A Grandpa's Notebook Part 2

Actually, (as a lawyer) yelling will lose you more cases than you will win. Lawyers have to be able to argue, that is, discuss the pros and cons of a case. It takes reasoning ability and a calmness of spirit and a love for justice. I'm sure you are good at a lot of things. You sound full of vim and vigor and enthusiasm. That's great!

Please write to me what you are doing, about what you like to study and whatever else you would like. I will try to be more prompt in answering you. These last few days were hectic for me.

Dear Jessica, It's nice to meet you this way. I'm glad to hear that Mrs. ---- is your teacher. She sounds great. I'm in good health, thank you for asking. I have three grown boys, but no grandchildren yet. We have an old dog that thinks he is our boss. We really like cats better, but our dog is too old and set in his ways to tolerate any cats.

My youngest son and his girl friend have four cats between them. I like being a retired physician. I don't have to attend emergencies and I can get all the rest I want. When I go to the hospital it is to get medicines.

I like your goals, they are very nice. If you change your mind as you get to look at different professions, that's OK. Whatever you decide, go for the best. A neo-natal nurse is a very good kind of person to be. I think I will be proud of you.

Thank you for writing to me. I will look forward to your reply.

Another.

h.e.l.lo Daniel.

It was a pleasant time I had reading your letter to me. Thank you very much. Football and drawing are favorites of yours. I like football also. In fact, I did play football in high school and college. I was a fullback, but never got to handle the ball. In those days the fullback was like a guard or a tackle. All he did was block for guys who carried the ball.

As for drawing, I'm not very good. In fact I'm terrible. Freehand drawing, that is. What I do instead of drawing is use my computer to do graphics and ill.u.s.trations.

As you work with computers during your school career I'll bet you'll love some of the creative things you can do with computer drawing programs. My favorite drawing software is called 'Arts & Letters'. It has a lot of pre-drawn ill.u.s.trations. These are called 'clip art'. I can, for instance, call up an ill.u.s.tration of an airplane. Then I can do all sorts of interesting things to change how the airplane looks. It's a lot of fun.

As for collecting things, I like funky menus. The funkier the better. Last month I was in a place in Wyoming where the menu was printed inside an old newspaper. The newspaper had stories that actually were in newspapers from the late 1890s, when trappers and explorers were just pus.h.i.+ng into Wyoming territory. I got so interested in reading all those stories the waitperson had to come by twice to get me to order. The menu was in the middle of the foldout old paper. So if you ever run across a funky menu, send it my way. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.

Thanks, and let's keep exchanging information. I enjoy hearing all about you, your school and your friends. And what you like and don't like. Turtles? Snakes? My goodness! I'll pa.s.s on both of those. I live in an apartment and no pets are allowed. But for several years, until he died, I had a cat, properly named BearCat. Bear hated to ride in the car. It was an annual battle of wills between Bear and me to get him his shots at the vet. I miss Bear. *** >From the teacher, addressed to all who wrote to her students Dear friends, My students have so enjoyed the exchanges we have had so far. I hope you will continue to write to us!

My students are afraid you will forget about them and asked me to remind you that we are here and we love your messages. If we owe you letters, please forgive us; we will remedy that as quickly as we can! If you 'owe' us letters, please write.

I leave you with this somewhat apt quote from LIVE AND LEARN AND Pa.s.s IT ON (a lovely little book given to me by a former student): 'I've learned that young people need old people's love, respect, and knowledge of life, and that old people need the love, respect and strength of young people.' (The writer was 85 years old.) An elderly person wrote and asked, 'How do we get to write to children?'

To which the teacher replied: Writing to the children is easy! Just jump right in and do it! They are really 'into' this now and will snap up your request. I would like to start having them each (29 of them) choose a particular friend here so I still need a larger pool of adult writers.

What others have done is simply write and post a brief letter telling about themselves, some idea where they live, their interests, anecdotal family history that children might relate to, work background, etc.

Thanks for your interest. We hope to hear from you soon!

Show-and-Tell Expert.

An elder, whether he or she is a biological grandparent or not, can be an excellent show-and-tell for a youngster. If you haven't tried it, give it thought, the experience is one of the best antidotes for the 'blahs.' The experiences range from the hilarious to the poignant, and deserve being shared.

