Tales Out of School

These are the stories that like glue hold a family together, the kind we love to tell. I don't want these to be lost, and I'm hoping that over the years you will add to them, telling those of the next generation, and the next.

When John and Mary were little (John about 28 months and Mary about 10 months) we went for a walk every afternoon along Maryland Avenue in Shorewood, Wisconsin. John loved hats and always dressed for the occasion. A new ice cream parlor opened on the corner of Maryland and Capital and one day we went in. John and I sat on little stools at the counter. Mary sat in the stroller. The fellow who owned the shop asked for our order. We gave it, and when he turned away John said, "That man doesn't have any hair."
   I knew the man had heard for I saw his ears turn red. I turned to John, my finger on my lips. "Sh-h-h."
   John's eyes widened. "You mean he doesn't know he doesn't have any hair?"
   One more story for John: When he was three, he came to me in the kitchen one day and asked. "Where's God?"
   "Everywhere," I told him.
   He leaned forward and whispered, "Could you tell him to go in to the other room?"
   I wondered what mischief John had in mind.

Mary's turn.
   It was the Christmas before Bill was born. Mary (2 1/2) was enthralled with the Christmas story. I overheard her telling her best friend Elonda, "And when our baby comes we'll lay him in the hay."
   "No, no," I said. "We'll put the baby in a beautiful little plastic basket, blue for a boy, pink for a girl."
   But Mary knew better and took all her hair ribbons and made hay for all her dolls.
   And another for Mary: She was just three when the children in Sunday school were given little banks. They were to save coins to buy shoes for the little children in Korea. Mary loved the little bank and every day asked for a coin. Art Linkletter had a daily TV show I let the children watch as it was all about children. One day, Mary came to me, hands on her hips, a look of exasperation on her face. "They do too got shoes!" she said. She took me to the TV set. There was a Korean children's chorus and she was right. All of the children had shoes. That was the end of that bank.

And now Bill's turn.    We had gone to Panama City, Florida for a little vacation--calm days at the beach. Dick was called away, an important meeting in New York, but I decided to stay. The cottage was paid for, and the kids were having a wonderful time. Some college girls had adopted Doug (just 2) and Bill, Mary, and John played nicely in the sand and surf. We brought in meals. A nice little break for me. Finally, it was time to make the drive back to Atlanta. I piled all four kids and our luggage in the car and set off. It was a long hot drive. At one point I stopped at a roadside stand and bought fruit for a snack. Soon, Bill stuck his little hand under my nose. It held a peach pit. "What should I do with this?" he asked. I'd reached that time in the trip when I was feeling stretched a bit thin. You know, the moment when you wonder whose good idea this was. "Toss it out the window," I said. He pulled back. "No! You want a dirty world?"
   One more: Tenafly, New Jersey was like a precious little village. I regularly walked Doug and Bill to the library. Doug always settled down to read books, but Bill often got restless and wandered about. One day I realized he wasn't in the library. I grabbed Doug's hand and raced outside. No Bill. I was frantic. I hurried up and down the little main street. Not a sign of him. The police department had a small storefront office. I rushed inside and told them my son was lost. They were friendly and told me it happened all the time. Not to worry. But I was worried and insisted they take down the information. They did, then told me to go home and wait. They'd find him and bring him to me. Doug and I walked the few blocks home. And there was Bill, playing in the brook in the sideyard. I rushed up to him. "Bill," I said. "You were lost." He looked puzzled. "I wasn't lost. I was home." And he was.

And now it's Doug's turn.
   When Doug was four, he had a terrible break in his arm. He'd been playing Over the Moon with his dad and had fallen. (That's the game where Dick lay on his back, legs in the air. The kids lay on his feet and held his hands and he took them over the moon.) The pediatrician brought in an orthopedic surgeon and Doug was hospitalized. The surgeon was a marvelous technician, a lousy people person, and I was shocked at the manner in which he dealt with Doug over the weeks. Bad experience all around.
   A year later, Doug fell again. The Froede family was visiting us and Doug was showing Rick the trapeze set-up in the backyard. Showing off, I suspect. Anyway, Rick came screaming into the kitchen. I hurried outside to find Doug hysterical. I was sure he was remembering his former experience. I knelt down, grabbed his shoulders, and said, "Stop it!" He gasped and stopped crying. I walked him into the house, all the while making soothing comments like, "You'll be fine, etc." I took him to the breakfast nook and had him sit. I carefully placed his arm on the table. "Rick will stay right here and won't let anyone touch your arm." I walked over to the wall phone. "I'm calling the doctor right now. It's all right if you cry."
   Doug sobbed out, "Oh, thank you."
   Poor baby!!!
   And one more: He was in kindergarten and liked it. Told me he learned something every day. One evening at dinner the kids started squabbling. I spoke up. "Dinner time is meant to be a pleasant time. No more arguing. Our conversations need to be nice and uplifting." The family could tell I was serious. Suddenly Doug spoke up. "I have a poem," he said. "Beans, beans..."
   I interrupted. "Are you sure you should say this?"
   He nodded seriously. "It's a poem I learned in school. Beans, beans, a musical fruit. The more you eat the more you toot."
   There was dead silence. The others all had their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing. Doug looked at me, his face stricken. "Did I do a wrong?"
   With that sweet face? I knew he'd NEVER do a wrong.

Stay tuned for the next generation................