TRY BEING A MAXIM MOM

 

 

 

“Try being a Maxim Mom”

 

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

There\ is a lot of lamenting out there about how hard it is to be a parent.

 

 

Do you parents out there want to know how to raise good kids? Try being a Maxim Mom or Dad. When your kids argue over control of the remote, tell them to “Just be big about it!” If Junior balks at attending his sister’s dance recital, remind him that the family always supports each other because “blood is thicker than water.

My mother had a maxim for every occasion. I always thought she made them up as she went along, but then I found out they had been around for decades and will still be here for each generation of mothers to use.

When I was a kid my mother sent me to the grocery store for bread with a dime and no penny for tax. She said, you just tell them “It’s a sin to tax the daily bread”.

When I was a teenager and my boyfriend and I reached the front porch after a date, the door lights blazed on. I was sure she thought smugly, “I nipped that in the bud!”

On the day she learned that I had ditched classes at Phoenix Union, she declared,

That she was “Mad as a wet hen” and if I thought I had gotten away with it, I had “another thought coming.” She went on, you have “cooked your own goose” and your dad is going to “land on you like a ton of bricks!”

Years later, she started every Monday morning with samples of a new recipe that “melted in your mouth”, for the young women that worked in my parents small manufacturing business. She helped them at their work tables while dispensing liberal doses of her views on good morals. She advised them to break it off with abusive boyfriends because “a leopard can’t change his spots,” especially if he is “four sheets to the wind.”

            If a new employee was having a hard time, I would get a call to bring some clothes from my own kids because a young mother was having a rough time and was “between the devil and the deep blue sea!” Along with the clothes, she gave them a cash advance on their first paycheck when my dad wasn’t looking.

Later, when I told my petulant daughter, who wanted permission to start dating,  to “stop those crocodile tears,” young lady, “You are skating on thin ice”, I knew I had finally turned into my mother!

THERE ARE NO STRANGERS

! HERE’S  AN “OLDIE BUT GOODIE” FROM ONE OF MY ARIZONA REPUBLIC COLUMNS.

 

 

 

 

“There are no Strangers”

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

 

The toddler reached a frightening height in the tunnel. Slowly he inched his chubby knees upward, higher and higher. His parents gasped as he turned a corner and suddenly slid down, collapsing in a heap of giggles on the cork floor. I had just witnessed one of the many activities small children engage in every day at the numerous meetings of the mini United Nations across our valley.  Mac Donald’s has only one requirement for a junior emissary to take part: You must take off your shoes!

The munchkin with me raced ahead to join the kids in the play area. I slid into a bench and placed our burgers on the table. Glancing around, I smiled at two or three groups of adults and received fleeting nods in return. My glance fell on the rack where the kids stashed their shoes.

Little hiking boots, black patent tap shoes, moccasins, Birkenstocks, Hi-lites, ballet slippers, and cowboy boots spilled out of the cubbyholes in the Sneaker Keeper. It would be interesting to know if their choice of footwear now was an indication of their future life.

Looking up, I waved at my little charge as she rounded a corner in the maize of tunnels above our heads. Measured in a child’s eyes, those tunnels must seem a thousand feet high and ten miles long. The bright colored tubes and rectangular forms connect to form a wonderland of play. The delegates at these multi-cultural gatherings have a ball crawling through the tunnels, negotiating with their fellow climber’s crowded curves and angles. Close behind her a Middle Eastern boy, in long baggy shorts (he owned the Hi-Lites) willingly took a detour to let a timid little Asian boy scoot past.

 

The sky- diver I saw earlier ran over to greet a little blond ballerina in a purple leotard, and grab a quick hug. She quickly stashed her ballet slippers in the shoe rack and headed for the pool of bright colored balls. Soon she was teaching a couple of Latino girls how to do a back flip into the ocean of balls. Meanwhile, a fussy future homemaker was busy gathering the stray balls that bounced out and tossing them back into the kaleidoscope of color.