During a visit to my distant grandchildren they invited me to accompany them to school to tell a few stories. On the appointed day, waiting in line with my granddaughter to enter her cla.s.sroom, she glanced around to see if I was still there. Seeing me, she waggled her thumb at me over her shoulder and loudly proclaimed for all to hear, 'That's my Grandpa. He's my show-and-tell today!'

Acknowledging students' stares and giggles with dignified bows to left and right, I trailed along into the cla.s.sroom, was graciously received, told stories, responded to questions about how the stories came to be, and asked questions in return. I then repeated my performance in my grandson's cla.s.s. Both sessions went well.

During the storytelling and the discussions that followed, the youngsters were fascinated: they were sharing their thoughts with someone who really wrote stories and, equally important, they were talking with an elder and a grandpa (grandpa-surrogate?) who had come to visit with them from beyond their everyday routines. I was reminded once more that grandparents were nearby for relatively few children, the reasons include circ.u.mstances as well as geography. For most, grandparents were distant, deceased, or unknown. *** Some time previously, a friend invited me to accompany him to a children's day care center in his city. He, along with several other elders, visited the center occasionally to interact with the youngsters. Conforming to the center's schedule, we arrived about half an hour before lunch. The children, about 25 three-to-four year olds, were still in the play yard. With permission from the play yard supervisor, we circulated from one group to another and partic.i.p.ated in their activities where we could safely do so.

After a while, the attendant a.s.sembled the children to return indoors, and we followed. Inside, the youngsters and elders took seats in a circle, the elders s.p.a.cing themselves about equidistant from each other. To my surprise, it was story time, and we elders were to be the storytellers.

The first storyteller told of a voyage she had taken as a child with her parents, and the second described a winter sleigh ride along a country lane. My friend, a retired aeronautical engineer, spoke of airplanes and s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps and stars in the skies. Throughout, the youngsters concentrated on the speaker, asked questions, voiced opinions, and, in many ways expressed their wonder and interest. The adults were getting as much from the telling as the children.

I had been engrossed in observing the reaction of the children to the stories being told and I was unprepared for my part. Suddenly, it was my turn. What could I say that would have meaning to these young children? Searching my memory, I recalled that, when my children were young, I had often baked bread for our family. My story would be about baking braided bread, and I would pantomime the process and have all present join in.

The children, and the adults as well, quickly entered the spirit of the story. When, with elaborate motions, I drew forth baking pans and supplies from an imaginary cupboard and placed them on a phantom work table, they did. When I cracked pretend-eggs into an enormous bowl that wasn't really there, they did. Together, we vigorously mixed the invisible ingredients, dumped, floured, and kneaded the phantom mess, centered it on the ghostly table, and raised our arms grandly above our heads and touched fingertips high up to match the height to which our magic dough had risen. Solemnly, we pounded the non-existent lump flat, cut it into unseen chunks, and rolled each chunk into an invisible branch. Watching closely as I solemnly went about it, each child braided their three symbolic branches into their personal loaf, placed it in the shadow oven, and drew it out a moment later, sniffing the fragrance of freshly baked bread.

Faces reflecting their deep concentration, the children were involved. Elders and youngsters had shared an experience, and it had been good. Having worked up our appet.i.tes, we were also ready for lunch. *** I've told this story on several other occasions. Preparing for one telling, I rolled three packages of play dough of contrasting colors into eighteen- inch sticks, wrapped each in the clear plastic used for food storage, and secured the plastic with adhesive tape. At the proper moment in the telling, and in elaborate pantomime, I withdrew each colored length, one at a time, from a mysterious-looking case beside me. Youngsters crowded forward, eyes wide and riveted. I held each colored wrap aloft for all to see, and continued with the game. The contrasting colors made the braiding process clearly visible and more understandable. *** I was invited by the Resource Teacher of a local elementary school to partic.i.p.ate in their Authors and Ill.u.s.trators Invitational. Each appearance would be a one man or woman show: a visiting writer or artist and an audience of children. Arrangements fell into place and each of the five sessions I conducted found me in the school library, seated in an ancient wooden grandpa-style rocking chair, with twenty-five to thirty second- to fourth-graders spread out before me in a half circle with their listeners on and tuned in.

