Ghosts of Halloween Past

 

Ghosts of Halloween Past

October 31, 2018

Most children love Halloween. What could be better than dressing up and getting candy? When we were young, my brothers and I made our own costumes — usually from cast-off clothing from our parents.On Halloween night, we dressed in our costumes and grabbed pillowcases to gather our loot. We planned to fill those cases to overflowing. 

Everyone knew the best houses to hit — the ones that gave big Hershey bars, the ones that gave caramel apples, even the ones that gave quarters (which was a lot of money in those days).  The mecca of our neighborhood was the house that gave out soft pretzels. These folks made their own and the supply was limited! Unfortunately, we never remembered just which house it was until it was too late. We had to settle for kettle corn.

Dragging our treat-laden pillowcases home, my brothers and I and removed our costumes, wiped off our make-up, and prepared for the climax of the night — trading our candy.

Each one of us used a sheet of newspaper to sort our haul. Piles of Hershey bars, Baby Ruths, pretzel sticks, Twizzlers and more grew before us.

As the oldest, with the most experience, I had the advantage in our trades. I regret to say that I was not the fairest of traders. I craved chocolate. Every year, I persuaded my brothers to part with their Hershey bars, M&Ms, and Three Musketeers. 

My brothers followed the “instant gratification” philosophy so they dived right in. I was more of a “delayed gratification” girl, so every year I put my ill-gotten chocolates into a paper bag, taped it shut, put the bag in a shoe box, taped that shut, covered the bag with brown paper, taped that shut and wrote, “This is Lisa’s candy. Do not eat!” all over it in black crayon. Then I hid the box way back in the freezer. For good measure, I locked the freezer door and put the key on top — too high for my brothers to reach.

A week later, with my mouth watering for chocolate, I’d reach into the freezer for my box. It was still taped shut but a little sloppily. The box felt a bit light. With steam pouring from my ears, I opened the box to find half — if not all — of my candy gone. Shouting my revenge, I looked for my brothers who were always suspiciously absent. My mother consoled me as I mourned the loss of my treats.

This happened every year. My threats never fazed them and I never caught them red-handed or chocolate-covered. The same charade played out at Easter and Christmas. I never learned.

Many Halloweens later, fate dealt me a blow. I became allergic to chocolate—justice for my avaricious ways. No more Hershey bars, M&Ms, or Three Musketeers for me.

I miss the chocolate but I still have those brothers — a far better treat than any ever stuffed into a pillowcase. Delayed gratification of the best kind.

A Lesson to Remember

A Lesson to Remember

Some years ago, we visited our daughter and her husband in their temporary home in Belgium. Our son, Rob, his wife, Ann, and our grandchildren Carson and Phillip traveled with us for a wonderful family gathering. Having the grandkids along added a rich dimension to our trip. Everywhere we went their questions and observations added to our wonder. We toured around Belgium, visited the medieval towns of Ghent and Bruges and spent a misty afternoon in a fairy tale village in Germany. Cathedrals and castles enchanted us. Priceless works of art enthralled us. City and country, this part of the world is stunning, especially for those of us coming from the very young country of America. But perhaps our most poignant moment was visiting an empty house in Amsterdam. 

During the two hour drive from Brussels to Amsterdam, we noted windmills, flat farm lands, and the straightest irrigation ditches ever carved into the earth. As we drove, Ann gave eight-year-old Phillip a history lesson. She told Phillip that once there was a man who decided that there were some people that he didn’t want around anymore. He and his followers took away the rights of these people. They weren’t allowed to go to school or work. They couldn’t travel or shop in stores. They wore a yellow star on their clothes so that everyone would know who they were. Many were arrested and sent away. Many went into hiding. Many did not survive.  

When we arrived in Amsterdam, we found a long line waiting to enter the empty house. As we stood in the wind and rain, Phillip giggled with his sister and amused the crowd around us. As we edged closer to the entrance, we reminded him that this place was sacred to many and that he would need to quiet down.   

The large, wet, and cold crowd entered the house in silence. We saw the posters forbidding entrance to shops and schools. We saw the gold stars. We ducked through a doorway hidden by a bookcase and climbed steep stairs to view empty rooms that resonated with the spirit of the eight people who had hidden there for more than two years.  

We stood in a room decorated with pictures torn from movie magazines and listened for the voice of the teen-aged girl who once lived there. We gazed up into the attic to see the one window open to the sky through which this girl viewed the world forbidden to her.  

When we got to the end of the tour we saw the document that brought us here. The checkered diary lay beneath glass. We saw the careful handwriting and smiling photos. We found out what happened to the girl and her family. Our  grandchildren were quiet during the tour. We wondered what they must be thinking about the empty rooms and the story of the girl and her family. As the crowd shuffled out of the museum, Phillip asked a question. “Why did the man do this?” 

