Most-prized Possession

 

Most Prized Possession

In 2004, we visited our daughter, a Peace Corps volunteer, in Namibia, Africa. After seeing her work and enjoying the overwhelming hospitably of the people of her village, we visited the homestead of a family in the Himba tribe. The Himba people are hunter-gatherers and subsistence farmers relying on their cattle and goats for housing, clothing, and food. When we arrived, we were welcomed by the patriarch who introduced us to his wife and children. Proudly, he showed us his cattle. Cattle are an indication of wealth in the Himba culture. He drew milk from a cow into a goatskin pouch and invited us into the family’s home that was constructed from goatskins.

Inside, we gathered into a circle around a central fire pit. As we passed around the milk pouch  to sample the fresh milk, the family pointed out their furnishings, crafts, and jewelry made by the women, and farming tools, all the while laughing with one another. The Himba use a paste, called otjize, made from butterfat and ochre pigment to protect their hair and skin from the hot climate and insects. The matriarch demonstrated how she ground up the ochre, an orange-colored clay, mixed it with fat, and created the paste. She then offered to share it with us. We laughed together as she painted our daughter’s face a bright orange. 

Through our interpreter, the mother offered to show us her most prized possession. We were expecting to see another useful tool or even a goat. Excitedly, she held out her voter registration card. Namibia’s voting campaign that year had encouraged everyone in cities, villages, and rural areas to register.  In their traditional dress, each citizen had been photographed and registered. This card showed our hostess, hair and face painted with otjize, smiling broadly. 

Voting is a right Americans share with the people of Namibia. Our homes and cultures may differ but our duties as citizens are the same. We have a duty to register and to vote. Our Himba hostess was proud of her right to vote. Are we as proud? If you were asked to share your most-prized possessions, would your right-to-vote be on the list?  

As we left the Himba homestead, children ran waving after us. We remember the bittersweet milk, the goatskin house, the orange otjize, and the laughing family. We also remember the pride on the face of a busy woman who knows that she has a voice in her nation’s future. Be sure to have a voice in yours. 

Register today. Vote.

The Truth

 

The Truth

“Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect, I’m afraid.” These lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein from the musical “The King and I” echo in my head. How often we are afraid! Could whistling really help?

In this little song, Anna is teaching her son about having confidence in himself. When he feels afraid, he is to “strike a careless pose” or act as if he is confident. When he acts this way, he will appear poised and “fool the people [he] fears” and, more importantly, himself. When he believes that he is fearless, he will act bravely. The whistling is a trick or cue to help him remember that he can be confident in his abilities.

Why can he be confident? Is it just because he thinks he has courage or is it because he has something to base his courage on? The values he brings with him, the truths he stands on, give him the support he needs to go forth confidently. His mother has taught him well.

What truths do we stand on today? I am sure that they are wide and varied. We have different cultural, religious, and family backgrounds. Our differences may cause conflict. We are encouraged to stand up for what we believe yet we all believe differently.

Dr. Frank Crane calls this “The Uproar” in Volume 9 of his Four Minute Essays published in 1919. At that time everyone then was screaming about their own particular take on the “truth.” The world had just fought a war over it. Dr. Crane felt that this tumult was not based on conviction, but on the lack of it. “Truth is the one indestructible, evergreen, eternally persistent thing on earth. All we have to do is to See it, to Believe in it, to Adjust our lives, thought, and speech to it, and wait. By and by it always wins.”

Truth is not something to shout about or fight over. It is something to be lived. Truth is obstinate. Truth prevails. People who believe in truth can be quiet because “they have hold of the one thing that cannot fail.” They can whistle in the dark because they have seen the light.

We may never completely agree on what “truth” is, but rather than shout at one another, might it not be better to live the truth we believe? Dr. Crane believed that “out of Truth flows Peace.” 

When Anna met the King of Siam, she found that she had a lot to whistle about. His truth and hers did not mesh. But they came to a mutual understanding because they developed a respect for one another. Perhaps if we harmonize our truth with respect we will create a new melody of peace. I can whistle that tune. How about you?

I Want to Read

 

I Want to Read

On my first day of first grade, I was ready to read. My parents and grandparents read to me regularly but I wanted to read by myself. As soon as I learned, I taught my younger brother who was just as eager. Why should he wait for first grade? We wanted to read — NOW! 