To each group I told a story or two, and encouraged questions about how my stories came to be. Planet Jupiter was the setting for one story (told here in another chapter), and I mentioned that the plot and characters had been created by working out details with my grandchildren. Discussing collaboration in writing a story got us into long distance interaction between grandkids and grandparents. With another, middle school group, I dragged out one of my book-length ma.n.u.scripts and explained the why and how of ma.n.u.script preparation and independent publis.h.i.+ng and what might happen if (the big IF) the ma.n.u.script was accepted by a trade publisher. Questions, lots of questions, no two sessions alike. *** During a visit to my distant grandchildren, then nine-year old Joshua invited me to read a story to his cla.s.s of about fifteen students during the lunch period. I would have about half an hour, following which the cla.s.s would break for the schoolyard. Most of the youngsters knew me, as I'd read or told stories to them during previous visits. I was greeted with 'Hi' smiles and hand waves.

The tables had been arranged in a U with me at the open end. Except for the few who hadn't seen me before, they knew I had difficulty hearing. As a reminder I pointed to my two hearing aids and asked the students to speak up when offering opinions or asking questions. This immediately brought comments from several that their grandmothers or grandfathers also wore hearing aids and they knew what was expected of them. To a few, my hearing device was something new. I removed the aid from my ear, opened the battery clip, and walked along the inside of the U to point out up close its major parts and their purpose, then demonstrated how the aid was installed and removed. I activated the acoustic feedback whistle by cupping the device in my palm and rendering a 'shave-and-a- haircut' whistle and this brought several laughs as well as questions. I was off to a good start.

Rather than read or tell a story, I moved on to talk about the United States programs for exploring s.p.a.ce, plans for a permanent s.p.a.ce station and, in time, a base on the Moon and unmanned and manned flights to Mars. We speculated about the origin of the planets in the light of their relative sizes and orbits along the solar plane. I sketched a rough diagram on the blackboard. The students reeled off the planets' names, and recalled what they knew about this or that planetary satellite. One youngster wanted to be certain that the cla.s.s was aware that Pluto's...o...b..t was unusual in that it cut across the solar plane inside Neptune's...o...b..t and back out into interstellar s.p.a.ce. They knew a lot about the solar system and were proud and pleased to share their knowledge. It was a 'high tech' discussion.

The last item on my agenda was to read several single-page stories, each closing with a dilemma confronting the lead character. The author's answers to the puzzles were included in the text, but before disclosing it I invited the cla.s.s to suggest their own. They didn't hesitate, and supported their ideas with logic.

As in our previous sessions which, for some students, were as far back as preschool, they felt that they were exchanging views with an elderly adult who had arrived from outside, who wrote stories as well as being a storyteller, and someone who was grandpa to a fellow student. The half- hour pa.s.sed much too soon.

Talks and readings I've attended over the years gave ample evidence of their value to speakers and listeners. Whether a show-and-tell visitor to a cla.s.s presents a story, a memoir, an artifact, a skill, or an art form, almost all have something worth sharing with children. The problem is often in bringing the two distant age groups into each other's presence so that the dynamics of their interaction and mutuality can take place. Preparations, as well as the main event, add zest to the experience. A show-and-tell takes many forms, however they occur, one constant prevails: each youngster, while you and I are with him or her, is 'the grandchild.'

Introducing yourself to a distant grandchild as a teller of stories or of family, cultural, or other anecdotes, or as someone who cares about him or her, calls for some initial groundwork. For instance, does your grandchild know you or only of you?

With increased life expectancy and life experience, grandparents of this era have more to offer youngsters than ever before. As life expectancy increases, our children and grandchildren, in their turn, will have more to offer their succeeding generations.

Grandchildren need easy access to grandparents. Casting the elderly into physically remote and psychologically pa.s.sive roles works against the interests of grandchildren and their parents, as well as their grandparents.

For grandparent-grandchild interaction to flourish, if it is to exist at all, grandparents, themselves, need to take initiatives to reach out. This could call for unusual a.s.sertiveness to open lines of communication where there are none, and at keeping them open for a two-way flow.

Don't Just Ride Off into the Sunset.

Recalling that far more a.s.sertive and influential time in their lives, the elderly insist on their right to age gracefully, usefully, and so far as they possibly can, their way. Rather than merely riding off into the sunset, older adults choose to brighten the horizons of their minds and lives through continued involvement in family, schools, work place, and community. Most elderly reject the diminution of their abilities and interests, although as they age into the seventh and eighth decades they may be compelled to restrict their direct involvement somewhat. Their capabilities, reduced by time and the tides, are nevertheless firmly based on direct on-the-job experience in managing households, family affairs, and professional and technical careers. With such knowledge and experience the elderly will remain a vital resource.

