I Knew a Dad
By
Gerry Niskern
I knew a dad who hurried home from work in the summer to take his two little daughters on a hike in the woods before dinner. He would quickly make some jelly sandwiches, grab the ice water bottle from the frig and call “Who’s hiking with me?” and of course, they were always ready. They hiked across the pasture and into the woods to see what the day had in store. Dad examined unusual plants and knew their names. He pointed out animal tracks and how to identify them. He helped the girls across the creek and explained the reasons for the colors in the various rocks. As they climbed up the sloping pasture to head to the house, the hikers plopped down among the wild flowers and ate delicious jelly sandwiches and drank the cool water.
In the winter he took the girls flying down that snow packed meadow on a sled, clinging tightly to his back. On Sunday That dad shoveled a path through deep snow from the house to the garage so the family could go to church. And in church the young father stood on crutches and conducted the service when the traveling pastor wasn’t there. The young dad had an injury that never healed properly. He stood on those crutches and worked at his job as an industrial engineer day after day. When the doctor said he had to go West to a dry climate for surgery or the leg would never heal, he loaded the family into a l941 Chevy and headed to Arizona. He had to be worried and concerned about caring for a family and keeping them safe in a strange part of the country, but he didn’t let them know it. During the long drive West he stopped an picked up young soldiers and sailors on their way home on leave. He loved hearing their stories and all about where their home was. On that long journey, he listened as baritones harmonized with his young daughters while in the back seat while singing all the songs on the Hit Parade.
He stood on those crutches and worked at the Goodyear Aircraft Company during the war. When the war was over and penicillin was released for the private doctor’s use, he was finally cured of the infection that had plagued him since age fourteen. With two healthy legs he explored the desert and the mountains of Arizona and when grandkids came along years later he took them hiking too.
That’s the Dad that I knew.

The Boy Next Door
By
Gerry Niskern
The boy next door just graduated from high school. He’s excited about starting college at NAU this fall. His future is ahead of him. He’ll be able to someday work where he chooses, have a business, move any where he wants. That’s what growing up in a Democracy allows. Freedom.
If today was eighty years ago, he would be headed directly into one of our armed services, and then straight overseas to battle. The many stories about D-Day this week reminds us that a large percentage of the men that landed on the Normandy beaches were teenagers. Take a minute and think about that.
Our country, along with our Allies, invaded Normandy eighty years ago to fight an authoritarian government that was intent on conquering the world. Nazi Germany had taken over the continent of Europe destroying countries and people’s lives. 150,000 men landed on five beaches on the coast of Normandy knowing that it was estimated that 50% of them would probably not survive.
Many books are available describing D-Day. The details of the invasion and the politics of why we weren’t involved in fighting that German government years earlier are explained again and again.
I can only truthfully write about my own memories of those war years. I vividly recall around age five, before I started to school, sitting in the kitchen and watching my mother cry as she listened to the radio while she worked. When I would ask why she was crying, she always answered, “Oh honey, it’s what’s happening to those people in Europe.” At that time, we still had cousins in Austria.
Later, I watched her crying the few times she received a precious V-mail from one of her two younger brothers in the Navy. One was a gunner on a destroyer and the other an electrician on a tanker. In December of 1943 my cousin, an eighteen- year- old Marine, was stationed at Camp Pendelton and was due to ship out. He was part of a Bazooka team. My Dad borrowed gas ration coupons and drove us to San Diego to hug him goodbye. We all cried that day. During the months ahead thousands of lives were interrupted and many thousands more lives were over.
Today the young men in the Ukraine are fighting to hang on to their Democracy. Their future plans are on hold. We’re committed to helping them. We can’t remain in isolation when other Democracies are threatened.
When we go to the polls in November we’ll be choosing between a future autocratic government or our present Democratic society where your kid next door can plan his future freely.

