The Bottom of the Stairs

The Bottom of the Stairs

The sun has barely opened its eyes when the six of us tumble onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Shush, shush! Don’t wake them up. It’s too early!” It’s Christmas morning, and we are ready for presents.

Four weeks earlier, we had composed our lists for Santa and presented them to our mother for mailing. Santa means something different to each of us. My two youngest siblings picture a jolly elf in a red suit. The older four trust in photos from the Sears catalog and our parents’ lay-away plan. Because there are so many of us, we have a firm rule for our present requests: One large gift and three small. This rule is generally agreed upon but always broken by my brother Paul who asks for two large gifts. He says that it never hurts to ask.

Our parents emerge from their room in robes and slippers, yawning, and ask us why we are up so early. We bounce around as they slowly descend the stairs. We line up from youngest to oldest for the coming rush. The youngest will have the first look at the magic below.

Mommy lights up the tree and puts some carols on the record player. Daddy looks into the living room and calls up to us, “Who left all this coal and sticks in the living room? You kids get down here right now and clean it up!”

We squeal as we follow the youngest down the stairs. Their eyes widen as they catch the lights of the tree and the silver and gold wrappings. Then we rush past our parents and race for our gifts.

The room is full-to-bursting with presents! We rush to the spots each had labeled the night before and grab the big gift. These are never wrapped, so we share the joy. Sure enough, Paul has received his two big gifts. We open the wrapped gifts -- taking turns to enjoy each other’s pleasure. Daddy snaps photos and Mommy cooks breakfast singing along with the carols. After cleaning up the wrappings and breakfasting, we put on our finest and go to church to celebrate the reason for the day. 

I still feel the excitement of my siblings as we lined up together at the top of the stairs. I see my sleepy parents who waited at the bottom. The tree lights sparkle behind my eyes. The carols echo. I unwrap each gift again.

These many years later, I realize that the greatest present I ever received were the five at the top of the stairs and the two waiting at the bottom.

My mother still sings those carols. My siblings, separated by miles but close in spirit, still share our joys. God rest ye merry, Mom and Dad.

This year, remember those who stood “at the top of the stairs” with you and those who waited “at the bottom” to love you and rejoice.

A Gift of Memories

Aunt Alma’s Lid

            My Aunt Alma and Uncle Dominick gave us a lovely soup tureen as a wedding present. It was so beautiful, that I kept it “for best” for about thirty years. “For best” didn’t happen very often, so the tureen spent most of its time in my china cabinet. Until one day when I took it out, filled it with hot soup, and dropped it on the floor. It shattered into dozens of pieces. I looked at the mess forlornly bereft at the loss of such a beautiful serving dish. All that was left was the lid.

           

Breaking that tureen turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened in my kitchen. I found that the left-after lid fit on many of my every-day dishes. I use it almost every day now. And each time I use it, I think about Aunt Alma and Uncle Dominick.

           

Aunt Alma and Uncle Dom took my brother Joseph and me in while my parents drove across country after my father was diagnosed with cancer. We were living in Seattle and he needed to get to New York for treatments fast. They sent us on a plane ahead while they packed up our house and drove across country so that we wouldn’t miss any school days. We arrived jet-lagged and frightened. Uncle Dominick met us at the gate and took us home.

           

Aunt Alma welcomed us with open arms and we became a part of their family which included my two cousins, Peter and Stephen. I was the only girl. Aunt Alma did the best she could to mother this persnickety eight-year old with very definite ideas about meals, bedtimes, and hair-cuts. She made me tuna sandwiches with vinegar, not mayo, agreed to a later bedtime (since I was a whole year older than Joseph and Stephen), and tried to understand the tears that a little girl can weep when her hair doesn’t look just right.

As main cook and bottle-washer in the house, Uncle Dom couldn’t understand why Joseph disliked all vegetables except spinach -- and only because Popeye ate it. He offered Joseph a deal. Try one pea the first night, two the next, etc. until Joe would eat a whole serving. Joe complied and after his final full-serving, announced that he still didn’t like peas. Uncle Dom gave in gracefully and helped Joseph stay “strong to the finish” by cooking him his spinach.

I can imagine the anguish Uncle Dom must have suffered worrying about his brother driving across country to face cancer treatments. I can imagine the challenge of mothering two frightened children dropped on your doorstep. A traumatic situation, yet we felt safe and happy for the eight weeks we spent with them.

           

Every time I use that lid, I think about their love and care. I remember Uncle Dom coming to comfort me when I felt sick or lonely in the night. I remember Aunt Alma buying me a new birthday watch when mine got smashed in a drawer. I remember Uncle Dom encouraging us to voice our opinions about weighty subjects at the dinner table and Aunt Alma nurturing our imaginations as we planned trips to Mars and wished on twinkling stars.

           

That lid brings back many happy memories. It has also taught me a few life lessons. Don’t save gifts “for best.” Use them often and remember the givers. Share family stories with your children. Help your family. Stay close with letters and phone calls.

