Sour Grapes in Your Stocking

Sour Grapes in Your Stocking

One November, our school had a wonderful book sale. To add interest, the booksellers offered a free-raffle ticket for every student. The prize was a giant Christmas stocking filled with games, books, puzzles, and things all kids covet. All week they waited, giggling and wondering just who would win.

With bated breath my second grade class listened as the librarian finally announced the winner: “So and So in Room 12 wins the Christmas Stocking full of gifts!” As the reality of losing washed over my crowd, a light bulb went on:

 “Room 12! That’s Kindergarten!”  

“A kindergarten kid won that stocking?”

 “He won’t even know what to do with all that stuff! He’s too little.” 

Indignation surged.

“Well,” I said, “It is Christmas. Maybe he will want to give some of those things for gifts.” They thought this over. 

One of my eager beavers raised her hand. “If I had won, I would have given the baby books to my sister.” 

“ I would give ten things away,” piped up another.

“I would give half away!” called another

“I would only keep ten things!” said a particularly generous soul.

I could see the little wheels turning. A moment ago, they had wanted it all. When they heard that they had not won, sour grapes leaped into their mouths. How could a baby kindergartener appreciate this windfall?

They thought again. Maybe showing how generous they could be would be taking the higher road. Now they strove to out-give each other with evaporated gifts.

Second grade is often a microcosm of the world.  If you want to study humankind, you don’t need to travel the world seeking out philosophers, wise men, or scholars, just visit an elementary school classroom. All the thoughts, emotions, and urges of the world can be observed right there.

Growing up in a consumer world, kids want things. They want a lot of things, more things than they can possibly use. They get mad when others get what they considered rightly theirs. They grouse. They rationalize. They envy.

With a little redirection, they change. Maybe giving can be more satisfying than getting. Maybe giving is more honorable too since my teacher or my parents value it.

We are all the same. We want. Infants cry for milk. Toddlers scream for toys. Teens agitate for the latest fashions. Adults lust after the trendiest phones. Egged on by advertisers, we believe that we deserve these things just because we want them. 

That is why we need to be reminded. Giving really is more blessed than receiving. My students got a lot of pleasure giving away those imaginary gifts. Moms, dads, siblings, cousins, and friends benefited from their generous thoughts. Not because there were real gifts, but because they had come to a new way of thinking.

Perhaps in the future, they would think of another’s pleasure before fulfilling their own. Perhaps they will be an example of generosity to others passing this gift along.

As the sour grapes melted away, the ambrosia of giving filled their hearts.  I hope they never forget that raffle stocking. 

Losing it was a better prize than winning it.

Giving People

Giving People

About twenty years ago, I gathered my adult children together and told them I had an important announcement to make. My son Rob grew pale.

“I have decided to take myself out of the loop.” I said. “Please don’t give me any more presents for Christmas.”

Rob colored again and said, “Whew, I thought I was about to get a new baby brother or sister.”

My decision was based on the old maxim that you can’t really change anyone except yourself.  I had grown tired of the hustle and bustle of the holidays. All I wanted to do, I decided, was visit with family, sing carols and eat a few cookies. I wanted to remember the real reason for the season more and worry less about the trappings and wrappings. So I took myself out of the loop. No more presents for me. But that didn’t mean I would stop giving.

After removing myself from the gift exchange, I had to decide what to do about giving. I looked around at all the things I had received over the years. Some were precious hand-made treasures made by my children.  Most were things I could definitely live without. We have so much and really need so little. So I decided to give to those who have so little and need so much. Instead of giving gifts, I would give people. 

The first year, I gave my husband a family in Africa. In his earlier days, he had spent many years raising goats but he wouldn’t have to get up early to milk this one or worry about her kicking over the bucket. This goat would belong to a family in Kenya who would use her to start a small business and also feed their children. I gave my daughter a sweet little girl in Honduras who would be housed and schooled in a wonderful orphanage run by loving people. I gave my sons a library full of books which would be used by students in Namibia to open horizons to worlds unknown.

My children jumped right in. My daughter gave me textbooks for the children of those considered “untouchable” in India. My sons gave me a classroom in Thailand which would serve victims of the child trafficking trade. My parents gave me the future of a young woman in Ethiopia who would receive a life saving operation. My husband gave me a family in war torn Darfur which would receive emergency care. 

Over the years our family has given young girls in Namibia a chance for schooling, helped educate a nurse who will serve HIV-AIDS patients in rural clinic in Zambia and provided a tin roof for a kindergarten class meeting under a tall tree in the grasslands of Africa. We have supported workers in China, Bolivia, the Dominican Republic and Cameroon.

 

My students and friends joined in too. They gave me socks to warm the frosty toes of homeless children right here in Pennsylvania. They gave me books for kids in Appalachia. They gave me teachers who brought new light into the eyes of students all over the world. They gave me help for the helpless and hope for the hopeless. 

Open your eyes… give of yourself, give as much as you can!  And you can always, always give something, even if it is only kindness!... Give and you shall receive, much more than you ever thought possible. Give, give again and again, don’t lose courage, keep it up and go on giving!  No one has ever become poor from giving!  … There is plenty for everyone in the world, enough money, riches, and beauty for all to share!  God had made enough for everyone!  Let us all begin by sharing it fairly. 

The young girl who wrote this wanted to give, give all she had to others, even though she had been living in hiding for two years with seven other people during World War II. And through her diary, Anne Frank gave an incalculable gift to the world, the gift of hope.

So now we enjoy the warmth of giving but don’t have to wrap a thing. Instead of presents, we give people. We sing the carols, eat the cookies and visit the family. And every year, our family around the world gets bigger and bigger. Rob was almost right; no baby brother, but a larger family all the same. 

