot it. There was one problem. The badger just about scratched the gullible five year old to pieces trying to get away.”

Our nephews, who were always being lectured by their dad about the dangers of smoking, loved the story about their daddy caught sitting behind a chair puffing on his uncle’s cigar every chance he got, when he was only two years old

As the years go by, everyone, if we’re lucky, will have more and more of these family interludes in our life.  All these stories affirm that we are indeed a family connected and the laughter is the catalyst that holds the clan together. The kids take it all in and come to realize that when they were growing up, mom and dad weren’t perfect, in fact, even a little naughty sometimes. That’s good for everyone. It kind of levels the playing field a little, doesn’t it?

Instant Genealogy

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s that time of the year again; the holidays. Families will be criss crossing the country, going back home.

The truth is, there is something everyone will look forward to more than Grandma’s cooking.  That’s the sharing of family stories.

I recall as a toddler, standing around my Austrian grandma’s kitchen and listening to her chuckles and chatter with cousins visiting from Europe. They were having a good time reminiscing.  I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, except for my grandma’s one and only  English phrase,  “Damn right!”

Years later, I was a teenager when relatives visited my parents out here in Arizona. My first reaction was, “I don’t have time for these people. I don’t really know them anyway.” But before I knew it, I was hanging around the dining room table late into the evening laughing at the stories being recalled. I was amazed to learn that my very proper daddy had burned down the family garage when he was four years old…and he couldn’t tell his mother what he’d done because he still couldn’t talk.  After all, my aunt explained, “he was the baby of our family and he didn’t have to talk.”

Years later, after my husband’s parents were gone,  some cousins stopped at our house to visit. Our kids learned a thing or two about their dad’s childhood.  They couldn’t believe that when their daddy was about five years old he was allowed to go badger hunting with his older cousins and their pack of greyhounds in west Texas. According to the story, “he was talked into sitting on top of one badger hole and another little cousin was told to sit on another hole. That strategy was supposed to slow the badger down when it came out, and the older boys could shoot it. There was one problem. The badger just about scratched the gullible five year old to pieces trying to get away.”

Our nephews, who were always being lectured by their dad about the dangers of smoking, loved the story about their daddy caught sitting behind a chair puffing on his uncle’s cigar every chance he got, when he was only two years old

As the years go by, everyone, if we’re lucky, will have more and more of these family interludes in our life.  All these stories affirm that we are indeed a family connected and the laughter is the catalyst that holds the clan together. The kids take it all in and come to realize that when they were growing up, mom and dad weren’t perfect, in fact, even a little naughty sometimes. That’s good for everyone. It kind of levels the playing field a little, doesn’t it?

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Thanksgiving Day, Here in Arizona”

by

Gerry Niskern

Thanksgiving day, here in Arizona, is a day of traditions. It will be celebrated in many locations and the rituals will be as varied as the individual families.

Grandmothers and grandfathers will serve their children and grandchildren a fine old- fashioned turkey dinner, complete with dressing, gravy and homemade hot rolls that melt in your mouth. The carving knife is already sharpened and the table lines freshly laundered.

Some traditions, here in Arizona, will be started for the first time when the newlyweds decide to invite the clan to their home for barbecued turkey on the grill and a dip in their heated pool. No matter where they gather, some members of the family will argue politics, religion, and the latest courtroom trial. Everyone will over eat and some will drink too much.

Others will go to church to thank God for their many blessings. Whole families will give up their day to serve others in the many charity dining rooms, here in Arizona.

Native Americans on their reservations will gather together for mutton stew and fry bread. New immigrant families, like the one I saw shopping for a heavy roasting pan at the Goodwill store in my neighborhood, will buy their turkey and trimmings and try to prepare it the American way!

Other families will gather in hospital rooms or visit cemeteries, carrying pots of golden mums and try to remember why they are supposed to be thankful on this day.

Here in Arizona, people tired of formal affairs, will wrap their turkey up tightly, and put the potatoes, dressing and gravy in large thermoses and head out for a desert picnic. They will fly kites, ride go-carts and go rock hunting.

Lonely residents of nursing homes will be served their turkey on long tables decorated with papier-mache  turkeys and jaunty little pilgrim hats. They’ll be remembering other past Thanksgivings when children sat at their table.

Firefighters will cook their bird at the station. Policemen will grab a quick bite while on patrol. Emergency room personnel will eat their drumstick in the hospital cafeteria. Babies will be born and Mom and Dad will forget to eat, here in Arizona.

Some Mothers and Fathers will read to their children about the first Thanksgiving. They’ll tell them about the Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving when Governor  Bradford invited Chief Massosit to share their feast. The chief brought ninety men with him and they stayed for three days. The pilgrims celebrated their freedom in their new country with the Indians who helped them survive their first winter.