High above, a doctor to be, neatly combed hair and immaculate clothes, turned a corner and comes face to face with black eyes, bronze skin and high cheek bones. The Native American doesn’t move an inch. Doc moves to the right, the future tribal leader blocks the way. Suddenly, a female, with red curls and blue eyes scoots around the corner and can’t get through. Tears start and the chief and surgeon hastily draw aside to let Miss American slide by.

Meanwhile, down on the floor, a blonde toddler hurries over and gently rocks the cradle carrier containing a fussy African American infant. The baby’s big sister is helping another child tie his shoes.

It doesn’t seem to matter whether their new playmates wear clothes that are new or ragged, clean or dirty. The color of their skin is not important. I couldn’t help thinking that sooner or later, most of these kids will experience discrimination, rejection, bigotry, fear, and maybe even violence. Would this brief interlude of play frozen in childhood ever be theirs again?

If someone arrived on earth from another planet, we would have a difficult time explaining why the little people mingle, but the big ones do not. Wouldn’t it be interesting if the adults had to introduce themselves before they could pick up their lunch and escort their kids to the play yard?

Better yet, at the next summit meeting of our world leaders, I suggest the entrance to the conference be located at a giant tunnel maze.  The presidents, prime ministers and kings could brush up on their negotiating skills before tackling the problems of the world.

I think our neighborhood kids would give them just one word of advice: Don’t forget to wear clean socks!

THE STIR STICK: REVISITED

Off sick today, but here is a favorite blog post of mine. I hope you enjoy it again.

 

 

“The Stir Stick”

 

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

 

There used to be a running joke in our family about who will inherit the “stir stick”. Which offspring will be deemed worthy of the old pine stick that my grandmother, my dad’s mother,  used to stir her clothes in the big tubs hold the laundry rinse water?   That piece of pine was bleached white and worn smooth as satin as she stirred the clothes round and round the old tubs till they were rinsed clean. She raised six children all alone by taking in boarders and laundry, with the help of that one small stir stick.

My own mother inherited the stick from her mother-in-law and used it many years. However, somewhere along the way the stick was retired, pushed to the back of a cupboard.  That probably happened when she purchased her first automatic washer.

She didn’t get a dryer though. Mom insisted on having the fresh breath of wind and sun on her towels and sheets. Actually, she didn’t take quickly to any new gadgets for the home. I wonder what she would have thought about the new cooking parties that the young homemakers are giving?

I can imagine Mom’s running commentary on the latest cooking tools.

As the hostess carefully demonstrates how the new colanders can be used to drain not only pasta, but also canned peaches; I can just hear Mom saying, “What’s wrong with using the can lid like always?”

The innovative measuring cups have a cup on either end, so if one’s messy, you can use the other end. Mom’s comment would be “Ever hear of measuring the dry first, then the wet?”

The new baking stones are touted to bake every cookie perfectly even. “But what if you have one kid like his cookies real soft, while another wants his dark and crisp. And then there’s dad who likes the date bars cut from the edge of the pan because they’re crunchier?”

The exhibition of the special onion chopper and handy tomato slicer would have brought the retort,  “use a knife.” When the hostess explains that the new garlic press can be used in a real emergency to crush bullion cubs.  Mom would say, “Make your own chicken broth, it’s better for you.”

Don’t even mention the improved spatulas that sell for thirteen dollars!  “Nonsense. Cake batter tastes just as good licked off a ninety-eight cent spoon.”

Something tells me those women, like Mom, of years ago who melted down their soap pieces on Sunday evening to get ready for Monday’s wash and saved their potato water to make gravy, wouldn’t be good ones to invite to today’s cooking parties.

But actually, if you look closely, some of  the old customs are new again.  Nostalgia is back in a big way. Young couples are snapping up the old Victorian homes. They’re hanging lace curtains and searching for handmade quilts.  Spinning wheels and butter churns are sought after items to place in the entry hall and Grandpa’s wicker rocking chair is sought for the front porch.

The latest trend is to knit your own afghans; some women’s magazines are now carrying complete instructions.  The sewing pattern industry is reporting a big comeback as stay- at- home Mom’s are buying sewing machines.

Cooking is back.  On kitchen stoves the size of small Volkswagens, today’s homemakers are simmering Thai stews and soups with Eastern-European flavors as they celebrate their ethnic backgrounds.

