In defense of sad story by GJ

I've been thinking about my sad story in the restaurant. I'm faced with the question of who was it, in my childhood, who gave me a "friendlier world view?"

First, I think, was a gas-station attendant just down the street from our house. I probably met him first when I was 7 or 8. There was a huge promotion on for Texaco, and they were giving away fireman's hats to exploit that campaign. I went down there to get mine and the man was very nice; smiling and friendly...warm, like an uncle, maybe. On another occasion, this man snatched me up and out of the way of an on-coming truck as I tried to cross the street. I think there was also a neighbor, but details escape me as to why I recall him.

My overall impression is that many strangers tended to be kind and "outreaching" toward all children. Waitresses smiled at you, a policeman might pat you on the shoulder; that sort of thing seemed common.

When I was 17 and getting ready to leave for boot camp, I was summoned to a stranger's house by a woman from church. (I have no idea how she knew me, as we had only lived in town for a few years, and were not exactly perfect in attendance.) She called me "sunshine Jimmy" and asked me where I wanted to go for boot training. I told her Great Lakes, naturally, since it was only an hour away. It turns out that a relative of hers was an officer there and could arrange just such an assignment. First, I was impressed by her thoughtfulness, and second, nobody had ever called me that before. Is 17 too late to influence one's self-image? Hmmmm.

All in all, then, growing up provided a cozy, comfortable environment in which to function. There was no need to fear policemen, or beware of gas-station attendants, or shy away from one's neighbors. Grandparents could speak to someone's child, even offer small gifts, without being suspected of wrong intentions.

The sadness I cite is that those days can never be repeated. All ideas of "that big world out there" must be taught (and only by one's parents) with caution and prudence. A child has to work hard to feel confident about his journey "out there."

Strange Recollections by Grandpa Jim

An Early Thanksgiving

Late February…that’s a good time to be recalling…no, wait. That’s about nine months early!

It was oh, about 25 years ago. Jean and I and some others in the car, as I recall, were headed to Cousin Betty’s on Thanksgiving morning. The trip normally took about an hour, driving west to picturesque Dekalb, Illinois.

We had told Betty that we felt it was our turn to provide the turkey, and Jean had had the idea to put the bird in the oven the night before and let it bake slowly. (Could this have been one of the early experiments in baking turkeys in paper bags?) Anyway, we put the huge baking pan and the foil-wrapped turkey in the trunk of the car and set out for Betty’s.

Somewhere just short of Dekalb, we had to stop to pay a toll. I rolled down my window (the temperature was in the mid-teens) to hand the money to the toll-taker. He reached to take the money as he said, “Happy Thanksgiving!.” He sniffed a little and said, “Boy, I really must be thinking about dinner, because I can almost smell that turkey!”

We laughed and laughed, rolled up the window and left the poor man to come to grips with his imagination.

One Sad Story, I think by GJ

The saddest story I can think of this morning is a state of affairs that exists today. We live in an age so fraught with danger and crime and suspicion that a wonderful potential is lost. I’m thinking about the effect that strangers can sometimes have on children.

What brings this to mind is something that happened yesterday at a buffet restaurant we visited. I had just passed a counter where yams were on display. (Now, I don’t care for yams, but that’s not the issue.) As I turned the corner of the display, a boy of about 8 or 10 reached in, took the spoon and helped himself to a pretty good helping of the yams.

I so much wanted to ask him about his choice. I was impressed that he knew what they were and that he knew what he wanted and that he took a reasonable amount. I wanted merely to make brief contact. All I could do was smile and move on. How many seniors have felt the same way? Millions, I’d guess.

Children today will never know the potential kindness of strangers. They will never meet the “grandpa wannabes,” or “lonesome grandmas” who only want to share their belief that this old world ain’t all bad. Children should be allowed to know that there are strangers “out there” who could be asked for help or advice or what-have-you. Their “world view” could be larger and more friendly. Their safety is absent, and contact is lost. Their contact is lost, and some togetherness is lost. I mourn for both of us.

UPDATE By Grandpa Jim

Sorry 'bout that...couldn't get online for a week!

PC wouldn't let me on...how's that for gratitude? Simple problem, really...Nancy, Gary and I are "networked." Called her up in Minnesota, she told me what to do, and presto! (A simple procedure on HER PC!)

Went to lunch at a mom'n'pop type diner and as we were leaving, one of the servers gave Jean a stuffed lamb (like teddy bear) to take home. Jean has been delighted with it, calls it her baby, and keeps it close. I feel better in leaving the room for some chores, etc.