(From Surviving The Future, by Arnold Toynbee, Oxford University Press, 1971) Man is a social being, and therefore, among all the objects for his love that there are in the universe and beyond it, he ought, I suppose, love his fellow human beings first and foremost. But he should also love all non-human living creatures, animals, and plants as well because they are all akin to man; they too are branches of the great tree of life. This tree has a common root; we do not know where the root comes from, but we do know that we all spring from it. Man should also love inanimate nature, because this, too, is part of the universe which is man's habitat.

(Our grandchildren) are not responsible for the existing state of the world. The reality is that the middle-aged generation (the parents of the rising generation) brought them into the world and is educating or miseducating them, or just ignoring their educational needs. If the middle-years or older generations are indignant at the rising generation, who is really at fault? Who s.h.i.+rked their responsibilities to their children and grandchildren? And with whom lies the initiative to resolve these inadequacies? In effect, it is up to the older generation to take the initiative to bring about reconciliation between itself and the generations that are to follow them.

PART TWO

FIRST STORIES.

Stories for three to five year old children are best told within their range of comprehension and imagination; stories that tell of things, activities and places to which the age group can readily relate. In fantasies, for example, I might animate familiar toys or modify characters from the youngster's favorite books and send them off on adventures that do not raise apprehension for the toy's or child's safety. Invariably, the stories close with the characters back in a secure and familiar setting.

Beyond the immediate pleasure of a grandma or grandpa story itself, the shared grandparent-grandchild experience transforms over time into recollections of enjoyable times in one's early childhood. The process helps to lay a foundation for a positive relations.h.i.+p between the generations and opens doors to future confidences and dialogues as the grandchild matures.

Stories from distant grandparents have a special aura. Young children remember the warm glow of family readings where Mom and Dad add their own versions of the story. ***

Grandpa Takes a Walk.

Here's a simple letter-story that I mailed to my grandchild. Change it to one of your routine activities that you would like to share with Grandchild when next he or she visits. Add a bit of whimsy. When your story is read aloud to him or her at home, before the visit, it adds to the youngster's antic.i.p.ation.

It is morning. I look out my window. The sun is s.h.i.+ning. It's a good time to take a walk. I put on my sweater, leave the house and close the door behind me. Off I go on my walk, up one street and down another.

I come to a park. All about me are trees and shrubs and open fields. I start across the gra.s.s. A kite is high in the sky. The kite has red and white stripes, and looks like a bird with a wide tail.

'Who is flying this enormous kite?' I wonder.

I look about to see who is holding the string that stretches from the kite to the ground. What a surprise! It's a black and white spotted kitten. The kitten scampers back and forth with the kite's string gripped in its mouth.

After watching the kitten for a while, I go along on my walk. I reach the other side of the park and see a row of houses. One house has a window shade raised and a flowerpot on the windowsill. The pot has a plant with a single yellow flower growing straight up.

A boy and a girl are on the lawn in front of the house. The boy is pus.h.i.+ng a wheelbarrow with a yellow shovel in it. The girl is holding a pink parasol, folded closed.

'What will you put in your wheelbarrow?' I ask the boy.

He lowers the wheelbarrow and points to a pile of sand in the driveway.

'I'm helping my Dad move that pile of sand to the back yard,' he says. 'We're filling our sandbox.'

I turn to the girl.

'What will you do with your parasol?'

'When the sun is high,' she says, 'I will open my parasol. It will shade me.'

I nod, wave good-bye to the boy and girl, and continue walking. I come to a hill and climb to the top. In the sky is a small white cloud. In the distance is a rainbow.

I start for home. I pa.s.s the house with the boy and girl. The boy is pus.h.i.+ng the wheelbarrow. It is filled with sand. He pushes it toward a walk leading to the back yard. His sister has her parasol open. It is shading her. She waves at me. I wave back.

The yellow flower on the windowsill makes the house look cheerful.

I come to the park. The black and white spotted kitten is still flying the kite. I stop to watch. It is a strange sight.

I keep walking. In a little while I am back home. I had a nice walk.

