It's a Small World

It’s a Small World

One of the most mind-numbing ear-worms is the Disney song, “It’s a Small World (After All)." Just reading the title will have you singing all day. With bouncy, simple, and infectious lyrics and melody, the song invades the brain and touches the heart. 

It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hope and a world of fears. There’s so much that we share, that it’s time we’re aware, it’s a small world after all. 

The song written by Robert and Richard Sherman and commissioned by Walt Disney to promote international unity has a theme of global peace. Inspired by fears caused by the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, the brothers wrote a song that could be easily translated into several languages with a simple unifying message. Debuting on the world’s scene at the 1964 New York World’s Fair, singing animatronic children, dressed in native clothing from around the world, burned the song into our collective memories.

International expositions or World’s Fairs began on a grand scale in France in 1844.  Conceived to “showcase the achievements of nations,” fairs provided a global stage for nations, authors, inventors, scientists, musicians, and political systems. Prince Albert’s 1851 “Great Exhibition” showcased manufactured goods and industrial advancements as well as the Crystal Palace built to exhibit them. The 1939 New York World’s Fair focused on a cultural exchange between nations with its theme, “Building the World of Tomorrow.”

I visited the 1964 New York World’s Fair with my grandmother. The fair’s theme was “Peace Through Understanding.” Holding Nonna’s hand, I boarded one of the little boats which floated visitors into a world of wonders. Animated figures dressed as children from around the world sang the same song in each of their native languages. The effect was mesmerizing. I bounced out of the exhibit singing the song which nestles in my brain until this day.  

There is just one moon and one golden sun, and a smile means friendship to ev’ryone. Though the oceans are wide and the mountains divide, it’s a small world after all.

The message was clear to even a little child: We are more the same than different. We are one family. We can sing together. We can hold hands. We share this world. We can love one another.

The theme of the 1964 “Children of the World” exhibit was connecting hearts.

Not much remains of the fairground in Flushing Meadows. But the song and spirit of one exhibit lingers in many hearts. We all laugh and cry. We all hope and fear. We share this world. Let us join hands and hearts and sing together. It is a small world, after all. 

 

What's for Dinner?

                                                                       What’s for Dinner?

In 44 years of marriage, my husband has never once asked, “What’s for dinner?”  It’s not that he doesn’t love eating. He always says, “I never met a meal I didn’t like.”  For most of those 44 years, I have planned and cooked the meals. My husband eats whatever I serve — even sometimes when I think the results of cooking experiments belong in the compost heap. He never fails to thank me. If I don’t feel like cooking, he serves himself.

Our children’s eating habits ranged from following their father’s “see-food, eat it” diet to a complicated dairy-free, gluten-free, vegetarian plan. During one's teen years, only five meal-plans were deemed acceptable. To avoid conflict (pick your battles), I cooked those five meals during the week and made what I wanted on the weekends. Being the pickiest of eaters myself, I accepted the challenge of cooking around likes and dislikes, allergies, and cravings. During my ten-minute commute home from work, I mentally reviewed the contents of my freezer and pantry. Arriving at home, I headed straight to the kitchen to prepare dinner to be served before we dispersed to teams, band, clubs, or homework.

My father was of the “eat what is put in front of you” philosophy. Growing up during the Depression and WWII, he preached gratitude to his six children,“be glad you have food on the table, there are children starving in….” Every night, we bowed our heads to give thanks for the bounty before us.

My mother somehow fed ten people every night. My grandmother, who lived with us, never left the kitchen. Nonna started dinner preparations right after lunch. Two courses every night! Italian delicacies and pasta dishes served in fine restaurants in Naples or Rome! Mangiare!

Our family squeezed around our kitchen table with a “buffer” (a parent, grandparent, or child too young to argue) in-between possible combatants. My mother rarely sat down as she bounced back and forth from the stove serving the meal, cutting food into bite-sized pieces for the little ones, feeding the baby in the high chair (there always seemed to be a baby), pouring drinks, mopping up spills, or clearing between courses. My father led the conversation, recited poems, replayed baseball games of his youth (or the Phillies), and refereed arguments (sometimes leading them too). 

Today, when my husband and I sit down to dinner, we remember the happy faces of our childhood. We recall our grandparents, parents, and siblings, and the family meals we shared. We wonder how our children, with our grandchildren’s busy schedules, manage family dinner times. My father was right. We should be grateful for the food on the table. We should remember those who do not and share what we have. Before we begin the meal my husband is sure to like, we give thanks for our bounty, our families, and our memories. 

What’s for dinner? Memories, love, and gratitude.

Mangiare!