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.