I (Don't) Love Lucy

 I (Don’t) Love Lucy 

In the 1950s, everyone loved Lucy. The antics of Lucy, Ricky, Ethel, and Fred were ratings gold. The episode in which Little Ricky was born, aired miraculously coincidental to the night Lucille Ball gave birth to her son Desi, Jr.  Forty million people tuned in, nearly 72% of American households. Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz left a legacy of laughter. Yes, everyone loved Lucy — except for my mother.

Mom cringed when Lucy and Ethel took jobs at the chocolate factory, working faster and faster as the conveyer belt sped by, gulping chocolates, stuffing them into their dresses, and tossing them onto the floor. She groaned when Lucy baked bread covering the kitchen with flour. “Who’s going to clean that mess up?” Mom wondered. The mother of six active children Mom knew a lot about cleaning up. But what turned Mom off was the revenge mentality of many of the episodes.

Many episodes revolved around the married couple vowing, “I’ll teach Lucy/Ricky a lesson!” One of the “loving” spouses then devised a plan to exact revenge on the other for some real or imagined injustice. Lucy was angry that Ricky wouldn’t let her into his show or Ricky thought Lucy was spending too much money. Whatever the reason, the spouses plotted to humiliate or to embarrass the other.

Mom didn’t like what the show was teaching. The lesson she wanted us to learn was that marriage required loving and supporting your spouse — no matter what mistakes they make, no matter how they disappoint you, no matter what messes they make. Marriage was a partnership. A family was a team. Love, not revenge, holds us together. 

Is conflict more entertaining than cooperation? Thousands of comedy series have followed the pattern set by “I Love Lucy.” Think through the sitcoms you’ve watched over the years. How many plots revolved around one character teaching another a lesson? How many times have we laughed when someone gets slapped in the face with a figurative pie, some action that blows up in their faces, or some humiliation putting them in their place? 

Revenge mentality has leaked into real life too. Political parties no longer promote their platforms, they humiliate their opponents. Social media thrives on putting down others. Pundits shout insults. Reality shows debase or demean their participants. The worse it is the more the public wants to see it.

Mom didn’t dislike all TV shows. She loved "The Andy Griffith Show.” Sheriff Taylor helped his neighbors, loved his family, and encouraged his impulsive deputy, Barney Fife. Using kindness as his only weapon, Andy kept Mayberry friendly and safe. When Barney or son Opie made a mistake, Andy helped them to learn from it without embarrassing them. Andy treated everyone in town with dignity — even Otis, the town drunk. In Mayberry, folks laughed with one another, not at one another.

Treating others with dignity is the best way to show love. Revenge is not sweet when it involves spouses, family, or friends. When you say, “I love,” you have to mean it. That’s the only lesson you need to learn. Like Mom did, teach it well. 

Reading Models Matter

 

Reading Models Matter

My father was a reader. If he sat down he had a book in his hand. He loved Agatha Christie, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, PD James, and Sherlock Holmes. He wielded his library card like a sword — opening the gates to wonder and knowledge. Because he read, his six children did too. My stack of library cards and a house full of books testify to Dad’s influence. I, too, love Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes. After Dad passed into the great library in the sky, I added many of his books to my shelves.

My students in second grade knew that I loved reading and books. Our bookshelves bulged. I told them, “If you can read, you can do anything. You don’t have to depend on others for information; you can look it up yourself. You can travel to other times and places. Readers can do anything.” We shared thousands of books, having adventures, gaining knowledge, and loving reading.

When I retired, I volunteered for a reading club for an after-school program. A group of volunteers read donated books with the children who then choose books to take home for their personal libraries. We polled the children to find out their interests — Star Wars, princesses, animals, Captain Underpants, video games, and subjects from popular culture. By shopping library and book store sales, we provide these and a few of our own childhood favorites and let the kids choose. Their joy in getting new books reflected the joy we shared in reading them.