To become a good reader, readers need phonemic awareness (distinguishing individual sounds), decoding skills (connecting sounds to letters and patterns of letters), fluency (reading easily, smoothly, and with expression), a large vocabulary (word meanings and usage), and comprehension (understanding text and making connections). To become a great reader, children must want to read. 

Motivation is a vital part of reading success. Learning to read is a complicated process. Children who want to read will read more. Children who read more will have greater success in all areas of learning. How can parents help their children want to read? Model, share, provide, and encourage.

1. Model: Children want to be just like mom or dad. They watch their parents carefully for action cues. Children who see parents reading will want to read. Remember D.E.A.R. — Drop Everything and Read. Create sacred reading time and spaces. Furnish your house with bookcases full of your favorite books. Read out loud. Read silently. Read in private and in public. Read signs, instructions, and plaques. Tell your children what you learn from reading. Show your children how reading enriches your life.
2. Share: Make time every day to read to your children. Always carry a few books with you. Waiting is less stressful when reading a good book. Treasure your library card and use it often. Make an event of getting Junior one too. Create a family or neighborhood book club. Take turns reading aloud to neighborhood kids. 
3. Provide: Make sure your child, and every other child you know, has access to great books. Provide books at your child’s reading level and in their areas of interest regardless of reading level. Children who love robots, space travel or walruses want to read about them. Owning books is even better than getting them out of the library. Buy the books your children especially love. Library and yard sales are great places to fill your bookcases. When books are outgrown, pass them along to younger friends and family. Donate books to needy children. Reading requires time. Carve time out of busy schedules for reading. 
4. Encourage: Never force your child to read. Encourage children to read by sharing your love of reading. Show them how much reading enriches your life. Make weekly trips to the library. Applaud beginning efforts. If your child struggles with text, help with decoding or read it aloud yourself. Ask your child to repeat what you read and give high fives. Cuddle while sharing books. Make reading pleasurable and fun for both parent and child.

Help your children want to read — NOW!

(This is the final in a series about reading success by Lisa Marie Crane)

An Open Heart

 

 An Open Heart 

In August, Jay bounded into my second-grade classroom. “I’m going to have a great year,” he announced. His happy smile and open heart made him many friends. 

In October at parent conferences, his mother told me that she had divorced a few years back but that Jay saw his father frequently and seemed to have adjusted well.

In December, we made a paper chain to count the days to Christmas. With every link we removed a child would share a Christmas wish. Most children wished for a toy or a special trip.

When it was Jay’s turn, he said, “I wish that my mom and dad would get back together.” Surprised, I responded with general assurances and we moved on.

In January, Jay ran into the classroom with eyes alight. “I have great news! My mom and her boyfriend George are getting married on Valentine’s Day!” Jay and George’s two children were going to be in the wedding and Jay couldn’t wait.

In early February, I got a call from Jay’s mom. Her father had died and they were postponing the wedding. Jay wanted to come to school so she wanted me to be prepared. When Jay arrived, he shared the news with the class. His friends gathered around and we gave him a group hug.

In April, Jay bounced into the classroom with exciting news. His mother was expecting twins! We bounced up and down with him.

June came and we put together our memory books, Jay raised his hand. “I had a great year. When I started, I was an only child. Now my family has five children!” 

I’ve often thought about Jay over the years. Jay’s year didn’t go as he expected. His parents didn’t reunite. He lost his grandfather. Three strangers moved into his house. Twins, who could take attention from him, were expected. Yet, because he had an open heart, he was ready to welcome whatever came his way. I ask myself, Is my heart open? Am I ready to welcome whoever and whatever comes my way? Opening your heart is not easy but when you do unexpected joys can enter. 

Jay’s year began and ended with a smile. So did mine. 

History Has Its Eyes On You

                    History Has Its Eyes on You 

Lyndon Johnson was no saint. He spent much of his life on the other side of judgment. During his early years in Congress, he ruthlessly pursued power. If not for two defining moments, his legacy would have been that of a hard-hearted politician. One moment was when he suffered a massive heart attack (1955) which required a long recuperation. The other was when John F. Kennedy was assassinated and Johnson took his place as president to a grieving nation (1963).

