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A Holiday Wish

By Paula Chapman

This is a short short story I wrote for my son's first grade class that I will read to them at their holiday party.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” shouted Lenny as his grandparents came into the living room. “I didn’t think you could come! It’s snowing really hard out!”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” said Grandma as she took off her wool cap. “Besides, I wanted to see what Santa brought you!” she said.

Grandma noticed that Lenny looked sat. He put his head down and walked away.

“We told him,” said Lenny’s dad, Joseph. “This year, because I lost my job, Santa didn’t come.”

Grandma could hear Lenny crying in the kitchen as his mother, Lucille, said, “Shhh, it’s all right, Lenny. It’s all right.”

Grandpa slid out the side door.

“Where are you going?” asked his wife, always observant.

“Just out to bring in your pie. I left … it … in the car.”

Grandma stared at the pie her son Joseph held. “Oh. Okay,” she said.

“Dear,” Grandma whispered to Joseph. “You could have asked us for help …”

“We did. We used the money you sent us to pay bills and get food for this feast.” He pointed to the kitchen where his wife was heating up the gravy for the huge turkey he had purchased at Wegman’s. “I’m making your favorite, Mom. Fried zucchini.” Joseph looked sad as he heard his little son continue to cry in the kitchen, his mother offering him a cookie.

Grandpa returned and Lucille emerged from the kitchen. Everyone sat around the fire.

“We use the fireplace more now,” Lucille said.

“And that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” said Grandpa.

Grandma nodded.

Lenny blew his nose. He ran over to sit on Grandpa’s lap.

“What do you do after school, Lenny?” he asked his grandson.

“We … I had to sell my video game system. And they stopped our cable, so we can’t watch TV.” He sat thoughtfully for a moment, finger on his chin. “Grandma! I didn’t know you played piano!”

“Yes, I actually taught piano!” she said proudly.

“And mom won first place in the science fair at her school four years in a row!” he added.

“Wow!” said Grandpa as Joseph nodded and smiled.

“And Grandpa, did you know Dad played football and sang in the glee club at school, and that he was given four awards at his job before he left?”

“Yes, I know!” Grandpa said, laughing. “I remember all too well!”

Lenny thought for a while. “I didn’t know any of that until we talked.”

The adults all looked at each other.

Lenny looked at the tiny tree he had helped his mother decorate. “I like it without lights,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

“I didn’t know any of that fun stuff until we started talking more after school!” Lenny said. “And we talk before bed, when I read my books. And at breakfast.” He looked at Grandma.

“Is that what Mom meant by the Holidays being about love?”

“I think so,” said Grandma, smiling at Lucille. She walked over to Lenny and gave him a huge hug.

“But I don’t think Santa forgot you,” said Grandpa, getting up to open the back door. “Whoa! I think you’d better come see!”

Lenny burst out of the room and out the door, feasting his eyes on a brand new Wii system, equipped with games.

There was a note attached to the Wii box.

“Grandpa! Look!” Lenny brought the system and games into the house.

He began reading the note. “Dear Lenny, I hope you keep reading, doing well in school, and that you continue listening to your parents and teachers. They are the most important in your life. I give you this game because I know everyone needs to have some fun after working so hard. But you must include your parents and grandparents when you play. That is why I got you games you can share with them. And you must continue to talk to each other. Because that is what the holidays and love are all about. Love, Santa. Ho-ho-ho!”

“Wow!” Lenny was shocked. He put the game aside.

“Aren’t you going to hook it up?” asked his Dad.

“Later, Dad.” Lenny sat back on Grandpa’s lap. “First I want to hear something interesting about Grandpa! What did you look like when you were a kid, Grandpa?”

“Well,” began Grandpa with a chuckle. “For one thing, I wasn’t as good-looking or smart as you!”

“Thanks, Dad,” whispered Joseph.

“I love you all,” said Grandpa. “Things will get better. Love makes things happen.”

Happy Holidays to all!

Write Him Up

I do not claim to be a political pundit, but I am rather a human resources, business and management pundit.

This text is from msnbc.com:

WASHINGTON - U.S. Democrats and Republicans alike are denouncing Rep. Joe Wilson for shouting "You lie" at President Barack Obama during his speech to Congress, an extraordinary breach of decorum for which the South Carolina Republican swiftly apologized.
"There'll be time enough to consider whether or not we ought to make it clear that that action is unacceptable in the House of Representatives," House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer said late Wednesday on WTOP radio when asked about possible punishment for Wilson. "I've talked to Republican members who share that view."

