JOSE’S VALENTINES

By

Gerry Niskern

Everywhere I look in the supermarket there are valentine hearts. Pink ones, gold ones, even a pair of red foil covered chocolate lips inviting the sweethearts to choose some declaration of love on Valentine’s day. No where in the world do they celebrate Valentine’s day as passionately as they do here in the United States.

The little boy with dark hair who came up behind  me in the checkout line hugged a package of valentines proudly to his chest.  He nodded yes, his brown eyes lighting up, when I asked, “Are those for your school friends?”

“Jose`, andale!” his father in line called.

The child hurried forward to place his package on the counter along with his family’s groceries. His father, in sweat stained shirt and muddy boots covered with bits of grass, pushed him forward. The boy’s mother, wearing a white utility uniform, carried a little girl.

“Jose`, of course, I should have guessed,” I thought, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if the little sister’s name was Maria.” A couple of weeks ago when I read in the paper that the name chosen for most baby boys in California and Texas, (and I’ll wager Arizona isn’t far behind) was Jose`, I wasn’t surprised. Someday we’ll probably hear that Maria is the most popular name for  infant girls.

Jose`s’ parents reminded me of my grandparents, Joseph and Mary, who came to the United States of America from Austria, sometime in the 1880’s.  Many of those immigrant families named their children for that Joseph and Mary of long ago.

My grandfather was recruited to work in the coal mines of this country. Men in Europe were sought to work in the mines, steel mills and numerous menial jobs to fuel our countries’ growth.

My grandfather learned that hanging onto his name was a little more difficult than acquiring the job. Many times he told his children the story of how he tried to correct the paymaster at the mine. It seems that each week, on payday, the man called out Gunto.  My grandpa would once again patiently explain that it was pronounced Gunta`, with an A. The next week, the cocky fellow would again call out Gun –“Toe.”  That always brought him a laugh or two. You didn’t argue with the paymaster. Grandpa finally gave up and started answering to Gunto, and that was how the family name was changed.

My grandparent’s first son was named Joseph. That Joe served as a gunner on a destroyer in World War II. After the Atlantic campaign, his ship was diverted to the battles in the Pacific. His first born was also named Joseph and he too served our country in the navy.

My grandpa expected his son Joe to bring his beginners reader home each night from school. Every evening after supper, the two of them went over the words the boy learned in school that day. Then they would spread the daily newspaper on the kitchen table and together sound out the words that gave the news of America. My grandfather wanted to learn everything about his new government.

It was a big decision for my grandparents to come to a new country and start over. Many of our grandparents made their decision, worked hard, and did their best to fit into a nation that was and still is, growing and changing.  We all make decisions, big ones and small ones, although many not as momentous as moving half way around the world.

Just coming to Arizona was a huge decision for many of our parents.  Sometimes it takes years to know if it was the right thing to do, but many of us today are benefiting from those decisions.

I think a lot of little boys named Jose` will be helping their daddies learn English and something about the history of their new country. And I imagine twenty years from now, Jose` will be the most common name of our young men in the armed services.

So happy Valentines Day to all the little boys named Jose`, and remember, always make sure they spell your last name correctly!