During his long convalescence following his heart attack, Johnson had reevaluated his life. He meditated on the few years he had spent teaching in poor schools in the 1920s south. He had felt helpless in the face of the desperate poverty of his students. When Kennedy died, Johnson was presented with a unique opportunity to make big changes to American society. When thrust into the most powerful office in the land, he wanted to set right what he saw as wrong. 

The day after assuming power, Johnson was on the move. He told his aides, “I’m going to pass [JFK’s] civil rights bill and not change one word of it. I’m not going to cavil, and I’m not going to compromise. I’m going to fix it so that everyone can vote, so everyone can get all the education they can get.” Having started his career as an appeaser of segregationists, he wanted to end it as a champion of civil rights. “Now I can do what the whole country thinks is right. Or ought to.”

Johnson had much and many to overcome, not the least of which was the naked hatred now exposed as civil rights marchers were attacked and beaten. Johnson wrote, “hate produces poverty, … hate … produces injustice.… It’s a cancer that just eats our national existence.” 

George Wallace was one of the strongest voices for segregation. As Governor of Alabama, Wallace tacitly condoned the violence perpetrated against Civil Rights marchers. After images of police officers beating freedom marchers in Selma shocked the nation, Johnson summoned Wallace to his office to set the matter plainly before him: “‘Now listen, George, don’t think about 1968. Think about 1988. You and me, we’ll be dead and gone then, George…. What do you want left after you, when you die? Do you want a great big marble monument that reads, ‘George Wallace — He Built.’ Or do you want a little piece of scrawny pine board lying across that harsh caliche soil that reads, ‘George Wallace — He Hated.’” Under pressure from the president, Wallace agreed to maintain order during future marches.

Johnson fought for what he thought was right for America. As he was signing the Voting Rights Act of 1965, he said, “It is difficult to fight for freedom. But I also know how difficult it can be to bend long years of habit and custom to grant it. There is no room for injustice anywhere in the American mansion.” 

We have yet to overcome hate in America. It continues to eat at our national existence. Will we fight for freedom or compromise with hatred? Will our legacy be one of justice or hate? On which side of judgment will we stand?

(Quotations from The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels by Jon Meacham, Random House 2018)

The Nonnas

The Nonnas

Every summer, we visited my Italian grandparents’ bungalow on the Great South Bay. Two tiny bedrooms on the main floor flanked a dining room/kitchen area. An ancient gas stove, the kind you light with a match, commanded the kitchen. An old refrigerator stood next to a table which sat anywhere from eight to eighteen. A door in the dining room opened to a steep stairway to a dormer attic filled with double beds, cots, and cribs. A screened porch stretched across the front and backdoor steps led down to a communal yard. The bathroom held a free-standing sink, an ancient toilet (flushed only when absolutely necessary), and a glass-lined water heater. The shower was a cold-water hose out back. A sign over the front door read “Capacity 12; 52 on Weekends.”

We kids considered it paradise.

All six houses on our dead-end street were filled to the brim with at least three generations. Kids spilled out every morning, grabbed their friends, and headed to the pier to fish or crab or to reenact epic dramas on the rocks along the bay. In the afternoon’s heat, our parents swam with us at the bay beach or loaded us into cars, and the whole neighborhood headed to the ocean beach. In the evenings, we gathered around a huge table under a grape arbor to feast on pasta, fresh veggies from the garden, and “frutti del mare,” the clams, crabs, snails, and fish caught each day. As the sun set, we gathered around a wood-fire in a rickety old grill, swatting mosquitoes, as the little ones fell asleep in their parents’ arms and the big kids skittered about while grandparents warned us to watch out for the fire. 

“Paisans,” related by our common heritage, the grandparents, and some of our parents often slipping into Italian, we laughed at generations of funny stories, cried over lost but never forgotten loved ones, sang sentimental songs, and cooed over every baby joining our family. Holding this huge family together were the “Nonnas,” our grandmothers. 