Everyone is embracing the “rootedness” of the home. They’re very keen on traditions. Parents desire a way of life they can pass on to their children.

The other day I saw some antique, hand decorated wash tubs hanging on a back patio. Since I’ve been hanging on to that old piece of bleached pine, I’ve been wondering, is it possible that we might see the return of the “stir stick?”

Nah.

TO MOVE OR NOT TO MOVE

 

 

 

 

 

 

“To Move or Not to Move”

 

 

by

 

 

Gerry Niskern

 

 

 

 

It startles, even when you are expecting to see it. Graffiti. Large, bright symbols blaring across a pristine white fence.

A fence that for years embraced a yard full of kids; jumping into the pool, playing hide and seek, dribbling a basketball.

“Look at it,” our friend, the owner of the fence, demanded. “We’d like to paint over it, but our kids say, wait a while, otherwise they’ll just be back to mark their territory again.”

Of course, he should paint over it immediately, that’s a given. But that’s just the beginning. There are more repercussions, what I call the rippling effect.   Our harried friend said, “Our kids want us to move.  They’re worried something worse might happen.”

I’ve heard this statement many times over the past few years. Friends who bought their homes as newlyweds.  They expected to raise  their families in those modest, middle class homes and then live out their lives there.

They kept their yards neat and trimmed. Painting and repairs were done when necessary. They looked out for each others’ kids. Now they look out for each other, check if something seems amiss. The mail is brought in and trash cans put out when someone goes on vacation.

Then one day they see wrought iron bars being installed on windows down the street. Someone mentions a house has been robbed. Then another…more bars, security system signs go up and then….for sale signs.

That’s the easiest answer. Get out of there.

Their adult children, out of concern for their safety, of course, start telling them to move. “Go to one of those safe gated communities”  After a while, they  get tired of arguing and give in.

Others stay put.  The defiant. The brave.

“Courage has nothing to do with it,” one of my friends chuckled. “We can’t afford to move. Where would we go? One of those $4 or 5,000  a month retirement places. We can’t pay those fees! Our home is paid for. It’s finally fixed up the way we wanted it to be, and I’ll be darned if we’re leaving now!”

He and his wife are staying put. They’re just like my eighty-five year old friend who has recently purchased  a walker to help her get around her large yard and get her trimming done.

One fellow I know has been slowly acquiring wood working tools. He’s been looking forward to spending his retirement years building wooden porch swings to sell to supplement his social security income. Sorry, retirement apartments don’t come with spacious garages for aspiring entrepreneurs.

Another woman I know has a magnificent back yard garden on a huge wedge shaped back yard. After the kids no longer needed it for play, she spent the last twenty years creating a bountiful wonderland. She and her husband aren’t about to give it up….despite many  crimes in the surrounding area last year.

My hat goes off to them, and to another couple who live at the end of Central Avenue. Every evening, from their porch, they watch as the glow of sunset changes to darkness and a black onyx valley below fills with thousands of twinkling lights like precious stones spread out for their pleasure.

No one’s chasing them out of the area and believe it or not, their ancient neighborhood is gradually changing back from neglected rentals to charming, well kept  bungalows. The trend is reversing. Young couples who buy in the area are remodeling, painting and landscaping.

Kudos to the stalwarts who don’t give up. They are staying put in their homes they worked hard to buy and cared for so diligently. Now they are enjoying the mature trees, gardens, and friendships they   nurtured all those years.

Don’t leave it to them….they don’t deserve it!

Have you made your New Year’s resolutions yet?

 

 

“Have you made your New Year’s Resolutions?”

 

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

January has always been the month for resolutions. But now it seems the tradition of New Year’s resolutions have gone out of style. Everyone is too busy or too cool to do a little personal assessment of where improvements might be in order. People used to make a resolution to lose twenty pounds in the coming year. Or perhaps they vowed to join a gym, spend more time volunteering, buckle down at work or improve their manners. Oops! How did that one get in there?

