“A Bookish Christmas”

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s December shopping time again. So come on, all you avid readers out there. We know who you are. We’re the ones who give books for Christmas.  We’re part of a shrinking society and we have to stick together to stem the overwhelming tide of modern technology.

We’ve all heard the old saying, “Christmas is for children”. The kids tell Santa their Yuletide wishes and settle back knowing that at least some of the objects of their desires will appear on Christmas morning.

Here’s an idea.  Let someone else buy the electronic games for the children. We’ll keep reminding them that there’s nothing better than the physical presence of a book. The feel of slick new pages, the rich smell of the cover, and the limitless possibilities for their imagination to unfold.

I started out to do my Christmas shopping one morning last week. The next thing I knew, I was in a bookstore. It couldn’t hurt to browse a little, right?  Then I would go onto the other stores. Then, I saw a display of one of the latest biographies published. Perfect for my daughter. I’ll concede she looks like her dad’s side of the family, but I’m delighted that she shares my joy in reading. She sat on my lap around eight months of age and identified all the B words in her first little book. There’s nothing more gratifying than holding a toddler on your lap and introducing her to one of your favorite childhood books; reading the words and watching a chubby hand move over the pictures in wonder.

The family stills laughs about how that grandson used to sit up in his crib at night, when the electric heater came on and cast a glow across his room. You could hear the pages of his little books rustling as he read furiously until the heater cycled off again.

When it comes to books and kids, we had a “Babar” son. It seemed like he read nothing else for years. Hmm….I wonder if the littlest one in the family would like a Babar book. They’re back, you know.

Son-in-law can always use another fishing book and a volume of poems for the poet in the family. . The history buffs in the family will enjoy the updated and expanded edition of Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time and the teens anything by John Green, popular young adults author of The Fault is in the Stars.

Not too many centuries ago books were rare and valuable? Paper was unheard of in many parts of the world and countless people lived their whole lives without touching or even seeing a book.

When the family gathers this year, I’m sure it will be a typical electronic Christmas. There will be new video and computer games, all kinds of intriguing new gadgets and of course, lot’s of new cell phones. I know I’m fighting an uphill battle, but I’m giving books. Traditions are what we make and I’m continuing an old one.

Maybe Christmas could be a reminder that nothing thrills like unwrapping a brand new book. Running you hand over the rich binding, smelling the new pages and settling down to be transported to worlds only you will know is a delight.  The images you see, are not flashed on a screen, but are your very own.

“Bullies”

by

Gerry Niskern

Have you heard any stories lately about bullying at school?  You will.

When we read about a shooting in school somewhere in the country we usually learn the shooter had been unmercifully teased and harassed by classmates, in other words, bullied. It is a major problem in our schools today. The demand for security cameras to monitor belligerent students has grown drastically in recent years.

It starts early. Unfortunately, by the time the child enters kindergarten, any bullying traits in his makeup are already firmly established. Play habits build slowly step by step as actions by our children are reinforced positively or negatively.

Childhood professionals have always said, children love to play the ‘I’m the master game!’ It’s the cause of most arguments, and the kids look to you for guidance.

If one sibling or playmate seems to always be the one crying, find out why. Do you take the time to see if there is a pattern to the injuries? Constant supervision of playtime is not easy; it’s time consuming. Hey, no one has ever said being a parent was easy.

Today, it’s more important then ever to insist they develop a strong social conscience.

I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s up to all of us as parents, grandparents or caregivers to observe and correct one child’s infringes on another’s space. The influence of violent action packed video games, television shows and movies is very strong, therefore,  adults need to be vigilant in watching for resultant bullying behavior. That will probably never change, and yes, they will be exposed to electronic entertainment.

Strong intervention early in a child’s play can go a long ways to developing good social habits. When boys and girls play together, many times boys are more aggressive. Many parents view this behavior as natural and therefore, okay. (After all, that’s what boys do). The problem is girls tend to then accept the fact that males are indeed dominant.  There also seems to be a growing problem of bullying among girls themselves.

Wouldn’t it be great if everyone who influences the development of our children was dedicated to instilling the code that the bigger and stronger among us must be wiser and kinder?

Some argue that kids need to learn to stand up for themselves.   But there’s a fine line between a child learning to stand up for himself and bullying. You’re right, there is indeed a line, a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

“What are you thankful for?

Thanksgiving is coming and I, like many residents around the valley, am remembering past Thanksgivings.

Tension best describes my first memories of Thanksgiving.  My mother had just cooked her first Turkey dinner. We were standing with our faces pressed against the cold glass of the dining room window straining to see through the snowy veil of a West Virginia blizzard.  Dad had invited his out-of-state boss to share our meal and the   brought his rifle to “get in a little hunting”. As mom wrung her apron over and over into a tiny knot, she kept muttering, ”If he’s gotten himself lost in that snow storm, I’m going to kill him!”