Write him up! When someone at work rudely contradicts a supervisor, or another worker, for that matter, don't we write them up? When Stanley on the NBC TV program The Office responded, "Did I stutter?" to his boss Michael Scott, though Michael was hesitant to speak with him due to his desire to be friends with his employees, did he not tell him the comment and delivery were unprofessional? Who can deny the unprofessionalism of Wilson's remark and behavior despite political affiliation or lack thereof?

Steny and Barack, write Joe up. Warn him. That was a disgrace, and the day after hearing the President address school kids about how to be respectful and cooperative, to hear an adult acting like the "bad teen" was really offensive to me as a parent and me as a supervisor and always respectful employee.

First Day of School

Okay, I did not freak out like I did Sept. 4, 2008. This was, after all, not really his first day of school but simply the first day back after his first school hiatus.

But I still cried when I woke him up. I got over it in a few minutes. And I still took his picture.

But I noticed that things were not the same. Our loyal and loved neighbor of five years, Lonnie, moved and thus was not out front watching him board the bus as she did just about every day last year. And this year, I did not board my car to head to work.

And this year, Logan is taller, more mature, and was afraid to get his new pants dirty if he sat on our front steps to wait for the bus.

Mrs. Fischetti is not the school secretary anymore. She moved up to the regional office.

And thus again I am reminded that change is difficult. But I know it is necessary, and thus this time I did not cry for very long.

But I did cry, and so you see, some things do not change.

I took the dogs for an hour's walk/jog. It's good to have some constants to hang onto.

Oh, yes, and my friend Brandon, whose political views differ vastly from mine. That's been a constant for six years, since I've known him.

Hail to the constants! Is that even a word?

Have a great start to the new school year, kids, and enjoy Obama's speech.

How High?

Kindergarten Graduation

I almost cried at the bus stop this morning as he boarded on the day of his "Kindergarten Celebration". He was freaked out. "Totally".

This evening, we sit at our camp. I look at him. He's grown, his feet nearly the same length as mine.

His clothes, some of which still fit 3 years later because they are cut that way, are too short and look like baseball pants or capris. His legs so long and lanky.

His hands, long fingers, adept at building and drawing. He's assembling Megatron. At least I think it's Megatron.

I watch, and as I watch I see him grow.

I kiss and hug him as he looks at me, waiting for it to end so he can return to Megatraon. I'm holding him back.

He breaks the silence to ask Dad why "rednecks like country music". In the conversation, Dad says some people don't like things to change.

I think I might not want certain things to change.

He asks sweetly after being punished if he could return outside to play for a few minutes. I get consensus from Dad and he can go.

He comes back in on his own, a first, without prompting. He begins to jump, asking me to tell him "how high", a joke he and his Dad share.

I smile. And he jumped, and he jumped as high as I asked, and he asked me to place my hand up higher each time.

His clothes, like Hulk, literally growing out of them before my eyes. Like a man suddenly grown from a boy, like in a fantasy movie when it happens overnight.

That's exactly what happened.

Whining

At the risk of delving into the whining side of blogging, which I swore I would not do and felt above, this will not be a pleasant column. Yes, that’s what they used to call these “back in the day” when you actually had to pick up paper to read information.

June 18 and it’s 61 degrees in Central New York. This has been the coldest June I remember, even for Central New York, with its temperatures that ebb and flow faster and more frantically than the names pop star Prince used. Not that I typically mind milder weather, as long as it doesn’t dip below 50. And though this phrase is ubiquitous to Central New Yorkers, “At least it’s not snowing”.

A year ago we were in Maryland visiting Ted, Diane, Alex and Cher under 100+ temperatures and wiping our brows every few seconds, praying that the next restaurant would have air conditioning and smashing crabs with gavels. I don’t know if they have a real name, but that’s what I called them. Order in the restaurant. And our dog Maggie jumped off our boat and onto the restaurant property, encircling the outdoor tables in search of Mom and Dad and probably fresh air. Bold as brass. Like I said, let’s get some order in the restaurant!