 

I guess because we all have someone we would like to hear make a resolution to improve their manners. Hey, maybe their mama really didn’t teach them. But now, someone has to. A simple gesture like holding the door for someone to a simple thank you from the person entering would be a good start.

 

When I first started writing columns on social commentary for the Arizona Republic, the advice was, “be careful not to lecture!” I’ve always followed that mantra, but today I’m going to ignore that rule and suggest some New Year’s resolutions for the following:

 

R.S.V.P CLOWNS: Always give the hostess a definite answer. None of this, ‘maybe’ business is acceptable. If you want to wait for a better offer, then take your chances. Come on. Have you ever planned food and drink for a party? Resolve to answer promptly when invited to a gathering. Don’t assume if you don’t call, they will know you are not coming. And, if you would like to bring a guest, ask first.

 

DIET BOMBSHELLS: If you have a dietary requirement, please mention it when responding. If you are in the new “gluten free” crowd, offer to bring your own dish. And please don’t wait until the main course before announcing, ‘Oh, I can’t eat that!’ Also, do not pointedly pick items out of your plate. Quietly push them to the side.

 

CELL PHONE “RUDIES”

 

If you have to take a call at a meal, excuse yourself and step away. Otherwise, keep the cell phone in your pocket. Basic rules for cell phone manners hasn’t been totally established, but we’re getting there!

 

 

 

 

BIRTHDAY PARTY POOPERS: Adults have plenty of problems with rude guests that don’t respond to an invitation, but please, don’t do this to little kids. Everyone remembers how important birthday’s are. I keep hearing from mother’s who send out invitations to all or most of the birthday kid’s class and never hear a word in response. It’s frustrating for the hostess, but heart breaking to the child involved.

 

Try these for good resolutions for the coming year; or maybe just a little civility!

“What was your favorite Christmas Present?”

 

 

What was your favorite Christmas present?

 

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

Can you think of the favorite Christmas present that you received in your whole lifetime?

 

Of course, all of Santa’s surprises were wonderful when you were a kid. I remember rushing down on Christmas morning and finding toys under the tree. Nothing was wrapped. They were just there, right where Santa dropped them!

 

Then as I got older I became more aware of the true spirit of giving gifts to loved ones at Christmas. In my teens I couldn’t wait  to exchange gifts with my girl/boy friends. Then it happened. That special boy gave me a small beautifully wrapped package. Inside was heart shaped locket made of gold and embellished with rose gold. It opened, and inside on either side was a space for two tiny photos.

 

Years later, at Christmas, my new groom, the Locket Guy, brought a large box home. He shut the bedroom door and tried to quietly wrap the contents of the box. When I heard something clanging and banging on the hardwood floor, I immediately thought, “If he bought me a vacuum cleaner, like some HOUSEWIFE, I’ll kill him!”

 

On Christmas morning, when  I opened his gift to me I  found a tiny FeatherWeight sewing machine. I loved it.

 

Other totally surprising and thoughtful gifts come to mind. : a beautiful silver coffee/tea set for my ladies group meetings, a luxurious Aqua blue gown and robe that he let the kids pick out on their own, Best of all, right after baby number three was born he brought home the latest kitchen item, a portable dishwasher. This tired young mother felt like she had a maid!

 

Years later, when they first came out, he surprised me with a microwave. I was not happy! I had read too many stories by all the skeptics that they were dangerous and could cause all kinds of health problems. Now, think about it.  What would we do without our Microwaves?

 

Finally, he settled into the tradition of a generous gift card from Barnes and Noble that warmed the heart of this “Book Worm” wife.

 

So, what was your favorite Christmas gift that you ever received? If I had to choose, I know that I will always treasure the gold heart locket with our tiny  photos inside, but I think  the portable dishwasher wins, hands down!

“HIDE KIDS, THE VIDEOS ARE COMING!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hide Kids, The Cameras Are Coming!”

 

 

By

 

 

 

 

Gerry Niskern

 

Let’s all take a vow this holiday season. Repeat after me. “I solemnly swear I will stop and enjoy more of the magical interludes with family and friends. I will not try to record every detail for posterity on film, but will simply enjoy the moment and hold it in my heart.”