One son recalled the great Thanksgivings when our extended family always packed their turkey and all the trimmings and headed for a desert picnic outside Phoenix. The kids rode go-carts, flew kites and launched rockets. Grandpa set up tables and the tailgates of pickups served as buffet sideboards.  He remembers waiting over an hour one year for cousins to arrive with the silverware. Grandma said she would give them another assignment the next year!

A friend told me about the Oklahoma farm Thanksgivings of her childhood.  Sometimes turkey, but often a whole, crackling pig was roasted. They had cornbread dressing, cranberries and sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Cherry, pumpkin and apple pie with a scoop of cream whipped fresh that day with a hand turned beater. There was always a dark chocolate and a huge angel food cake.  “One aunt was the angel food champion. My aunts whispered suspicions that she used more egg whites instead of the standard 12 in her cake.”

The men ate first because there wasn’t enough room for everybody to sit down together. When they were finished and went outside to smoke and “chew the fat”, the women and children ate.   “The best part of the day was playing with my cousins. Hide and Seek in the barn was my favorite, but then the older kids would organize a Crack the Whip game and since I was the littlest they made me be on the tail end. That took the fun right out of Thanksgiving!”

Another friend described Thanksgiving dinner at an aunt’s Maryland farm. The table was set with scalloped edged china covered in large blue flowers and gleaming silverware with a rose pattern.  The prisms hanging from the crystal candelabra cast soft rainbows on the diners. Of course, that was the adult table. She remembers yearning to graduate to the big table and listen to the uncles’ stories and take part in the adult conversation. On one of those Thanksgivings, the turkey had to be carved in the kitchen instead of at the table.  Most of the guests didn’t know that a couple of the family dogs had already helped themselves to one whole side of breast!

My resident historian said that his first memory of Thanksgiving was during WWII. A fourth grade classmate invited him to share a lonely dinner with him and his mom. The dad was on a destroyer somewhere in the Atlantic.

During the war years, my Mother instructed Dad to “go down to the USO and bring home some soldiers to share Thanksgiving dinner with us and the girls.” Much to our disappoinment,  he usually managed to return with older married guys. Mom always said Dad didn’t “fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”

I asked a seven-year-old what he was thankful for at Thanksgiving time.

“That Christmas is coming”

Well, there’s that too.

Thanksgiving

Gerry Niskern

Looking back over all the years of cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family, I would have to say the hardest part was not mastering the fine art of making smooth gravy, fluffy potatoes or fragrant yeast rolls; the most difficult chore was finding my measuring spoons.

You see, the cluster of shiny metal spoons on a ring is always wherever the last visiting baby in the family dropped them…hopefully in the toy box. Never mind the exact measurements of cinnamon and cloves for the pumpkin pie, the clickity-clack of the spoons makes the neatest noise.

Of course, some cooks consider the turkey gravy the most tedious task of Thanksgiving dinner. And it would be, without my trusty gravy maker; that wonderful coiled metal utensil that springs back to the baby’s delight when pushed down. Then again, it’s great for chomping down on the cold metal with swollen teething gums.

As time went by, the pot lids made great cymbals for the toddler kitchen band accompanying the drumbeat of the wooden spoon on the bottom of the turkey roaster.

When families in the United States gather this year as they do in many other countries for annual harvest festivals, some members will be missing due to war, divorce, quarrels, never to return; but we need to carry on family customs as usual. When we reinforce family traditions we strengthen our community and our nation.

Our nation isn’t like it was years ago, or even six months ago. Years from now, when our kids and grandkids look back on this Thanksgiving, they probably will remember hearing the grownups asking “Will life in America ever be the same?”

But if we do our job right those memories will be crowded out by the smell of the bird, the taste of sweet potatoes and the teasing about whether the guys or gals team will  win the favorite family game.

And too, it’s always more fun when there is a baby in the family who is old enough for its first taste of potatoes and gravy and maybe a bite of pumpkin pie.

By now, the turkey is ordered, the grocery shopping is done and the seating is arranged. Only the pies are left to be baked.

Now, where are those measuring spoons?

Yard Sales

Falls here! It’s the season. Do those of us living here in the valley get to see changing leaves? No. As we drive through the neighborhoods we’re treated to dresses and shirts flapping in the breeze, marked 50 cents to couple of dollars.  You’re not going to believe this, but I even discovered, in front of a half a million-dollar house, used socks and underwear for sale. Racks with used items are set up on the driveway.  Their children are there too; selling tables full of toys.

