7-6-1961
Being a parent of a teen-ager is like "trying to herd an elephant into a telephone booth" says an adult.
Being an American in today's world is like "being thrown into an electric mixer" says a teen-ager.
It's like "being a wobbly question mark squeezed between two black exclamation points" says and adult.
Pam Willett and Eileen Thomas were there, and Pam brought back a mimeographed copy of these metaphors that had been written by teen-agers and interviewed adults, as they studied themselves and their feelings about life.
For instance:
- As seen by a teen-ager, being an American in today’s world is like -
- Walking over tacks blindfolded.
- Trying to keep your head up in deep water.
- Being a fly stuck in an ice cube.
- Being a June bug in a barrel of oats.
- As seen by an adult, being an American in today’s world is like -
- Sitting at a table with more on my plate than anyone else has.
- Sitting on a live volcano
- Swatting malaria mosquitoes with a wet cardboard.
- The teen-agers say that being a teen-ager in today’s world is like -
- Coming to a fork in the road and deciding which path to take.
- Being in the eye of a hurricane
- Trying to climb a rope ladder
But adults also realized that it's not so easy being a teen-ager either. One said it was like "being pushed through a revolving door," and another said teen-agers were "voices wanted to be heard."
Even teen-agers seem to know what it is like being a teacher.
- Like being a lion tamer without a whip.
- Like being an inexperienced bull fighter.
- Like trying to kill a herd of elephants with a BB gun.
- Like trying to hold water in your hand.
- Pounding a railroad spike with a 4 oz. hammer.
- Trying to keep the lid on a keg of dynamite.
- A voice crying in the wilderness.
- Trying to model clay that is somewhat hardened.
- And one lovable soul said it was like "putting the frosting on a real good cake."
This is a wonderful thing to be able to say about one who had not walked physically for 24 years. Mrs. Howrey may have been imprisoned in a wheel chair within a crippled painful body, but her beautiful spirit soared free and joyful throught all her days.
Those who visited her to cheer her up – were always cheered themselves.
Those of us who can walk about on our own two feet, who can dial a telephone without thinking, and who can lie down at night with bodies straight and free from pain, can learn a lesson from her life and be sustained by her memory.
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7-13-1961
At the rate I’m going – by September, I will have all the winter clothes put away, the closets cleaned, the basement cleaned, and I'll be ready for summer.
And I tell you, it was really exciting. Edna, Ellen, Reka and I stuffed eleven big bags full of warm coats and sturdy shoes, and men's good suits, and dresses for little girls and jeans for little boys, and an occasional frilly dress and giddy pair of shoes – all given with glad hearts by so many concerned people.
We thought of the people to whom they would go – a little girl, maybe, who was barefooted in the cold; a young woman with only a ragged house dress to go to college in; a mother walking to work shivering in a shabby jacket.
And how we wished we could be there when some little boy received the warm jacket and some little girl saw the beautiful corduroy bathrobe.
"She'll think it's so pretty and warm, she'll wear it all day," said Edna.
Then she folded up a practically new suit and said thoughtfully, "What do these clothes say about us? – that we have so much that we can give away so many good things, that we no longer can use?"
"However," I said, trying to cheer myself up, "this slip now – it's better then the one I have on."
"Watch her," said somebody, "She'll be slipping away with some of this stuff."
"It's all right," she said, "I can't wear it anyway."
"God must like me," she said, proudly, "for giving away all these toys I don't want anymore."
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7-20-1961
"My husband buys all my clothes," I told them, serenely.
"Don't you ever go uptown and buy yourself a dress?" asked someone in obvious disbelief.
"Nope," I said, "I hate to shop."
And that is just what I did.
Another time, I bought a dress all by myself and the whole family turned thumbs down, so I took it back.
Sometimes, of course, I don't wear them for weeks because they need hemming, for sewing is something that takes time and thought where I am concerned.
"I wonder what we'll do when we see each other again?" she speculated. "Just fly into each others arms probably."
"We did that once before," she confided. "Once after we had a fight – you know that big one – and the next day, when we saw each other and made up, then we just hugged each other."
Well – I scrunched down in the pew a little, because part of the time I'm not sure just which I'm doing. And there is a very nice distinction there. It bears thinking about.
So the spring housecleaning was suspended for the time being. It will be September before I'm through.
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7-27-1961
Becky met me at the door and her eyes lighted up with incredulous joy.
"A watermelon!!"
And then -
"When are you going to buy a whole one?"
"Be thankful for small favors," I told her tartly.
I divided the half watermelon into exactly four pieces and presented Martha and Becky with their shares.
"There you are," I told them. "Eat it all now or eat some now and save some for later. It's yours."
This, I decided, was going to save a lot of wear and tear through the evening. No one was going to be able to come wailing to me that some culprit had had more than his fair share of watermelon.
So I went back to the living room and poured myself a cup of coffee and picked up the evening paper. A long, luxurious evening was before me, and it wasn't even 6 o'clock yet - a perfect ending to a long warm work day.
"You want a sandwich besides your watermelon?" I asked him, to be polite.
"A sandwich and no watermelon," he replied to my dismay, "not now, anyway."
Becky gave a shriek of delight.
"He doesn't want his watermelon. We get more watermelon, Martha."
Bruce gazed at her coldly. "I said not now," he told her.
It was Bruce's turn to look dismayed.
"You've had ham just since last night," I said defensively. "This is just the third meal of it."
"But every time a sandwich," he said gloomily.
I should have offered him peanut butter. He had reported that most of his meals with practically no money in North Dakota had been peanut butter sandwiches.
"And me, too," ordered Becky lifting a face blissfully decorated with pink juice.
"Well," I said. Dutifully, I got out more bread and viciously sliced more ham.
That watermelon was turning away from the counter when Dale charged in nostrils quivering, followed by Tom.
"Do I smell watermelon?" he bellowed, and we presented him with his quarter to share with Tom. After a great deal of confusion and jockeying for chairs and space, Dale and Tom were settled at the table with their watermelon.
"You wouldn't want a sandwich?" I asked hopefully, peering around the corner at my cooling cup of coffee.
"Oh, sure," said Dale.
"Can't you make anything but ham?"
"Sure," I said, "but ham is the easiest kind to make."
"They aren't the easiest kind to go down," he said sadly. Dale is addicted to peanut butter and jelly. But he is not so addicted that he will make his own, so he ate ham.
And Tom preferred ham, so he was happy.
At long last - at seven o'clock - I sat down again to read the paper. It does not really pay to try to make it easy for yourself at supper time.
Can you really smell watermelon?
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