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an everyday life

Tag Archives: Parents

Picnic

06 Saturday Mar 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Childhood Memories, Death, Everyday Life, Parents

Much of today was no picnic.

But somehow, in spite of all the long hours of work, we did what most families do when gathering for an extended-family picnic — we visited, we remembered, we laughed and we enjoyed wonderful picnic food.  Foods like fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans, deviled eggs and pimento cheese sandwiches.  And an assortment of home-made desserts like chocolate cake, banana pudding, fried pies and cookies.

The kids ran and played and looked for ways to help their elders, who were busy sorting through years of life left behind by my parents.  We stirred up the dust with our brooms and by the time the dust settled, two dumpsters were filled with remnants of my parent’s life — and more than a few of us carried home treasures of our own.

Some would call my mother a hoarder, though she wouldn’t have seen herself this way.  Mom instead viewed herself more like a fairy godmother, turning junk into treasure with a little pixie dust.  And I think Mom would be pleased to know some of her treasures ended up being treasures for those she left behind.

One of my treasures is an old family photo album that belonged to my great-great grandmother — she is known as “Grandma Morrison”, but in the days before she married, and had children who had children, she was just herself, Eliza Jacoby.

Knowing a little about my maternal grandmother’s history, I’m guessing this album dates back to the 1870’s.  Most of the old photos are unidentified relatives, though a few have names written on the back of the photograph in the hand of my Great-Aunt Blanche, who gave the album to my mother.

The other treasures I gathered included some old family films, taken by my parents in the late 1950’s and 1960’s.  Until I can investigate whether these images can be digitized, I’m keeping the film canisters in an old King Edwards Cigar Box I scavenged upon in my mother’s former shop.  Like many children of my generation, I always thought empty cigar boxes made perfect storage for all sorts of prizes.

The last treasure I brought home for myself was one of my father’s old VHS movies.  In honor of a day of this family picnic lunch, I chose the movie Picnic, which was released in 1955, the year I was born.  Picnic was one of Daddy’s favorite films, kept with all  other favorites in the drawer of his television cabinet.

My father viewed his movies in conjunction with the season; Daddy watched Yankee Doodle Dandy around Independence Day, State Fair when the fair was beginning in September, and A Christmas Carol in early December.  Most likely, Picnic was shown around Labor Day.

It’s sobering to see my parent’s lives together come down to us sifting through the rubble for treasures to keep, give away and sell.  It’s a reminder that our time here is brief — that someday, not too far in the distant future, a few of the items we treasure may also be found worthy to keep by our own descendants.

And like me and my newly acquired family photo album, they may not fully know what treasure they actually possess.  For now, it’s this same way with Dad’s video of Picnic.  But I’ll make amends come Labor Day.

School Daze

28 Sunday Feb 2010

Posted by Janell in Good Reads, Life at Home

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Books, Childhood Memories, Everyday Life, Parents, Raising Children, The Help

“…what person out there don’t remember their first-grade teacher?  Maybe they don’t remember what they learn, but I’m telling you, I done raised enough kids to know, they matter.” —  Aibileen, The Help


Oh she knows what she’s talking about, that colored maid Aibileen.  And not just about first grade teachers.  That wizened old woman — well, she knows a lot about life.  Aibileen’s raised seventeen white babies and done a whole lot of living before she ever steps foot on the first page of Kathryn Stockett’s novel, The Help.

I can’t imagine having someone like Aibileen in my young life, someone who listened and knew just what to say to set the world right.  But one’s thing’s for sure — that young girl in the book — Mae Mobley — she’s one lucky little girl, even though Mae Mobley “ain’t gone be no beauty queen,” even though Mae Mobley’s parents are so broken they don’t know how to love her, even though Mae Mobley’s teacher damages Mae Mobley’s inner sense of right and wrong.   Aibileen gone make it all better.  Aibileen will put things right.

There is so much right about this book.  I am thankful to Kathryn Stockett for telling this story, a story of how silence and pretense can kill a person’s inner truth while sharing it, with the right audience, can set people free to become their best and true selves.  The story is not just about Aibileen.  There are two other principal characters as well, plus three supporting characters.  But in the way of all good stories, this story is everyone’s story.  It is my story as it is your story, as it raises uncomfortable questions and stirs the silence of deep consciousness to reveal indivisible truth.

Too many childhood questions and stories are silenced, silenced with words like,  “Not right now”  or “Go peddle your papers.”   Too many words are left unsaid, that if spoken, would build up a child’s self-esteem.  But the words are not left unsaid by Aibileen.  Throughout this book, Aibileen feeds little Mae Mobley with a steady diet of words  to help Mae Mobley know just how good and just how right she really is… even when Mae Mobley’s world tells her otherwise — words like, “you is kind,” “you is smart” and “you is important.”

Reading this story made me wonder how life would be different if school curriculum taught these basic truths to young children.  And while I know the school shouldn’t be responsible for teaching this sort of material, I wonder if the teaching job might be easier if teachers were teaching children who believed in themselves. Sad as it is, parents don’t always teach their children well.  And what parents inadvertently teach may instead be the opposite lessons —  “you is mean,” “you is dumb” and “you is worthless.”

If  I’d spent more time in first grade learning Aibileen’s 3 U’s and less time trying to learn those 3 R’s, I may have passed first grade believing in myself.  My teacher would have had no excuse to yell at me or grab me by the shoulders and shake me in frustration for failing to catch on to my lessons.  I may not have bought into the lies I ended up believing about myself, lies like what a slow learner I was, that made me want to be anybody but myself.

Oh, Aibileen!  How right you were when you said first grade teachers matter.  Those early childhood teachers matter so much, and I am very thankful my daughter Kara is out there trying to make a difference in a lot of kindergartner’s lives.

Hopefully for some, the early grade school days were memorable in a good way.  And though mine was memorable in a bad way, I did at least learn to check myself out in a daze — probably as a self-protective measure —  rather than pay too close attention to what I was being taught.

But here’s an everydaze lesson worthy of your attention:   You is kind.  You is smart.  You is important.

The Scary Quiet

24 Wednesday Feb 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Dog Tales, Everyday Life, Nursing Homes, Parents

All is quiet on the Western front.

No barking.  No floor shaking from dogs running to see who is at the door.  No dogs begging for rubs or grub or dubs.  No scratching at the door to be let in or outside.  Today is what retirement would look like without three dogs in my life.

If the dogs were here —  rather than at the groomers — I could think.  I need noise to think.  Living with four children trained me to think with noise.

Noise always meant all was well.  Only when life grew quiet was it time to worry, time to go investigate to see what  trouble was brewing with the kids.  Murals on the wall?  Shaving faces or legs?  Talking on the phone after hours?  Too much quiet is a scary thing.

Daddy’s life would be too quiet except for the saving sounds of his television set.  When Dad’s roommate’s television is on at the same time as Daddy’s, I wonder how they stand each others noise.  Do their competing sounds drive one another crazy?

Yesterday, Daddy hit the wrong button on his remote, which turned the sound up from “normal” loud to blaring.  Daddy’s roommate Larry responded in kind.  Sitting between the dueling television remotes, I wondered what the neighbors were thinking — if they could hear themselves think.

Vibrating walls and sounds don’t bother Daddy or Larry; I get the feeling that making noise is all in a day’s work.  Usually, the television noise lulls one or both to sleep.  Perhaps the vibrations stemming from Daddy’s walls lull the neighbors to sleep as well.

A noisy world is a good thing.  A little noise helps one appreciate the quiet.  What I would give for a few good barks.

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