Reader models matter. Alvin Irby, author and comedian, noticed that many young black boys lack male reader models. He founded Barbershop Books, a non-profit organization, to provide child-friendly spaces in a male-centered environment. The books provided are recommended by other children, not adults, to attract young readers. Kids like books that make them laugh so funny books top the list. Irby believes that reading experiences should be geared to children’s experiences: “Kids need to identify with the books they read. They must want to read them.” The barbershop becomes a place for both haircuts and reading. Joining men reading in a friendly place encourages the boys to  see reading as a positive male experience. 

A few years ago, my granddaughter called to tell me that she had found a great new author — Agatha Christie. Had I ever read her books? Dad inspired me and my five siblings. We inspired our children. They inspired theirs. Dad’s legacy as a reader lives on.  

Reading models matter. Be a model for your children. Find out what books they like and share them. Every kid needs a library card. Make the librarian a friend and the library a special place for you and your children. Donate books to reading programs. Volunteer to read. Pass your love of reading along. In a world full of reading adults, every kid will be a reader. 

Check out Alvin Irby’s TedTalk: “How to Inspire Every Kid to Be a Lifelong Reader.”

The Greatest Movie Ever

 The Greatest Movie Ever

What’s your favorite movie? At Oscar time, movie critics list their “ten best” for the year and often comment on the best movies of all time. Citizen Kane, Casablanca, The Godfather, and Singing in the Rain top many lists. All these are great but my vote for the greatest movie of all time is Smoke Detectives. 

Smoke Detectives is the story of Count Floyd, a vampire of the Count Chocula variety, who lives in a haunted house filled with spiderwebs, coffins, dark corners, and fire-safety hazards. The Smoke Detectives, a gang of kids in trench coats and deerstalker caps, get a tip from his “Mummy” that the Count needs help. At first, the Count tries to frighten them before telling them old vaudeville jokes like “I just flew in from Transylvania and, boy, are my arms tired!” The detectives find fire hazards, like over-stuffed outlets and frayed cords, frightening the Count. They teach him about fire safety and he gets to work fixing his problems. 

Riveting, right? Probably not to you but when I showed this movie to my second-grade class every year, they were mesmerized. No one moved a muscle for twenty-five minutes. A rare moment of peace for me and a meaningful learning moment for them.  We laughed at the Count’s jokes and silly acting and learned along with him about fire safety. At the end, we’d bounce along as we sang the catchy jingle: Smoke Detectives are on the beat; Smoke Detectives are on your street; Smoke Detectives know what to do; Smoke Detectives like me and YOU!

What makes a movie great? Is it the cinematography, the story, the direction, or the acting? Those all contribute to be sure. But the lessons a movie teaches and the feelings viewers walk away with are what really make a movie great. My students learned fire safety rules and that they have power to change things. Children can identify a problem and solve it — and they can do it while having fun. Smoke Detectives are like me and you. We all have something to contribute. We can help others with knowledge and good humor. 

Twenty-five minutes of peace and twenty-five students learning and loving it made Smoke Detectives my pick for greatest movie. We walked away smarter and feeling joyful, ready to help our families and friends, perhaps while telling a few silly jokes. The best movies make you think and feel. Sharing with a few dozen little friends makes them great — like me and you. 

(Watch Smoke Detectives on YouTube. Many thanks to State Farm Insurance.) 

Numbering Your Years

Numbering Your Years

My youngest brother credits all the accomplishments in his life back to his fifth birthday. According to his scale, he had learned to read, write, cipher, argue the Constitution, quote Plato, prove geometric theorems, discuss Einstein’s theories, and drive before he was five years old. OK, maybe I exaggerated those last few, but no matter what accomplishments the rest of us claimed, he always countered with, “I could do that by the time I was five.”

How do you number your years? When I was a child, I linked my memories to my age: I learned to ride my bike when I was six. We moved to Seattle when I was seven. We moved three times when I was eight. Daddy had surgery when I was nine. Mikey was born when I was eleven. Nonna moved in when I was thirteen. Mom started working when I was fifteen. Nana died that same year. Every memory was cataloged by the years of my life.