Weather has been beautiful. Went out and sat in swing for a spell and it was most pleasant.

Anyone believe in guardian angels? I'd sure like to hear abou it. Love, Jim

BACK-PEDALLING?

Bought a tricycle today! Now don’t laugh and don’t think I’ve ridden back to my childhood. And yes, I can fit on it. It has a horn, a parking brake, and a computer! (It is teal in color.) What other vehicle can fit on the sidewalk?

And, get this…it has a flag on the back! (A bright orange pennant.) Why? Because it is so wasteful to start a car for the ½ mile trip to the mail box. You see, the mail is put into the boxes at somewhat uncertain times, mostly from 1:00 to 3:00 PM. If nobody (Gary or Nancy) is going out after noon, we don’t bother to get the mail until the next day. Sometimes it is even more than one day, even.

OK, so I’m the only one who REALLY cares. On most days, it really doesn’t matter. But, and only from time to time, I expect mail from such folks as stamp dealers, for instance. (I send them SASE’s and use these to keep track of postmarks.) The PM’s I keep track of in a journal in order to register the “turn-around” time. One man didn’t reply for two weeks and I just won’t bother to do any more business with him. One man replies almost by the next day! He gets most of the business, of course.

I took my “Bike,” it is Bike Week, after all, on its shakedown cruise this evening. Took me a shade less than five minutes each way and was quite easy. I hope the price in sore muscles is not too high. Thus, I am no longer quite so dependent. Like the line from “God’s Trombones,” “…and THAT’S good.” (Said as He surveyed His creations.)

The Wolf has howled by GJ

Howlin Wolf has left a new comment on your post "Comment on a comment by GJ": Thanks for putting it much more succinctly. It made her feel "normal" for a time. How often we forget the human NEEDS for "belonging" even while struggling to be "different"--

Comment on a comment by GJ

I got a comment from old pal/colleague from teaching days. He observed that the girl in the wheel chair may have been responding to the environment, in which she had become a member of a group. (At least in her own mind.)

Children with special needs, like that young lady, must live a life of “in-your-face-type” treatment. Almost all human contact must be as a solitary individual…”you, you, you.” Might not one feel like a perpetual “target” of all communication? What must that be like? Could such be a constant reminder of one’s difference as opposed to the natural desire to have some sense of belonging? Would it be akin to being stared at a lot? (Ever meet anyone who enjoyed that???) Oops..forgot…that’s description of a “ham,” isn’t it?

The pal I’m indebted to calls himself “Howlin’ Wolf.” You may hear more from him in coming days.

All Grown Up, by GJ

Had a flashback yesterday. Happened upon an old movie with Shirley Temple as the young daughter of a cavalry colonel in a John Wayne western.

She was playing the role of a 16-year-old, but was 20, so the film was made in about 1948. I remarked to Jean (yesterday) that Shirley must have been Jean’s age and was, therefore, 18 when film was made. I was trying to emphasize the fact that Jean must have been a real fan when both were, like 6 or 8. (She doesn’t remember, of course, but seems to be pleased by the possibility.)

I looked it up, and I missed it by two years. She was born in April of 1928, a tad over two years before Jean, and a year after myself. I don’t recall ever seeing ST in a film when she was in her 20’s. Unlike a lot of child-stars, she was a real beauty at that stage of her life. (Cute at 9, a doll at 19?)

I tease Jean about being beautiful today, and believe it or not, she denies it and blushes! (Right after Nancy does her hair, I tell her I shouldn’t take her out into public, for fear she’ll be kidnapped. She blushes again.)

Interesting to note what has happened to “Opie,” from Andy Griffin fame, Ron Howard. He has gone on to direct some real “smashes,” DaVinci Code, for example. Little Opie turned 55 last week! Two child-stars. One becomes an outstanding director, the other a UN Ambassador. There’s probably a book about whatever happened to such as these?

Finally, this brings me to wonder if we aren’t on brink of a huge shortage of “character actors?” They are fading away rapidly, much like my veteran buddies. (More on these actors at another time.)

Ships #30A and B by GJ

A memory has been buzzing around in my “bank” (and no, it doesn’t qualify for a bailout,) about two students whom I’ll number as ships 30A and B. They were both in wheelchairs and were brought into freshman English at same time by two counselors. The chairs were positioned just to my right as I faced the front row of a lecture hall. I was in the middle of an exercise in pronunciation, whereby I would pass down the row, facing each student and calling out a word for each to pronounce. (These originated on a list they could study.) (Basic Track…lowest of three.)