Today, my family, near and dear to me, is the only thing on my mind. It has been a terrible year for my family thus far. Another family member, who is 83, said this was the worst year she’d ever personally experienced. I share her sentiment. And you know, she was alive during World War II and in 1929.

It isn’t just the economy, but it’s just very, very sad. Many of my family members are experiencing health issues, and most of them are younger than me. While this does not seem fair, it does make me even more thankful for my health, especially considering the lousy health care plan my former employer, in its infinite wisdom, chose. So I guess I should feel guilty and shameful for complaining that my legs are too short and my arms too long.

So we await good news for the swine flu victim who also has diabetes and who earlier in the year had a low blood sugar scare (she kicked off the year for us); her mother who is in excruciating back pain; her brother who needs other support; my husband who had a carotid artery surgery earlier this year and a health concern last week; my brother who continues to suffer from MS; my husband’s cousin who may have TB or pneumonia; my father-in-law who must undergo a bran scan; my sister, who continues to suffer with her own physical ailments including thyroid problems; niece Valerie who has cervical cancer and her brother who needs other support; and various other private and personal physical concerns.

I’ve seen enough of doctor’s offices and hospitals to write an episode of the new Showtime series with Edie Falco.

It doesn’t stop with the physical and health concerns. Family woes, with breakups, counseling, and layoffs, have plagued a number of us. The only thing I can say for certain is my layoff was the least of the family problems. Well, perhaps my brother-in-law’s layoff is at the bottom of the concerns list, because he just received a new job. Way to go, Hank!

And the list does not close there. Deaths. My mother-in-law’s beloved twin brother, her “womb mate”, as he most cleverly referred to himself, passed away last week. Though he lived a full and happy life and raised three children, this is a sad event. Earlier this spring I lost my former supervisor, who, at the age of 52, died suddenly of a heart attack. The same week my husband lost his co-worker, age 58, who suffered for years of cancer. I also know of the passing of a work acquaintance, who died in March at 62 after a short bout with cancer. And a friend of mine, Cher, lost her mother very recently as well.

I want to end on a good note. Richie and Kenny and the little kids, thanks for not having any problems! Please keep it up! And thank goodness for my second cousin Kristi, the cancer researcher, who not only had a chance at applying to be a U.S. astronaut … yes, that is correct …but she’s getting married in August to a soon-to-be physician. And my husband’s second cousin Kim just became an obstetrician gynecologist. My father-in-law said he likes her but she’s not someone he’d want to visit medically. And Kristi and Kim are both gorgeous blondes too; so much for those terrible blonde jokes.

Yes, I actually have a scientist and physicians in my family. I tell Kristi that she must have inherited the left-brain activity from her father’s side (unrelated to me). But she thinks she’s uncreative, so, we’re even.

And of course, I’m still pleased with our President, who can even catch flies “on the fly”. Way to go! Come catch the moths at my house. They’ve taken over. With Obama, at least there’s some hope, as audacious as I may be to use the word these days.

Inspiration

I read someone's blog about being unemployed midway through the 26-week cycle. I have been a victim for a month.

I see she shares some of the same feelings I do about being unemployed. I was, I feel, unfairly treated at my last job of 9 + years, in which I did my former boss' work and had ALL the answers for the whole team. I was one of two program managers who remained to pick up the pieces when our former boss (who now returned) left for another job. I and my counterpart were left to the devices of a woman who, now dead, did nothing. When her boss was left in charge after her death, things fell to pieces. She confirmed for herself that I was indeed a threat to her and started nitpicking about crap that she would have easily overlooked for her "cronies". Arms folded and looking right through me as though I was a ghost, she was, clearly not involved in our conversation but creating her grocery shopping list or worrying about what DVDs to return to Blockbuster.

I, too, got some sort of opportunities at less than unemployment rate, that's if the Generation Y-er at the placement service ever acknowledges I exist. I had two interviews, one of which turned me down. The other is pending but I'm really hesitant due to never having time with my six-year-old son when I work 40-hour weeks.

But I now can see Logan get off the bus, and he loves it and hugs me like never before. I save on day care, and write more. I completed the second sequel to my latest novel and can do laundry when I please. I jog with my dogs and breathe the fresh day air that we get here in Central New York a couple of months a year.

If it rains, I can work on Logan's scrapbook. The basement needs cleaning up too.