           

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!  Who are you thankful for this year? Spouses, family and friends traditionally head the list of most folks. But there is one more person for whom we should all give thanks.

Sarah Hale was a housewife in the nineteenth century when women were considered “chattel” in a marriage. Chattel is property, the same as a horse, a house or a piece of furniture.  Women (and children) had very few rights and were considered second-class citizens.  Most could not vote, own property or decide the fate of their own children. 

Sarah had grown up on a small farm in New Hampshire. Her father was a disabled veteran of the Revolutionary War. She taught school to help out. One day, a lamb followed one of her students to school. She wrote a poem about it called “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” 

Sarah’s marriage was very happy, but her husband died young and she was left with five small children.  She took a job making hats to support her family and continued to write poetry and stories at night. She became the editor of a new magazine for women and published articles and stories by Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Charles Dickens.

 

All this should have been enough for any one woman, but Sarah was not satisfied with the world. Every month in her magazine she wrote editorials advocating education for girls, colleges for women, female doctors and for safe working conditions for all women. She despised slavery but was not allowed to write politically in her magazine.

That didn’t stop Sarah from getting things done. She took to heart the old adage that “the pen is mightier than the sword.” She published her articles and she wrote letters, thousands of them. When Sarah fixed on an issue, she picked up her pen and started writing to anyone she thought would be able to help. 

Sarah really loved Thanksgiving. It was an annual holiday in New Hampshire and the northeastern United States, patterned after the first thanksgiving celebration of the pilgrims. But it wasn’t a holiday in all the states and Sarah thought it should be. So she picked up her pen.

She started writing regularly to politicians throughout the states. She asked the readers of her magazine to write too, and housewives all over the country responded. They were pretty successful too. One by one, states began to declare a Thanksgiving holiday. But Sarah wasn’t satisfied. She wanted it to be a national holiday when everyone in the entire country would, on the same day, paused to give thanks.

So she wrote to the president, President Zachary Taylor to be precise. He said no. She waited and wrote to the next president, Millard Fillmore. Again, the answer was negative. So she wrote to Presidents Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan in turn. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everyone stopped on the fourth Thursday in November to give thanks? No luck.

         

Then came the Civil War. The country was torn apart. Sarah wrote to the man trying to pull it together.  And finally, on October 3, 1863, Abraham Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday of November to be a national day of thanksgiving.

With a strong will and a ready pen, Sarah Hale helped establish a beloved holiday. One person can change the world, a lesson for us all. So this holiday, after you pick up that turkey leg, pick up your pen and write a letter about something you care about. Send it to someone who can help and then sit back and give thanks.

Historic Details from Thank you, Sarah by Laurie Halse Anderson.

           

Sweet Medicine

Sweet Medicine

From the moment the policeman directed me, “First to your right, second on your left, sharp right again and you’re there,” I was. My grandmother’s voice led me down past the park and cherry trees to Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. I had come to Nana’s summer bungalow planning frolics in the waves, but now I was strolling along the streets of London with Jane and Michael and the incredible Mary Poppins.

I had always been what you might call a “deep reader.” I didn’t just read a book, I inhabited it. When the wind changed and Mary Poppins blew into the life of Jane and Michael, she blew into mine too. I watched her slide up the banister into the nursery and unpack her incredible carpet bag. 

“What’s a carpet bag?” I asked Nana.

“Let’s find out,” she answered. Nana was never one to give a story away. We had shared many reading adventures. I was nine and sick in bed yet again. I had lived a vagabond life, moving often with my family and sometimes without them. Nana and books were home to me.

Together, we jumped into the sidewalk painting with Bert and Mary and rode the carousel, Nana astride a black stallion and me on a spotted pony. Raspberry jam-cakes sounded delicious. We found out that tea meant more than a hot drink to soothe my sore throat, and that a good laugh could raise your spirits to the ceiling. When Nana tipped a teaspoonful of yucky medicine down my throat, I imagined strawberry ice and lime-juice cordial.  Nana, like Mary, might have thinking more of rum punch. 

We both loved the bird woman. Nana’s neighbor kept pigeons and we pictured them sitting on our shoulders and pecking at our toes. We imagined it tickled. We didn’t know what a tuppence was, but we thought we might have enough to buy a bag or two. When the wind changed, and Mary left, Nana and I waved farewell; we knew we could meet Mary again just by opening her book and diving in.  

Books have always been sweet medicine for me. When I am troubled or stressed, I often think about how characters in my favorite books solved problems with wit, pluck or humor and wonder whether I might do the same. When I am sad, a happy book cheers me up. When I am angry, a restful story soothes me. Some books take me a thirty minute vacation – just enough to invigorate my tired soul. 

Every year, teachers read aloud to their students just for the joy of it. Oh yes, we spend many hours teaching phonics, comprehension and fluency, but our real goal is to build a love of reading into each child. When you love reading, you read, and when you read, you learn phonics, comprehension and become fluent.  

Think back to your school days. Do you remember a special novel that your teacher shared that sticks with you today?  My daughter still remembers her second grade teacher reading James and the Giant Peach. She went on to read all of the Roald Dahl books just because her teacher showed so much joy when she read it. How many times has your child held up a book and stated, “My teacher read this!” and then decided to read it again?  How many times have you fallen into a book with your child and entered a wonder land together?   

Nana left us when I was fifteen, but her love of story has continued to feed and comfort me. When I read the books we shared or when I read aloud to children, I feel her holding my hand and warming my spirit and I sip the sweet medicine only love can give.

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