I will admit, I was taken by surprise the first time I saw the kiddie business people. Then I read an article in the Financial Education section. The piece was entitled “Yard sales a way to teach children many lessons.”  The writer then proceeded to explain how the kids could display their used toys attractively. There were pricing suggestions and a lesson in how to deal with a customer who wants a discount.  The reader was assured his children would soon be on their way to becoming successful entrepreneurs.

What’s happened to our society?  We all know the majority of children in this country are showered with toys on Christmas and birthdays. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t one of the most important virtues we were taught to cultivate within ourselves as children called charity. You remember charity; defined in Webster’s as: “the voluntary giving to those in need.”

Much is being espoused these days about teaching moral values and volumes have been written on virtues. Still, the best way to teach is by example.

My mother had a rule in our home when I was growing up. “You never sell a gift.”  When you no longer use it and wish to dispose of it, you look around and give it to someone less fortunate.

Perhaps her policy of giving to those in need came from having been there. . When she was a child there were no toys at Christmas or new dresses at Easter time.  She was determined that her daughter’s would enjoy a more carefree childhood. However, she also saw to it that we were taught to remember people in need.

In later years, my parents ran a small manufacturing business here in the valley. Their employees were unskilled labor, most of them women who were having a rough time financially. My sister and I frequently received a call from Mom telling us to clean out our closets. “Bring down anything you are not using. I have a new girl who needs some help.”

There has been a movement in the last decade to fault the poor for not “pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps.” The truth is, there are many people having a hard time making ends meet these days. They are unskilled or unlucky. Minimum wage hardly buys necessities, let alone extras.

Have you ever been to a Salvation Army, Goodwill or other discard store? Even better, have you taken your child with you?  Have you seen a family shopping for clothes and household items, even nursery necessities?  The children head straight for the toy shelves. They hug the used and worn toys to their chest, their eyes searching for Mom or Dad.           It goes without saying that an occasional estate or moving sale is necessary, but come on; giving isn’t just for Christmastime. People in need are all around us every day. There are certain periods of life that are more suited to nurturing charitable traits…childhood is one of them. In these days of affluence, let’s teach our children the way of the heart, not the purse.

“Open their eyes to Magic”

By

Gerry Niskern

When my adult grandson suggested  “You should write about taking children to plays. People nowadays don’t take little kids to the theatre enough,” I listened.

He is right, of course. Our valley has some wonderful theatre for children. Skip the big, lavish productions.  The best children’s theatre takes place in small venues.

All the generations that have accompanied me to the theatre shared one trait, when that play started, they were mesmerized.

Years ago, my granddaughter and her four five-year-old friends piled into the back seat of my convertible every month for a trip to the Children’s Theatre. They coveted front row seats because the actors ventured into the audience!

They loved approaching the players afterwards for autographs. The Prince or the Frog actually talked to them!

On the way home was MAC DONALDS. When granddaughter was allowed to purchase four hot fudge sundaes she proudly carried the tilting tray back to the table as they slid off, one by one.  She did the only sensible thing, she cried.

When that adult  grandson was four and ready for the play going; as everyone was clapping at the appropriate times during the performance, he proceeded to pump his fist and shout “Whoo, Whoo, Whoo!”

When it was his “rough and tumble” younger brother’s turn to attend, I was hesitant.  He was very quiet during “Beauty and the Beast”. But, when I asked how he liked it, he replied, with big eyes, “I loved it!”. Even the tough guys can be melted.

Soon little sister joined us. When the players are taking parts without costumes or miming, the improv doesn’t throw the kids…they understand the concepts completely, no questions.

It’s great to hear that they acted out the plays at home. I’m sure when they did “Rampunnsel” as the Prince, he wasn’t allowed to climb her hair!

We recently went to the Valley Youth Theatre. There was a small orchestra pit and the kids sitting in front were allowed to peer down at the musicians. I had to come see the “really big guitar’ as they pointed out the bass fiddle.

After the performance and autographs were signed, I finally heard what I had been waiting for all these years, “ When can I be up on that stage?”

“Do You Vote Like your Daddy?”

By

Gerry Niskern

I remember when I entered politics. I was three and FDR was running for his second term. I gave my first stump speech while standing on one of my Grandma’s kitchen chairs. My mother’s younger brothers, all strong UMWA members had coached me well. When my dad, a staunch Republican, came to pick me up after a day at Grandmas I greeted him with a rousing, “Vote for Roosevelt!”.  It was all in good fun, but my dad was a guy that believed his politics were his private affair. My mother, of course, was a registered Republican too.