Uncle Dom has left us, but Aunt Alma, now in her early nineties, continues to “mother” me from a distance. Their love and caring were two of the best gifts I ever received and my memories of them can never be shattered.

           

           

Minions

Minions

 I am the oldest of six children. When I was growing up, I didn’t think of them as life-long companions, beloved siblings, or members of the family club. I thought of them as minions.

You remember the movie which made minions a household word? Despicable Me is about an evil genius who employs a household of tiny beings to carry out his evil plans. That’s what I had – five willing souls waiting to do my every bidding.

           

Now I was not evil. I thought of myself more as a “benevolent dictator.” I gave the commands and they carried them out. I assigned places at the table, seats in the car, chores, and privileges. If it hadn’t been for my parents meddling, I would have been a very happy queen.

           

My parents somehow did not “get” my queenship and often removed my crown, so I sometimes resorted to subterfuge.

           

We had a very full house. My grandparents lived with us so with six kids and two parents our numbers rounded to ten. My mother’s weekly shopping trip was a real expedition. Fruit for ten was expensive, so Mom would buy each of us (in season) one banana, one apple or one orange. I loved oranges and always wanted more than one.

           

My scheming little brain devised a plan. I would send one of my minions down to innocently get her orange and then eat it myself! This minion was only three and not aware of the great injustice this would be. She cheerily skipped down to the kitchen and reached into the refrigerator for the orange.

           

From my perch on the stairs, I heard a voice. My blood froze. My mother was asking my minion what she was doing. My dear sister replied that she was just getting an orange for her dear sister. 

“Lisa!” my mother called. 

The jig was up!

           

My mother knew that I always ate my orange the very first day so this was double-dipping. I got a lecture on family sharing and my responsibility as a role model. 

In my best Scarlett O’Hara imitation, I silently swore to myself 

“With God as my witness, someday, I will eat an orange every day!”

           

The years have passed and my minions have forgiven, but not forgotten, my queenship. The orange incident faded into the past. I willingly relinquished my crown as we grew. I released my minions and gained siblings.

We are the best of friends because we shared the best of parents. They loved us so we love one another.

And every day, when I eat my orange, I remember those days, those siblings, those parents and that love.

Why Is Everybody Screaming on Facebook?

Why is everybody screaming on Facebook?

Or, How I learned to stop worrying and love the Common Core

One of my all-time favorite rants on Facebook concerns the new Common Core standards. First, a disclaimer, I am not an expert on the Common Core, but I did teach the math that these folks are screaming about, so I feel that I have a right to offer an educated opinion.

The offending math problem looks like this: 32–12 =? Every adult in the nation says, “Well that’s easy. Subtract 2 from 2 and 1 from 3. The answer is 20.” Then they show the way second grade students are taught to solve the problem: Here’s the solution shown.

12+3=15;

15+5=20;

20+10=30;

30+2 = 32

Add 3+5+10+2=20 so 32–12 again equals 20.

Facebook friends scream that this is insane. Their method is much easier. It sure does look simpler, doesn’t it? Obviously, the Common Core method is ridiculous. But when asked why their way works, many adults might not be able to explain.

Let’s put it another way. Suppose you buy a cappuccino that costs $5.33. You have a five and a one. You give them to the barista and count on him giving you the right change. You are expecting two pennies, a nickel, a dime and a half-dollar (2+5+10+50=67 cents). Hmm, seems like you just made the same kind of calculation in your head. Probably none of us would sit down with a piece of paper and subtract with all that regrouping.

This is common sense to us, but not to kids. We learn this as we develop number sense. The new process that freaks everyone out makes much more sense when explained this way. And, surprise, surprise, the offending method is NOT proscribed by the Common Core. It is just common sense.

         

Try the same process of counting up using an equation where you would have to regroup (the bane of many students’ lives).

Let’s say, 41–23=?

So 23+7 =30;

30+10 =40;

40+1 =41.

7+10+1=18 -- the very same answer found with adults will find with the much more complicated regrouping process. Kids don’t tear their hair out, and as an added bonus, they learn that addition and subtraction are complementary processes.

To go back to the original scream-invoking equation (32-12=20): How many remember that 3-1 is really 30-10? This concept often gets lost when we just do the process. How about a really hard problem, like 2,000-899=? What a lot of regrouping! Numbers might get lost in the shuffle when solvers jump from place to place. But add this simple step: subtract one from each number.

2,000-1=1,999

899-1=898

This changes the equation to 1,999-898=1,101.

It gets a lot simpler and surprise, surprise, the answer is the same. Get out the calculator and check.

         

These are just two of the ways which are shown to students for solving problems. They are also taught the “old” process as yet another way to think about math. They then choose the way that makes sense to them -- and when kids get to choose, they LOVE math. Do you?

         

So you do it your way and the kids will do it theirs and we will all get the right change, find the right answer, and enjoy a refreshing drink at the well of math. Take a deep breath, think about it, and please, don’t shout at me on Facebook.