Maybe these same parents will ask their offspring to name the things they are thankful for. Then, hopefully, they’ll remind their families that there are Moms, Dads, kids, and even Grandparents who are hungry and homeless in Europe on this Thanksgiving day.

Today’s parents will tell the kids that we have the freedom to celebrate our traditions or change them, as we wish. They’ll remind them to nurture and cherish that freedom.

All these things will happen on Thanksgiving day, somewhere here in Arizona.

“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

.

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.”

“Are They Really Ready for School?”

by

Gerry Niskern

I’m sure you’ve seen them. Who could miss the must have for school lists in magazines and newspapers?

According to the experts, the young ladies need the new see through backpacks for their books. The kind with wheels would be even better. And remember their jean jackets don’t have the stone washed look this year, but anything with a fringe works!

Speaking of clothes, the boys favor the cargo pants, with at least fifteen pockets, including one across the rear. The shirts must be a popular brand their crowd is wearing, s and get ready to dig deep for a pair of the latest in footwear.

Of course, you could have one of those kids who waits to see what everyone else is wearing. Then you and the child are hitting the mall in the evening during the first week of school when she should be home hitting the books.

Dressing like your peer group in school has always been important to a student. I remember when new kids came to Phoenix Union High. If a young man from back east showed up in shirt, tie and dress slacks, you can bet he came back the next morning in Levis and the mandatory white tee shirt. Eastern girls came in nylons the first day, but wore bobby sox from then on.

The basic school supplies were pretty much the same between east and west. Now the choices are mind-boggling. If you are picking up a Nike binder for your child, you should know if the instructor requires the contoured, zippered or ensemble style. Of course, iPads are a must and don’t forget how handy a pager and cell phone can be. Your student needs a new cordless mouse for his computer and separate phone line, for research, of course!

. The other day I saw, among some school supplies, a key ring displaying the temperature, time and it even had an alarm. I guessed the alarm was to wake you up when math class was over. The first-graders weren’t neglected. They can find personalized pencils in sets of four with a choice of over 200 names.

Kind of makes you yearn for the days when getting ready for school involved a simple trip to the corner grocery for a Big Chief tablet and a #2 pencil, doesn’t it? And remember the lunch pails? I had a pretty orange one with my name scratched out in block letters across the lid.

Ken used to say that all he ever needed was a paper sack for carrying his fried egg sandwich.

“Grandpa’s Points of Interest”

By

Gerry Niskern

When my dad moved our family to Arizona it was quite a change from hiking the green hills of West Virginia to the exploring Sonoran desert of Arizona and the wonders of the northern part of the state.

When my dad became a grandfather he was in his glory. He had four grandsons, each a year apart and two granddaughters, youngest and oldest. He loved to take them on excursions throughout the state to see the “points of interest”, as dad was fond of calling them. Our children were transported by Grandpa and Grandma to every part of Arizona.

They traversed bumpy, dirt roads to see Strawberry, Wickenburg, and numerous ghost towns. They saw Bumblebee, Kearney and Pumpkin Patch. They went to see the wildflowers on the desert every spring along the Bee Line Highway.

They visited Sunflower and dug and built dams in Sycamore Creek. They went to McNary to experience their first train ride. The Alligator Farms in Apache Junction was a favorite haunt; as were the Manzanita car races on Saturday night.

My sister and I always did say our kids had it easy. We, on the other hand, remembered trips as kids to see “points of interest” that involved getting up and on the road before dawn. “We’ll get a jump on the traffic and then stop for breakfast later; let me know when you see a place.” After two hours on us yelling, “Dad, there’s a restaurant”, mom would put her foot down and say, “I need my coffee!” My sister opted out of the scenic tours when she reached her teens and I was soon so follow.

Of course, dad’s scenic tours as a grandfather weren’t without mishaps. I remember once my little daughter came home with a stained dress from a hike on the desert because she picked up a desert tortoise and it peed bright orange all over her. Or the time they ended up in the ER because her little brother decided to challenge a jumping cactus. The cactus won and he ended up with an arm full of cactus spines that grandpa tried at first to remove with his trusty pliers.

I believe the last excursion that all six grandkids were on was to the Grand Canyon. Most were in their teens. They loved getting to practice driving on the way up. Hiking Bright Angel trail and the horse back riding was fun. But when grandpa would say “Everyone get ready. We’re going out to see a point of interest along the canyon’s rim,” a collective groan went up.

When our first grandson was five we took him camping. We started out the Beeline Highway and when my resident historian asked him to pay attention and listen to probably his third lecture on a “point of interest”, he said, “Grandma, would you turn the radio up louder?”