Back then, most women were expected to register with the political party of their fathers or husbands, with no discussions about the issues. Of course, there were exceptions. Some were influenced by studies in college. Later on their employment affected their choices and sometimes marriage did too.

Mom used to laugh when she told about the first time she voted in Arizona. Back in 1942 when my family moved here, it was a blue state. Yes. You read that right, blue. The Democrats had dominated from the inception of Arizona’s government. The state had nine Democratic and three Republicans governors from l912 to l950.

Our neighborhood polling place was at the state capitol. The tables were set up in the rotunda. After my mother gave her name to the election official, the fellow waved her ballot high and yelled down the line of tables   “Hey guys, here’s a Republican.” That drew a raucous chorus of hoots and hollers.

Red faced, she took the ballot and quickly retreated to the niche to vote. What the room full of Democratic workers didn’t know was that she probably voted right along their party line. You see, she might have been married to a Republican, but that coal miner’s daughter from a strong union family was a Democrat at heart.

Today women have access to 24 hour news programs, the internet; all the sources to help them keep informed on both sides of the issues. They are free to make wise decisions that will impact their own future and the future of their daughters.

Women have taken charge of their lives. How about you?

Do you vote like your Daddy?

“Halloween”

We all know the Grinch stole Christmas, but I’d like to know who made off with Halloween. I’m talking about the Halloween that used to be just for kids. The age-old holiday when your kids dressed up like witches or monsters and visited the neighbor’s houses chanting, “Trick or treat, trick or treat, give us something good to eat.”

Before then, when I was a kid, Halloween parties were planned weeks in advance. That gave everyone time to create the best disguise so you could have the thrill of being the last one guessed at the party.

One year, when I was about eight years old, my sister and I begged to have a Halloween party for our friends from the neighboring farms. We worked hard sprucing up the basement. We dragged dry corn stalks in from the fields and placed them in the corners. Grinning jack-o-lanterns and black cats made from construction paper weeks in advance greeted our guests.

In my quest to be the last one identified, I’d insisted my mother pin me securely into my ghost sheet costume, so no one could peek.  I watched in dismay, arms locked in folds of white, as the bowls of candy corn, platters of doughnuts and the sweet cider disappeared before my eyes!

Years later, I couldn’t wait to take my first child trick or treating. My two-year old had a pair of blue silk Chinese pajamas and I made her a little coolie hat. We practiced “trick or treat” until she could say it perfectly. At the first home and at every door after that, she held out her paper bag and gave the poor occupants the dirtiest look she could muster, while refusing to utter a word. She came home with quite a little sack full of loot anyway.

That same year, her daddy came home with large size candy bars. “I can finally afford to give out the kind of loot I would have liked as a kid,” he declared.

There was just one problem. While I was out with our mute China Doll, he stayed home with baby brother. We both forgot to take down the “Shoo-baby sleeping” sign from the front door. Nary a goblin knocked on our front door

“MY MOM’S HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE”

First, do you know what you call a goblin that gets to close to the bonfire?

It was Halloween and the Ladies Aid Society was having a masquerade party in the basement of our little country church. Of course no one could afford to go out and buy costumes back then. You just scrounged around the closets for something that would work

Hard to believe that now around 1.5 billion will be spent on adult costumes this year; actually more than is spent on kid’s Halloween costumes, around 1.3 billion.

Anyway, Mom put together a gypsy outfit with a red skirt, some beads and baubles and a bandana around her head. I thought she looked pretty sharp and would surely win the contest of being the last one guessed. But wait, she had no mask. “That’s okay” she said, “I’ll just wear this old mask” she declared, picking up a beat up false-face from the bottom of a trunk.

“No, mom” I declared. “You can’t wear that. It has a mustache! You need a ladies mask.” After all, this little hobo was going with her and in my six-year-old logic that just wouldn’t do at all. I wanted us to win. The rumor that had circulated around the Sunday school classes the week before was that the first prize was going to be a bag of candy corn! Of course, for a little farm girl that sounded like heaven to me.

But my mother wasn’t about to spend money on a new mask and off we went to the party. Needless to say, I was embarrassed and humiliated. I was afraid they would laugh at my mom.

Then as the evening wore on different people were recognized in their disguises and their names were called out, but no one had recognized her. Everyone was puzzled. As they milled around her I heard one party goer say, “ Is that a man dressed like a woman? Can’t be a female. None of the ladies would wear a mustache.”

But then everyone’s identity had been guessed but us and guess what? We won!

I remember riding home in the back seat, clutching that bag of candy corn and thinking, maybe my mom was pretty smart after all!

By the way, a goblin that gets too close to the bonfire is a toasty-ghosty.