When I reached the end of the row, and without thinking twice, or even once, I looked at the girl in the wheelchair and gave her the same word I had just given to the previous person. She blurted out the correct pronunciation, I said “Great,” (a favorite compliment) or something and went right on.

After class and everyone had left, I was picking up things and went into hall where I was met by one of the counselors. She said, “What did you do?” I said, “What do you mean?” She said, “To get the girl to answer.” I said, “Nothing.” She then told me it was the first time the girl had ever spoken in school. She was, among other things, thought to be autistic, and would respond only to her parents.

I often surmised that the girl got “caught up” in the exercise, and responded unvoluntarily. Maybe there was something in my appearance, or demeanor, or voice that compelled her to answer. I would see her in the hall from time to time and she’d flash a timid smile and then shyly look away. The counselor who was tending to her would nod approval and continue on.

Where are you, today, #30A? You would be 46 or 47 or so. I am sorry that our paths never crossed again.

Ship #9 by GJ

Brian Snyder is the former principal of tiny, Lake Monroe Christian Academy. This school is primarily for the children of New Tribes Missionaries, the organization that daughter Nancy is retired from. (May the grammar muses forgive me the prepositional sin?)

I substituted at the academy for about five years and got to know the Snyder family pretty well. Early on, I volunteered to help with the annual spelling bee, and found that Brian and I agreed that the bee was flawed. How, we asked ourselves, could it be fair if kids were asked to spell different words? Some are inherently more difficult, we felt. Some are spelled just like they sound, and some have cute little non-vocal traps.

We struggled for three or four years, and then hit upon a cure. We escorted each student to and from a distant room so that they could not hear the words announced before their turns. It worked well. And everybody knew exactly why the winner won…he or she had correctly spelled the same word that everybody else had missed! OK, so there is no system without its flaws. We must, however, do ALL we can to smooth out the field for the sake of fairness.

I occasionally suffer a little pang of regret that I couldn't have been involved in the school when I was younger. Teaching effectiveness is geared toward human functions, and it is these that diminish, oh so soon. (May the wisdom muses forgive my dabbling?)

Come on, now...by GJ

OK...who among you has been thinking I couldn't STAY away?

Rejuvenated by GJ

I want to thank all those who have been so kind. Everybody in my friends and family e-mail group has said so many nice things that I realized I still need to post. Then, I got a phone call just a few minutes ago...from alumnus of Bettendorf HS, Howard Deevers, in Tucson, class of 1956. It was a real pleasure to hear his voice and exchange the kind of views that only seniors seem to appreciate. Makes me wonder. Is there something in the air? Are there "vibrations" caught in slip-streams, or jet-streams...oh, I know...the Gulf stream! (Ships, GS...get it?) Something seems to be causing some of us to "tune in" together. Love it. Love the concept. GO!

Hello, again by GJ

I’m back…today at least?

Stayed away for a month+ and find that I miss it. The posting gives me an early morning purpose. The occasional comments give me some human contact. A friend e-mailed that he, too, missed it!

My latest thoughts keep returning to the idea of “ships that pass in the night.”

I’m fascinated by an idea that people can be substituted for ships! The clearest image is of former students. Just taking my 30 years of full-time teaching, I suppose my ship has passed approximately 4500 “ships” in the classroom, each of whom required 7 and ½ days to pass mine. (180 day/hours divided by 24.)

How is it that some of those ships stick in my mind?

Is there a link to the concept of kindred spirits? I think I’ll start a series of these ships and see what happens. As for student/ships, one goes back 57 years. Nameless and faceless, yes. But not formless, for I think that in the case of students, the link is one of emotion, a form of sorts. A desire to know more about that ship. Where is she headed? (All ships are called she, of course.) Who else is aboard? Will our paths ever cross again?

“57” was a freshman girl my first year of teaching. She had a slight speech problem that classmates snickered about. She was terribly shy and seemingly lonely. I was not a speech therapist, but I was required to have some hours in the rudiments of speech “correction.” I had to do some review and study, but we did make some progress. As I look back, it wasn’t the work, but the caring that probably helped the most. She responded to a ship that stopped all engines and paused to pay genuine attention. She sailed away at year’s end equipped just a little better with a tool or two to fend off the snickering.