“Hug, Anyone?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Is it just me, or has anyone else been wondering about all the hugging going on these days? It has definitely evolved into a form of greeting and goodbyes too. And don’t even get me started on all the politicians hugging everyone on the podium before a speech.
One evening a couple of years ago, I was sounding off, as I’m prone to do occasionally, about all the social hugging; and I’m afraid I hurt a good friend’s feelings. He was a dedicated hugger. When I got my foot out of my mouth I tried to explain that I didn’t mean among family and old friends. You see, our friendship dates way back to grade school here in Phoenix. The sandy haired kid that I remember was the class cut-up. I’m indebted to him for providing many a laugh on long boring afternoons at Adams School.
I learned a little about the modern hug after consulting Miss Manners. She tells us that the hug has become a new form of social inter-action. However, she does not approve of acquaintances trying to skip the preliminaries of becoming close friends before starting the hugging. So, when did all this hugging start?
I grew up in an era when men shook hands and women hugged a little, sometimes. Parents hugged their children and maybe an aunt or uncle slipped in a hug or two, but not often. I confess I was born with that anti-hugging gene. My mother loved to tell how I, as the first baby around in years, would deftly dodge the out stretched arms of loving relatives as I made my independent way around the house.
When I worked at the Valley National Bank the vice-president demanded a hug and kiss from each girl as he passed around our checks. Suffice to say that he learned quickly to just give me my check on payday; no preliminaries.
I do realize that hugging is considered very important and one of the most pressing needs of elders for social interaction. My strong objection to the “social” hug is that it devalues the age-old meaning of the hug. The little social half-hearted hugs that I see as people part seem contrived and uncomfortable.
I ‘ve learned a lot about hugging and thinking before I speak!
I don’t know if my old friend from childhood ever forgave me for voicing my displeasure of too much insincere hugging, but I know one thing. If he were here today, I would sure give him a great big hug!!

vRemember when we were all uncool?

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you remember when if someone in the family bought a new car, they took it around to show all the relatives? It didn’t have to be new either!
And remember when a young couple bought a house they moved in and enjoyed it. It didn’t have to be renovated with new bathrooms and top of the line kitchen. Friends dropped in anytime. and it was actually considered the polite thing to do to show them the whole house.
Do you remember when you went on vacation and absolutely had to send everyone back home postcards! You started writing them as soon as you got there. And the games you played in the evening were true board games that the whole family enjoyed together, no batteries required.
Remember when Dad came home with a couple of new jokes every night. How long has it been since you have heard anyone sitting around telling jokes; back before everyone got their solitary dose of daily humor on their favorite social media site?
“Hand me downs” were actually looked forward to. If you saw an older cousin sporting a new dress/shirt, you knew you were going to have it next year. I remember playing a game with my two year old as I dressed him every day. He would ask me, “who give me this?” and I would tell him the name of the cousin. He loved it and was always surprised and delighted when I would answer, “No one. This is yours.”
Remember when you were little and you were excited to be going to see your Grandma. Not because of a present you might be receiving or someplace your grandma might be taking you, but because, well, just because it was your grandma!
And do you remember when your best girl was happy to get a box of chocolates from the corner drugstore?
Just wondering if you remember when none of us were “cool”?