Do you remember when family gatherings during the holidays used to be warm, happy times? Everyone relaxed, shared a meal and caught up on the latest news of the clan. Children developed their social skills through games and conversations with their aunts, uncles and cousins.

Now days I have a feeling the little ones love that moment when they hear the words, “my batteries just ran out!”

 

The video conspirators are everywhere. It’s not always noticeable when one is pointed in your direction. They not only document the last ten pounds you gained, they’re recording every word you utter. The remark that  ‘Aunt Millie needs to lose a few pounds’ is not funny when played back loud and clear for the whole world to hear.

Actually, this all started a few years ago. I’m sure you remember seeing the stooped, sweating daddy carrying a hundred-pound video camera on his shoulder. He trudged along behind his young family faithfully recording the activities of mom and kids having fun on their vacation. Too bad the daddy didn’t just   put the video camera down and enjoyed the special times with the kids while it was happening.

To tell the truth, if you go back a little further, a lot of us are guilty. Remember the little brownie movie cameras?  On Christmas morning, while the toddlers ripped open their presents, the contented baby was smiling in mother’s arms. However, if daddy, the official cameraman, decided it wasn’t light enough inside the house, he switched  on the light bar that held not one, but two 500 watt floodlights. The baby became rigid in the blinding glare and his cooing became screams of agony. Come to think of it, lucky for us there was no sound recording on those cameras.

I’m probably being too hard on the family photographers. Besides, they are not the really hard-core bad guys at Christmas time. That title goes to the lady elves at the mall.

Ever since the malls have had Santa’s there have been the elves with  cameras. I realize they are only doing what the parents pay them to do, take a good picture of their child with Santa. The current definition of good photo seems to require that Santa and the children who are sitting on his lap face forward and mouth a phony “cheesy” smile.  If they don’t get the required grin, a parent and the elves will persist until they do.

I wish, just once, that all parents would let the toddler climb on Santa’s lap and then, just stand back and wait. I guarantee you, the look of awe and wonder on their child’s face, as he looks up at Santa, will be incredible. Children want the fantasy; they waited a long time for this magical moment. Trust me that is the picture you want.

You will have that one in a million photo and your child will have his moment with Santa uninterrupted as he tells the big guy his “wish” list.

CHRISTMAS 2017

 

 

 

“Christmas 2017”

 

By

 

Gerry Niskern

 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Soon the scent of fresh pine trees will join the aroma of cookies baking and simmering fudge.

In recent years something more has been added to the menu as families and friends gather at the holidays to celebrate our blessings.  The new item around the table is political rhetoric.  There is always someone at social gatherings that cannot stay off politics. Tongues dripping with venom, they refer to “liberals” or “conservatives”, depending on their take on current events. They’re fond of attaching labels on anyone who has a different opinion. The problem is, they usually only know one side, their side. In many cases, whatever political parties their daddy or granddaddy belonged to, that’s their party.

There’s a time and a place for political debates, but it is not family gatherings.

We need to  guard against letting political persuasions cause riffs between cousins, grandfathers and grandsons, and any family member from another. There is one fact we all need to consider. We just had an election year that was bruising. And as we look towards Christmas we are free to observe our special day any way we choose. I think we all agree we also want our children to remember the happy holiday times.   Friends and family are the glue that holds our country together. The holiday traditions of many ethnic groups are the fiber and backbone of our nation.

We all know that there are many talking heads on radio and television that are only concerned about their own agenda.  What will they care, now that the election is over, that old friends and family members are no longer speaking?

There is a lot of discussion about civility these days. Each political party thinks the other should be more civil. Actually, with understanding, comes civility. And to understand, you must be informed; informed on all sides of every issue.

Isn’t it great that in this country we are free to read the paper, not just your favorite, but any world paper?  We are amazed at the different take on world situations, depending on the city or country.  Online editions are available.  We’re free to subscribe to a weekly newsmagazine that presents both sides of issues.

Do yourself a favor. Don’t make the mistake of getting your opinion from one source. Learn to really listen to other opinions. Listening is a sign of respect. Listen for information, not ammunition to fling at friends.