When you visit us, you and I will take a walk along those streets and across that same park. On the far side of the park we will look for the house with the flowerpot in the window, and for the boy and his wheelbarrow and the girl holding her parasol. We will climb the hill and look for a rainbow in the sky. If we are lucky, we might be surprised by a black and white spotted kitten-flying a kite.

Dooby and Katrinka Have an Idea.

A popular story theme portrays friendly animals at play in a familiar setting. The story may be enhanced by the animals cooperating to overcome a problem to which the youngster can relate.

Dooby, the dog, has red fur, a droopy tail, and sad eyes. His friend, Katrinka, the cat, has striped gray and black fur, and a tail that usually sticks straight back with a little kink at the tip.

Sometimes, Katrinka makes her tail stiff and points it straight up like a telephone pole. That doesn't happen very often. Katrinka always has a cheerful smile.

Dooby wears a dog collar. Katrinka wears a ribbon around her neck. A tiny bell is attached to the ribbon. They live in a green house beside a road that disappears over a hill on one side and into a grove of trees on the other.

Dooby and Katrinka are great friends, and they love to play together. They chase a ball in the back yard, roll in the gra.s.s, or chase each other around tree trunks. Almost every day they sit side by side and watch the sun set. Dooby and Katrinka like to take walks and explore.

As we look in on Dooby and Katrinka this morning, we see Dooby das.h.i.+ng past Katrinka. Dooby barks as he runs, 'Katrinka, let's race along the road and have an adventure.'

That is all Katrinka needs to get her to tumble out of her comfortable bed, stretch along the carpet, and dash out of the house after Dooby.

Dooby is well on his way down the road. Katrinka runs fast and catches up. They race each other toward the hill, and then up one side and down the other.

They pa.s.s a shopping center and an office building, and are soon at a park with tall trees and wide playing fields. In they go.

Along one side of the park is a lake with rowboats, geese, ducks and swans. Dooby and Katrinka pay no attention to the rowboats, geese, ducks or swans.

They have something else in mind: the children's playground. There it is, up ahead. Along one side of the playground are a climbing maze, swings, and a seesaw. On the other is an large sandbox where children can play and build sandcastles. The sand can also be shaped into hills with roads winding along their sides, and long twisty rivers that run from one end of the sandbox to the other.

Dooby and Katrinka jump into the sandbox and chase each other from one end to the ether. They stop now and then to turn over pebbles and acorns with their noses or paws. They dig holes into which they push and bury the pebbles and the acorns.

Suddenly Katrinka stops playing and looks around.

'That's strange,' she says. 'Whenever we come to this park it's full of children. I usually see them with their mothers and fathers in rowboats on the lake, or along the sh.o.r.e feeding the ducks, geese and swans. I also see lots of children here on the swings and seesaws, or playing here in the sandbox. I don't see them now.'

Dooby stops digging, walks to the edge of the sandbox and looks around.

'You're right,' he says, and his tail droops.

A drop of water strikes Dooby on his nose. It goes splat. Dooby squints down his nose at the water trickling from its tip. His eyes widen with surprise. Another drop strikes him, this time on the top of his head. Still another, on his ear.

Three drops of water spatter Katrinka; two on her back and one on her tail. They both look up. The sky is full of gray, racing clouds. It's starting to rain.

'That's why there are no children here,' says Dooby. 'Their mothers are keeping them indoors because of this rain.'

Dooby and Katrinka continue their romping in the sandbox, but the sand is getting wet and harder to dig. They leave the sandbox and slip under a picnic table to get away from the rain. They shake the wet from their coats.

'Being caught in the park during a rain is a sort of adventure, I suppose,' says Katrinka, 'but I like to be where it's dry.'

They watch the rain falling. The raindrops are now larger and heavier.

'I'd like to start for home,' says Katrinka, 'but I don't want to get my fur coat any wetter.'

'I don't mind getting wet,' says Dooby.

He thinks about how to keep Katrinka dry on the way home.

'I know,' he says. 'Here's what we'll do.'

Dooby explains his idea to Katrinka. She chuckles. Dooby also chuckles. They look at each other and their chuckles change to laughter. They laugh and they laugh.

Dooby stands up. Katrinka, who is much smaller than Dooby, comes alongside and then slips in underneath him so that Dolby's body acts as an umbrella.