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.