When we are young, the world revolves around us. Our interests, needs, likes, and dislikes take center stage. As we mature, we become aware of others around us, but we remain egocentric. It is not, how does this event affect the world, but how does this event affect me? 

After I got married, my children’s ages outlined my life: We bought the station wagon when Rob was seven. We went to Florida when Jeff was thirteen. We got the goats when Thera was four. Numbering the years of the century faded behind the numbering of my children’s lives. 

It is not until we become parents that we can truly step out of ourselves and appreciate the cares of others. How do the things I do, think, and say affect my children? How do world events affect their lives and futures? What can I do to make their lives better and possibly, make the world a better place for all?

Parents’ resumes read differently from the very first cry of their child’s life. They no longer record the deals they seal or how many thousands they make but their child’s first smiles, first steps, first words, sorrows, and triumphs. Parents’ accomplishments lists include hours spent reading, hiking, talking, and sharing with a child. They include disciplining, arguing, laughing, shouting, and apologizing. They remember snuggling and snoozing in a backyard hammock with an infant, building sandcastles on the shore with a toddler, driving to countless games or recitals with a teenager, and wiping away tears as they leave the nest as a young adult. Every trip, every move, every purchase is balanced with time with your children. Your memory book merges with their lives.

Number your children’s years with love and joy. Work with them, walk with them, sing with them, and play with them. Make their lives worth remembering. Help them number their years with memories of you and the way you loved them.   

My baby brother has accomplished many things in his life but perhaps the greatest will be how he loves his four wonderful children -- all born after he was five.   

 

Lifelong What?

 

Lifelong What?

 

Every day on the news, some politician, pundit, or pastor, underscores a position or opinion by stating that, “I am a life-long (fill in the blank). This assertion, given as a shorthand cue to listeners, ascribes virtues, values, or traditional stances to the speaker. Life-long conservative, life-long liberal, life-long party member, life-long proponent, life-long opponent, life-long supporter, life-long protestor — every identifier rings bells for those who agree or disagree. 

Abraham Lincoln might have described himself as a life-long opponent to slavery. In his book, The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery, historian Eric Froner traces Lincoln’s evolution of thought about slavery. Raised by parents who disliked slavery, Lincoln’s anti-slavery sentiments formed early. 

As a young man working on river barges, Lincoln was sickened by the sight of human beings being bought and sold in the market like animals. As a nascent politician, Lincoln spoke out against the extension of slavery into new American territories. In a letter to a colleague, he wrote, "I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think, and feel.”

Living in a nation split on the issue of slavery, Lincoln at first advocated for its gradual abolition. At one time, he supported reparations to slave owners who freed their slaves. When running for President, he accepted the fact that the southern states would remain in the Union while continuing the “peculiar institution” that maintained their economy. 

When the nation descended into civil war, Lincoln’s main concern was for the preservation of the Union. In an 1862 newspaper article, he wrote: "If I could save the union without freeing any slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that." It wasn’t until 1863 in the Emancipation Proclamation that Lincoln declared "that all persons held as slaves" within the rebellious states "are, and henceforward shall be free.” Even then, he was unsure that freed slaves could be included in American society and considered returning them to Africa.

Lincoln might have identified as a life-long abolitionist, but his thinking about slaves and slavery evolved. Eric Froner writes that Lincoln’s evolution echoed that of the nation’s — from allowance to restriction to gradual emancipation to immediate freedom to segregation to integration. 

Thinking people and nations evolve in practices and ideals. Life-long should not describe a stagnant position or opinion. Life-long as a qualifier should only be attached to learner. To grow and thrive, nations and people must assess old ideas and positions, adapt to changing times, and adjust to meet the needs and challenges ahead. Life is long. Like Lincoln, use yours to make the world a better place. 

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!