My Mother Gave to Me
By
Gerry Niskern
There is a photo in the bottom of my jewelry box. It’s there for safekeeping because it’s the only one ever taken of my mother when she was a child. It was snapped when she was around ten years old. She has on a black dress, a little too large and a big ribbon on the back of her head. When you come from a family of thirteen and you are the youngest girl, no one is likely to be taking your photograph.
She grew up working helping her crippled mother and continued to work hard all of her life. When she started highschool, she made the basketball team and loved it. However, Her mother kept her home to help too many times( this was often the lot of youngest daughters) and she was dropped from the basketball team. That’s when she became so discouraged that she dropped out of school and started working in a factory.
When she became a mother herself, she gave my sister and me all the things she never had: pretty dresses, Christmas toys, hair ribbons, birthday parties and plenty of time to play. But she also gave us plenty of guidance in self-deciplilne and good morals.
When I was expecting my first child, she gave me the respect of acknowledging that I was prepared and I would be fine! That, I’m sure, gave me confidence. She didn’t move in to help. She also didn’t offer advice unless I asked for some. She did give me some help when I asked what to do when the first baby sported a new tooth and decided to bite while nursing. (trade secret)
Mom delighted in the grandkids as they came along. Between my sister and I there was a grandchild every year for four years when my mom finally said, “Hey, lets all take a break! “ Two more arrived after that. She enjoyed every minute of the grandchildren and the only unsolicited advice she gave me was that they should have liver once a week, for the iron. (something for which they have never quite forgiven her).
This woman, who gave so much of herself, ran a family business along with my dad. She did her own laundry, cleaned her own house, washed both vehicles every Saturday and also baked two pies. She picked the kids upon weekends and planned all kinds of fun. She took them hiking and made sure they learned the words to the Marine’s Hymn and the Army song, which she lead them in singing as they hiked. Strawberry picking every year, when the fields in Glendale were opened to the public, was a must to do lesson in work and fun combined. The kids loved picking the berries and of course, when they got home, she made some shortcake to enjoy with the freshly washed berries and a little cold milk poured over the top.
When the grandkids grew older she gave them the opportunity to work in their business on weekends and during summer vacation. She expected them to work, but they had fun at house in the evenings too.
Of all the gifts my mother gave me, the one of understanding what it meant to be a mother was the best. My kids came along in the fifties before all the early childhood vaccinations were discovered. As my oldest child attended Kindergarten she brought home to her two younger brothers, Chicken Pox, Measles, and Mumps. This was also the same winter that the Asian flu was rampant in the country. When the worst was over but they were still puffy with the mumps and red with the measles, she arrived on our doorstep with her overnight case and said, ”You two pack your bag and get out of here for the weekend. . I’ll stay with the kids, they’ll be fine.”
I hit the door running and never looked back!

My Mother Gave to Me
By
Gerry Niskern
There is a photo in the bottom of my jewelry box. It’s there for safekeeping because it’s the only one ever taken of my mother when she was a child. It was snapped when she was around ten years old. She has on a black dress, a little too large and a big ribbon on the back of her head. When you come from a family of thirteen and you are the youngest girl, no one is likely to be taking your photograph.
She grew up working helping her crippled mother and continued to work hard all of her life. When she started highschool, she made the basketball team and loved it. However, Her mother kept her home to help too many times( this was often the lot of youngest daughters) and she was dropped from the basketball team. That’s when she became so discouraged that she dropped out of school and started working in a factory.
When she became a mother herself, she gave my sister and me all the things she never had: pretty dresses, Christmas toys, hair ribbons, birthday parties and plenty of time to play. But she also gave us plenty of guidance in self-deciplilne and good morals.
When I was expecting my first child, she gave me the respect of acknowledging that I was prepared and I would be fine! That, I’m sure, gave me confidence. She didn’t move in to help. She also didn’t offer advice unless I asked for some. She did give me some help when I asked what to do when the first baby sported a new tooth and decided to bite while nursing. (trade secret)
Mom delighted in the grandkids as they came along. Between my sister and I there was a grandchild every year for four years when my mom finally said, “Hey, lets all take a break! “ Two more arrived after that. She enjoyed every minute of the grandchildren and the only unsolicited advice she gave me was that they should have liver once a week, for the iron. (something for which they have never quite forgiven her).
This woman, who gave so much of herself, ran a family business along with my dad. She did her own laundry, cleaned her own house, washed both vehicles every Saturday and also baked two pies. She picked the kids upon weekends and planned all kinds of fun. She took them hiking and made sure they learned the words to the Marine’s Hymn and the Army song, which she lead them in singing as they hiked. Strawberry picking every year, when the fields in Glendale were opened to the public, was a must to do lesson in work and fun combined. The kids loved picking the berries and of course, when they got home, she made some shortcake to enjoy with the freshly washed berries and a little cold milk poured over the top.
When the grandkids grew older she gave them the opportunity to work in their business on weekends and during summer vacation. She expected them to work, but they had fun at house in the evenings too.
Of all the gifts my mother gave me, the one of understanding what it meant to be a mother was the best. My kids came along in the fifties before all the early childhood vaccinations were discovered. As my oldest child attended Kindergarten she brought home to her two younger brothers, Chicken Pox, Measles, and Mumps. This was also the same winter that the Asian flu was rampant in the country. When the worst was over but they were still puffy with the mumps and red with the measles, she arrived on our doorstep with her overnight case and said, ”You two pack your bag and get out of here for the weekend. . I’ll stay with the kids, they’ll be fine.”
I hit the door running and never looked back!