Why did one man, filled with hate and fear, want to kill a girl, filled with joy and life? A girl who, during two years living in hiding and in fear, filled a diary with her hopes and dreams, who felt that, after the war, she would find that people were still good.  

Why did the man do this? Why did other people allow him to do this? Why did Anne Frank and millions of others have to die? Why did her diary survive to inspire us? Why do thousands visit these empty rooms?  

The last exhibit in the museum asked us to make some decisions. Videos showed instances of hatred and bigotry across the world today. We were asked to express our opinions about these issues. Where do we stand? Do we follow the man who hated or the girl who hoped?  Are we the people who turned them in or the people who risked their own lives to help them? Will we remember and never let it happen again?  These rooms are empty to remind us that our hearts should not be.  

We will long remember our trip.  I hope we also remember what we learned from the children who traveled with us and the child who left us her diary. A lesson to never forget.  

Once more into the breach...

 

Once more into the breach...

Do you have a favorite president? We have had many great presidents. All have changed the course of our history, and the history of the world, through the actions and policies of their administrations.   

The responsibilities of the presidency are unbounded: leader, general, educator, philosopher, philanthropist, disciplinarian, prophet, parent, seeker, and guide. It’s a big job. It requires a big person and personality. So, for more than a year before the election, we are bombarded with the “good” and “bad” qualities of those running for office and asked to sift through all the spin, propaganda, accusations, policies, reputations, and speeches, and choose the right person to lead our country for four more years. It’s a big job for us too.

Abigail Adams, the wife of John Adams, our second president, and the man who followed the demigod, George Washington, wrote, “The task of President is very arduous, very perplexing, and very hazardous.”  She observed firsthand the power and pressure of holding the reins of government in the weak hands of a common man. She saw how George Washington set a precedent for all who would follow him, bringing dignity to the office, and how her husband, a very different type of leader, struggled to stand firm in the shoes that great man had left behind. 

Children, outside of the politician’s target group by age and experience, get caught up in the election frenzy nevertheless. I asked some children what advice they would offer to the President. 

        Be brave. 

        It takes a lot of courage to do the right thing. 

        Stand up tall and ask the people what they need. 

        Ask others to be nice. Tell the people not to hurt others. 

        Be happy. If you are sad, you might make everyone else sad. 

        Say hi to people. Be their friend. 

        Use kind words and actions. Say, “Please, thank you and you’re welcome.”  

        Be helpful. Give food to hungry people. 

        Be honest. Don’t lie. 

        Stand up tall when you give your speeches. Say the right thing.

        Respect everybody. 

Children expect a lot from a President. They also expect their parents to choose the right leader for our country. They trust us. What a responsibility this is -– to be worthy of the trust of a child.

This is a trust we must not betray. We must think long and hard about the kind of person we wish to lead our country, the country of our hearts and homes. We must study the issues and contemplate the state of the union and the world. We must consider not only our needs but the needs of others. We must think of the children; each with specific needs and hopes, pasts and futures, sorrows and joys, and pray that our choice will secure for them the country they deserve.  

We are all parents to the children of the world. Let’s take to heart their advice as we choose our next leader. Have courage. Do what is right. Stand up tall. Respect everybody. Choose wisely. 

A quotation of John Adams graces the mantelpiece of the State Dining Room in the White House: "I Pray Heaven Bestow the Best of Blessings on This House and All that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but  [the] Honest and Wise … ever rule under this Roof."   

Let us join Mr. Adams in his prayer.  May we be blessed with the best President our children deserve.  

Consulting

 

Consulting

When my father retired, he started a consulting business. Using the skills he had honed during his career in quality control, he solved the problems of his clients — engineering and business firms. He was paid for his expertise and experience. 

When I retired from teaching, I also began a consulting career. Using the teaching skills I had honed, I solve the problems of my clients — six and seven-year-olds. I volunteer in first grade.

First-grade students need help with reading and math. I help them sound out words and understand what they are reading. We search pictures for context clues. We use counters and number lines to solve addition and subtraction problems and toy clocks to tell time. We draw pictures to explain concepts or help them remember words. Learning the skills they need to succeed in school is our first goal.

But my second goal, and much more important, is helping my students blossom. Each student is a bud, full of potential, waiting for someone to tend to them. So the first thing I do, before we practice sight words, read any story, count, add, subtract, or review homework, is to ask each child, “How are you doing today? Tell me something new about you.” Then the smiles start. 

My brother got a new bicycle! He said that he would let me ride it sometimes.