The grandfathers arrived every Thursday night and left on Sunday afternoons. Our parents cycled in and out as work schedules allowed. The Nonnas stayed all summer to cook, clean, and care for their children and grandchildren. They tended the garden, cleaned the crabs, clams, and fish, cooked the pasta, washed mountains of dishes, changed diapers, washed faces, swept porches and steps, haggled with vendors selling produce from the backs of trucks, bandaged fingers cut by fishhooks, scrubbed and wrung out mountains of clothes and sheets, hung them out to flutter over the backyards, told stories, and hugged everyone. We kids didn’t realize how much love was wrapped up in our Nonnas hard work. We all helped out a bit but our paradise rested on the labor of our Nonnas who loved us so. 

After we were settled into bed, the Nonnas dropped exhausted into lawn chairs around the fire to share stories of their grandchildren, their worries and hopes, their sorrows and joys. Now we are the grandparents. When our grandchildren visit, we are sometimes exhausted, but we wrap our love around our grandchildren and remember the Nonnas who loved us so. 

Paradise returns.

Unsung Hero

Unsung Hero

July 25, 2008

The list of heroes is long and varied. Peter Pan vanquishes Captain Hook by tossing him to the ticking crocodile. Harry Potter saves the wizarding world from Lord Voldemort. Frog remains cheerful despite spending his year with the dour Toad. Amelia Bedelia triumphs over the illogical English language. Max becomes the King of the Wild Things and finds his dinner still warm. 

Yet there is one hero who goes unsung in the world of children’s literature, one hero whose name remains unknown, one hero who might only be described as wet. That hero, a moral compass for children everywhere, is the fish in The Cat in the Hat.

You recall the tale. Sally and her brother are withering away from boredom. It’s too wet to go out. It’s too cold to play ball. So they sit in the house doing nothing at all.  

BUMP!  The door flies open and in steps that rogue among rogues, The Cat in the Hat. Immediately the mayhem begins.

Now, as you remember, their mother was out, so when the Cat proposes some good games and some new tricks, Sally and her brother do not know what to do. Should they follow this leader into realms unknown or should they continue to gaze at the dribbles of rain on the window glass? 

At this moment, our hero speaks: “No! No! Make that cat go away! Tell that Cat in the Hat you do not want to play. He should not be here. He should not be about. He should not be here when your mother is out!”

 Note the commanding tone of our hero. He has no doubts about the wisdom of following Mother’s dictates. After all, what is the seat of all wisdom? A mother’s lap.

The Cat, recognizing a worthy foe, counters with smooth words and acrobatics. He hoists the complaining fish, trapped in his proverbial fishbowl (oh, the philosophical implications), into the air and, quoting the messenger angels, says, “Have no fear.  Have no fear!  My tricks are not bad.”  

The cat falls and our hero plunges into a nearby teapot — that universal symbol of hearth and home (at least in England). From there he continues to expound, “Do I like this?  Oh, no! I do not. This is not a good game. No, I do not like it, not one little bit!”  

His warnings, alas, go unheeded.

The Cat refuses to listen to reason and introduces his friends, or should we say his minions, Thing One and Thing Two. The fish, immediately recognizing the danger, shouts, “Put them out! Put them out!” But the children, enthralled by the charismatic Cat, ignore him. Thing One, Thing Two, and the Cat demolish the peaceful afternoon and most of the house. 

Belatedly, our narrator awakens to the danger of allowing unbridled passions into his quiet existence and says, “I do not like the way that they play!  If Mother could see this, oh, what would she say?”  

Too late!  Mother is in sight. What will they do, oh, what will they do?

Ever the hero, the fish rallies and counsels, “So, DO something! Fast!”  

Taking command, Sally and her brother order the nefarious Cat to clean up his act (and the house). As Mother enters the Cat exits with a tip of his famous striped hat. Mother, in parental innocence, asks “Did you have any fun? Tell me. What did you do?”

The question of the ages: When faced with moral choices, oh, what do we do? The fish, our hero, without status, without laurels, without even a capital F in his name, might answer, follow your conscience, listen to the wisdom of your elders, think before you allow outsiders to influence your choices in life. 

Yet, even with this paragon of wisdom, this philosophical giant, this, well, why don’t we just say it, this fish, living right in their midst, Sally and her brother cannot give an answer.  

As the fish smiles in his bowl, they gaze into the reader’s eyes and ask, “What would you say if your mother asked you?”      

(Thanks to Dr. Seuss. The Cat in the Hat, 1957)