Every family is Unique

By

Gerry Niskern

Are you going to a family reunion this summer? Reunions mean only one thing: GROUP PHOTOS. We all treasure that old family photo of the entire clan together. We can identify aunts, uncles and cousins by their common family features, but mostly, we know them by the way they dressed.
I saw an ancient family photo at a friend’s house the other day. Some of the girls had huge bows on the back of their heads. That set the time and date and brought a lump to my throat. You see, the only picture I have of my mother as a little girl shows her wearing a dress two sizes too large (in the hand- me- down era and the youngest of six girls) and sporting a oversize bow in her hair (circa 1918).
Invariably we enjoy identifying individuals by their unique style as we turn the pages of old albums and that reminds us of a great story we’ve heard about that person.
Something changed on the way to the family reunions now days. Who decreed that everyone appear exactly alike now?
With many family reunions planned this summer, there will be one individual determined to produce a cookie- cutter group picture. No doubt she will have sent out newsletters six months in advance with the strict instructions. “Everyone, men, women and children are to wear a white shirt for the family photo. And, everyone must wear tan slacks. No Exceptions” If she is extra efficient, she will bring along a few shirts and pants for any slackers.
Think about it. What’s the worst that could happen if the “photo Nazi” just relaxed a bit and let each family member show up in what they always wear?
Is the point of reunion pictures to have a rigid, boring photo of an army of relatives faces in a sea of red, yellow or blue tee shirts or an interesting group photo celebrating the different personalities in the family?
It would be much more fun many years from now when future generations are looking at a family photo taken in 2024 if they will see teenage girls in ripped out jeans, a few chubby ones with their “love muffins” showing. The boys could be in their baggy shorts. The twenty or thirty- something gals (the lines are a little blurred these days) would be sporting tube- tops and obviously a lots of long hair covering half their face. The guys who work out would be showing off in muscle shirts.
They’ll remember that uncle who always had his Blue Tooth growing out of his ear; he might miss a money making deal!
There’s that aunt still wearing her bouffant hair and grandpa in his signature overalls. And there’s the cousin who joined the commune in her Hippie days, in her long braids, and granny dress.
Years from now, you will be glad everyone dressed as their personality dictated.
Viva la differences!

Another Kind of Mother’s Day
By
Gerry Niskern
“Mothers hold their child’s hand a short while, but hold the memory in their hearts forever.”
Unknown author
Over the years I have written many essays of Mother’s Day tributes to my mom. She was the best. But I think she, and most other mothers would agree with me that the role we have as a mother is the greatest reward in the world.
When I was a little girl and grownups asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was always, “a mother”. I’m fortunate enough to remember many, many details of each of my kid’s birth, infancy, toddler years and school years too.
I remember each tiny face. The softest skin on one, long eye lashes on another and the rosy cheeks and blond curl on top on the third. I loved recognizing which family member they each resembled at first and watching their personalities develope in the first few months and change over the years.
One slept thru the night from day one; The other two by six weeks. All three talked early, around a year. One walked at nine months and the other two walked at about ten months. Two played carefully with their toys and one liked to throw his! Later on, One liked to save her allowance, one would spend, but only if he was going to get “lots of money back” and one beat a hot path to the store every week to blow his allowance.
I remember who was a good eater and what each liked the best as babies. As they grew I loved cooking for them and I’m sorry to say that I insisted on one meal a week of the “hated liver and onions”. Back then mothers were told that that’s how to see that kids got their iron. (they’ve never forgiven me for that.) One of them always counted the rolls at dinner time and told everyone how many they could have. Unfortunately, they did that when we had company for dinner too!
It was such fun teaching each one the many games I had played as a kid. I loved helping them decide what to buy for their dad for Christmas. And all the Christmas mornings watching them open presents that Santa had brought.
Birthdays and Easter bring more memories. All of the egg coloring and egg hunts were precious times. Summer fun in the pool and school days too.
Then I turned around one day and….suddenly everyone was grownup and gone!
Those memories were mine and mine alone and writing about Mother’s Day this year, all I can say is “It was my pleasure!”