My dad took me fishing this weekend. I almost caught three fish!

I learned a new joke. Do you want to hear it?

My aunt is getting married and I am the flower girl. I get to pick out my dress!

Tears sometimes sparkle.

  My mom had to go away. I miss her. 

Amy told me that she doesn’t want to be friends anymore. We’ve been friends since kindergarten.

My dog died. He was a good dog.

I helped Tommy look for his baseball glove. We didn’t find it. 

In the few minutes we spend sharing stories, we connect. I had a dog that died when I was young. My dad took me fishing too! I never was a flower girl. What do you have to do? Won’t your mom be happy to see you when she gets home? Sometimes being friends is hard work. We learn to trust one another and that makes learning — with its difficulties and mistakes — easier. The students teach me a lot too — to be open and willing to learn, to share joys and sorrows, to trust that others want to help you, to gather strength in weakness, and to blossom in the warmth of caring teachers and friends. Together, we grow. 

My biggest ally in my consulting life is the classroom teacher. When you teach many students, you may not have time to personally connect with each student every day — even when you try very hard. And believe me, teachers try VERY hard. Connecting with students helps them learn. Connection leads to understanding and respect. In first grade, understanding and respect lead to love. There is a lot of love flowing around first-grade classrooms. Lucky me, I scoop it up when it flows my way. 

So that’s how I get paid for my consulting, in dopey grins, glistening tears, silly jokes, sad stories, and love. When I walk into the classroom, the students light up and call my name. I am a celebrity. No rock star ever felt more loved.  I love them right back. How rich can you get? 

My father was glad that he could use his skills after he retired. He consulted for many years and solved many issues for his satisfied clients. He had earned his pay. I plan to consult for many more years. The problems vary, we may not solve them all, but the pay is outstanding.

 

I am grateful for my teaching skills and the opportunity to use them. Thanks to the teacher who trusts me with the students she loves. Thanks to the students who share their joys and sorrows with me. Together, we grow. 

Wanting to Think

Wanting to Think

Much criticism is being leveled at teachers these days. Just what are they teaching our kids? Are they teaching the personal worldview and opinions that I embrace or the worldview and opinions of others? What is the purpose of education today?

American students were once fed their education. Memorization and recitation predominated. Facts, such as time tables and the dates of important events, filled the curriculum. Education was a who, what, when, and where event. Advanced students studied the why and how, the last two “Ws,” making connections between events and dates and the reasons behind them. What happened depended on the how’s and why’s that preceded it. The Great Depression resulted from…. The Civil War was caused by ….  The Enlightenment (Renaissance, Dark Ages, Industrial Revolution) came about because …. Serious students looked behind the what, to the how and why of the world. 

The ancient Greek teacher Socrates pushed his students beyond how and why. His teaching style encouraged critical thinking — asking questions and answering them — reflection — thinking about what you have learned in relation to who you are and the state of the world — and independent research — going beyond the classroom, reevaluating old ideas to ignite new areas of inquiry. Socrates wanted his students to know more than who, what, when, where, why and how. He challenged them to want to think. 

Memorization and recitation require effort. Making connections requires energy. Thinking for yourself requires exertion. Many people today want to be fed. They watch the news that feeds their appetites, swallowing it whole, but don’t digest it. Dining solely on the newsfeed that satisfies their own worldview, opinions, or aspirations, they gobble up the what to think without processing the why’s and how’s behind it. If this politician who inflames my emotions or that celebrity who entertains me believes it, that’s good enough for me. Why think for myself when I can let others do it for me? Effort? Energy? Exertion? Not for me! 

Are we stuck in a who, what, when, and where world? Do we inquire how and why? Do we want to think?  One of the best reasons for learning to read is that you can find out for yourself. You don’t have to believe what other people tell you. When you can read, the world is open to you. But even with an open world, the reader must open his mind to new ideas which might challenge or oppose his own. Who, what, when, where, why and how are important but we must add a sixth W — we must want to think. 

Thinking requires effort, energy, and exertion. Children who want to think become adults who want to think. Adults who want to think see beyond what is fed to them, beyond data to causes, beyond causes to new questions and new answers. Wanting to think must be the purpose of education. 

Do I want to think or do I want others to think for me? Ask yourself this question. Answer with some questions of your own. Reflect on what you learn. Add information that leads to new questions and new answers. Open your mind. Want to think. 

 

The Stranger at Your Funeral

 

The Stranger at Your Funeral

2015

When I read the obituaries in the New York Times, I often feel a pang of envy. Not that I want to be dead, nor do I want the recognition these famous people have earned. I am awed by the many accomplishments listed in their life stories. Each (inventor, philanthropist, teacher, survivor, author, scientist, or artist) has left behind a lasting legacy. I stop and think, how will I be remembered? What have I accomplished? 