Every American needs a worldview because we live in an integrated world. How often have you heard someone remark, “I didn’t really know the layout of the Middle East until the war in Iraq?”  It’s true that we don’t study geography extensively in our schools, but it’s not too late. If you have children or grandchildren, help them to open their eyes to the other countries and religions of our world. Lead by example. Read with them the origins of the Arabic and Jewish race, along with other ethnic groups. Discuss the differences and similarities. Encourage them to form their own opinions.

Citizens of other countries know all about our freedoms and about our holidays too. They know that we can choose, you, me,  and everyone across this country to gather family and friends and observe the day.   They know that people have died for our unity and free speech.

But, what exactly needs said? Plenty. Can it wait till after a holiday? You bet. What do you say? Shall we all get together on Christmas and not talk politics?

Works for me.

“SPLATTERS OF CHRISTMAS PAST”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Splatters of Christmases Past”

 

 

By

 

 

 

 

Gerry Niskern

 

 

 

The rustling sound you hear in our country this time of year is people trading family Christmas recipes. Americans move from house to house and even state to state more than anywhere in the world. No one realizes that more than we do here in Arizona. We have a virtual cornucopia of recent arrivals of every race and nationality. Guess what? They’re all busy sharing Christmas favorites.

I know most smart homemakers have their recipes entered on their PCs. I know I should do the same. There are so many splatters of “Christmases Past” on my recipe cards; I can hardly read them. However, the smears and smudges don’t hide the images I remember of the original cook who shared them with me.

When I was a young bride the lady who lived behind us gave me a recipe for divinity. She showed me the tried and true way of testing candy until it “spun a thread”. She was from New York by way of the copper mining town of Bagdad, Arizona. While my young groom worked long overtime hours that first Christmas, I experimented with candy from all the women’s magazines. Texas Pralines became and still are our family’s favorite. Made with buttermilk, pecans and white sugar, these unique confections melt in your mouth. Our little red brick house in the shadow of the State Capitol was filled with the aroma of candy cooking.

My Mother’s fondant recipe brings a wealth of memories. I was with her the evening Mrs. Iron showed her how to make it. She poured the clear hot liquid onto a platter and then we helped beat it until it turned white and creamy. In West Virginia she folded chopped black walnuts into the fondant and formed it into a long log and sliced it into rounds.

All the relatives used to gather on our little farm on a Sunday in the fall to harvest those black walnuts. We had brown stained hands for a week from the green husks. No amount of Lava soap could get rid of it.

After we moved to Arizona, Mom complained to a neighbor  about having no black walnuts to use in her fondant. This Missouri transplant showed her how to stuff the fondant into dates that could be purchased from a local date farm. She further instructed, “Then top it with a pecan half. You can buy those from one of the pecan groves out west of town.”

One of our early Phoenix friends from Colorado supplied the recipe for date bars. Cut into squares while warm and rolled in powdered they were Ken’s favorite. Every December he would come home with his arms full of date packages.  An old schoolmate who’s family was in the date business, used to pull his pickup along side  my husbands and start tossing packages of dates to him while they cruised along the highway.

A girl friend of mine moved to Kentucky after she was married. She returned with the instructions for “out of this world” peanut brittle. After you stir in the soda and pour, you stretch the mixture with buttered spoons…thinner and thinner, thin as glass. It’s wonderfully tender, if you work fast enough.

Recently I mentioned to a friend that I wished I could remember the name of a type of blond fudge my Mother used to make. She said, “Oh sure, Penuche”. We made that back home in Indiana when I was young.” She gave me the recipe.

It’s not easy to move to another part of the country. It takes time to settle in and feel at home, especially on the first Christmas. Food helps. New friends with different accents from various regions of the United States, indeed the world, are always surprised by the similarities of their favor holiday treats.

I’ll wager, at this very moment, somewhere in our nation two recently transplanted cooks are exchanging Christmas recipes.

WHEN WAS YOUR FAMILY’S FIRST THANKSGIVING?

 

 

 

 

“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 alien 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. They took the toughest jobs and were paid the lowest wages. The United States needed the cheap labor and 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.”