Scooters, scooters everywhere!
By
Gerry Niskern
I had a visitor the other day. She came by scooter. The scooter was pink, had three wheels and her helmet was covered with blue and silver sequence. I had seen her zipping down the street the day before, tiny lights flashing as she sped by in front of her parents. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She’s three! The last time I saw her she was in a stroller.
Scooters have come a long ways since the first one was devised for people’s transportation back in Germany in l817. Adults used the two-wheeled ride to get to work Then almost a century later, they were motorized with the creation of the Autoped in l916. They were great for anyone who wanted to save time, money and energy. Those could go up to 35mph.
Of course, kids made their own scooters from day one. During the Great Depression kids used wood from old boxes and wheels from roller skates. Manufacturers started making them for kids and they grew in populatity. They were trendy for years off and on. Then in the l980’s they were largely replaced by the kids with skateboards.
Back when I was around nine years old my family moved to a little town that had sidewalks, I enjoyed the little boy’s scooter from across the street. He was four and his daddy (like most dads do) had bought one way too big for him. I was invited to come use it anytime, and I did! Our street was on a steep hill and I would pump it a couple of blocks to the top and have a glorious ride back down.
Many kids today are riding large motorized scooters with big fat wheels. Not much physical benefit there. Regular manual scooters enhances their balance and coordination while enjoying the freedom of outdoors. After the age of two or so they can ride the three wheeled scooters easily
Lucky are the little girls who live in a neighborhood with hills where scooters are really fun.

Basket Full of Easter
By
Gerry Niskern
Easter is next week and everyone will be recording the events with their cell phones; memories saved for anytime they want them.
I have a basket full of memories of Easter as a kid, but most weren’t recorded in photos because cameras and film development was too expensive. My mother started a roll at Christmas, took a little at Easter and maybe finished it to be dropped at the drugstore after a birthday party. So, special memories you just learned to keep in your head and close to your heart.
When I was just past two my uncle had a Candy Store. He sold chances to win a large stuffed rabbit at Easter time. I don’t know if it was just a coincidence, but my mom won that rabbit for me. It was taller than I was. Mr. Rabbit stood upright with orange and green stripped trousers, a green tuxedo coat and very long ears. The rabbit got dirty very quickly in that little coal mining town with me playing with him all the time. One day I looked up and saw him hanging on the clothes line by his ears. Mom had washed him! I was heartbroken because I thought she was hurting him and she couldn’t convince me otherwise.
My dad had serious surgery that year and everyone who came to visit brought him one of those big decorated chocolate covered Easter eggs. Mom always said that every time they went to have one they found a tiny tooth mark where a bite had been taken out of each end of every one! I think I took “the fifth”. I don’t recall that memory.
Up until I was nine I had to wear brown hi top corrective shoes. I hated those shoes. One Easter memory that I fondly remember is when my dad said, “Hey, while we are waiting for everyone to get ready for church lets play a game of checkers. Get the board.” I reached up high on the mantle and resting on top of the board was a pair of brown and white low cut saddle shoes, for me! My very first pair of low cut shoes like everyone else was wearing and that made my Easter!
When my kids were growing up their grandma and grandpa colored dozens of eggs and left early to hide them out in the Carefree area among the boulders. When the kids and their cousins arrived there was a wild Easter Egg hunt. Everyone was fine every year until they noticed Grandma taking the youngest toddler that year and showing him where the eggs were. “ No fair,” they complained. “Grandma is showing him where the eggs are”. Of course she was. She was the Grandma!
So, do you have any memories in your Easter basket that are not recorded in photos and are yours and yours alone?