As an ordinary person, I don’t think I will ever be honored with an obituary in a large city newspaper. But, having attended many funerals, I am hoping that, when my time comes, at least one stranger will show up at my funeral. 

Some years ago, my sweet Uncle Val passed away unexpectedly. Val had served in the military and worked as an engineer. He loved his wife and three children and cooking. Still in shock at his funeral, we stood in line to comfort his family. My husband and I noticed a group of older folks, some with white canes and many with walkers, waiting in line behind us. We didn’t recognize them as family members, so we asked them how they knew my uncle. “Oh,” they said, “he was our driver.” 

When Uncle Val retired, he wanted to do something to keep busy. He took a part-time job driving the senior transport bus in his town. He took his job seriously and took good care of his riders, walking those frail to and from their doors, passing the time of day, learning names, and asking about ailments. He became their friend. He was a quiet man, so he never mentioned these things to his family, but the riders remembered. They came to honor this man who had loved them well. 

Every one of us has an opportunity to help someone, to be kind, to make a difference. Val might have just opened and closed the bus door. Taking time to speak to people, to listen to their needs, to lend a helping hand might slow you down, but the time is never wasted. Someone’s spirits will be lifted. Someone will feel valued. Someone will remember. 

When my father died, I stood in the family line welcoming friends and family to his funeral service. I was touched by so many who came to honor him. My brothers gave wonderful tributes about the kind of father he was. His friends spoke of his compassion and gentleness. His grandchildren honored his memory by singing his favorite Broadway show tunes. All these things warmed my heart. 

About a month after my father left us, after we had all gone home and back to our daily activities, a man showed up at the door of my parents’ home. He was the cab driver who had taken my father to his regularly scheduled doctors’ appointments. When he heard the sad news, the cabbie burst into tears. He hugged my mother and they wept together. 

This is the stranger at your funeral. The person who has been touched by your life in some way you may never imagine. While we are still here, let us gather these strangers. We won’t be there to meet them, they may never even know of our passing, but if we can enrich one life, we will never be forgotten. 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

2015

I grew up in a Broadway musical. No, my parents were not actors or professional singers. Life was a musical for them. From my earliest days music filled the house. My father built his own stereo system and kept an extensive collection of albums — all Broadway musicals. He played them, we sang them, and sometimes, we lived them.

Most days were happy. Raindrops were on roses and whiskers were on kittens and life was good.  Sometimes dark shadows hovered over us and we would “Whistle a happy tune and every single time, the happiness in that tune” convinced us that we should not be afraid.

Our family kept expanding swelling our chorus to ten. When finances were tight, we sang “If I Were a Rich Man,” thankful that, although our family resembled his in size, we were much better off than Tevye of The Fiddler on the Roof. We knew that, “Wonder of Wonders, miracle of miracles,” we had a faith that would uphold and sustain us. 

My sister Maria was named after the song in West Side Story. Whenever the phone rang when she was a teenager, we sang out Mariiiia! Of course we also serenaded her with “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” from The Sound of Music. We threatened to have it played at her wedding. (We did not.)

We knew we could “Dream the Impossible Dream,” like Don Quixote and “Climb Every Mountain” to overcome any obstacle. Nothing would “Rain on Our Parade.” If ever there was “Trouble in River City:” we knew that, “The sun will come out tomorrow.” We believed in a magical place called “Camelot.” 

As we stepped out into the world and found romance, we dreamed big. “Tonight, tonight, I’ll see my love tonight, and for us stars will stop where they are.” We knew that, “Some Enchanted Evening” we would meet that “Wonderful Guy.” The first words my future husband said to me were “Shall We Dance?”

We continued to sing when we started our own families. “The Soliloquy” from Carousel came in very handy with “my little girl, pink and white as peaches and cream is she.  My little girl is half again as bright as girls were meant to be.” Maria sang ” Food Glorious Food” when she placed a tasty meal in front of her brood. My brother Joseph amused his boys with “Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy Talk” from South Pacific. Carla, who as a teen played Jesus Christ Superstar continuously on our eight-track player, asked her kids “What’s the buzz, tell me what’s a-happening?” Paul taught his children that “You’ve Gotta Have Heart” when striving for a goal. Michael reminded his kids that you never know when the “Wells Fargo Wagon” will bring “Something Wonderful” your way.  

They say that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Music gives joy, uplifts, perhaps even guides and protects you when you keep it in your heart  and remember to keep the people you share it with in your heart too. With music, and your family, in your heart you will “Never Walk Alone.”