The Vikings on the History Channel has returned! Season 6! Skol!

                                       
                   The Vikings on the History Channel has Returned!  Season 6!  Skol!


  The "Saga of Bjorn," helped us to recapture the continuing story of Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons.
  Torvi is a shield maiden and second in command. She is the ex-wife of Jarl Borg. She had a son with him named Guthrum. Torvi then marries Eriendur, the eldest son of King Horik. After given orders to kill Bjorn with an arrow, she turns on Eriender and kills him. Eriender had treated Torvi cruelly, including numerous beatings. Torvi then marries Bjorn, and gives him three sons, Erik, Refil, and Hali.
  Season six opens with Torvi sharing with Hali the stories of Ragnar and his sons, with emphasis on her husband, Bjorn.
 One highlight is a quote from Torvi, [who happens to be the real daughter of the creator of the Viking series, Michael Hirst]  " The gods are not always meant to be understood."

  Now we prepare ourselves for the completion of season five, beginning with "The Revelation."
I immediately felt a deep mistrust between King Harold Finehair and Ivar the Boneless. After King Harold said to Ivar "he had lost it all," Ivar the Boneless replies, "Life goes on, don't dwell too much on that."
  Floki offers himself as a sacrifice when his dream of "living with the gods" had been lost, is given some purpose when the words are said, "I am sorry Floki, but I must refuse your offer..."

   Rollo meeting wirh Ivar the Boneless and King Harold Finehair had a classic moment. King Harold asks Rollo, "Why are you here now in person.?"  Rollo replies, " Because I missed the old place."
  Still, I struggled with Rollo having the freedom to meet with Ivar and later Lagertha. I had a hard time imagining Rollo's ability to go to and fro at Kattegat. it would seem he wouldn't be given that luxury in real life.
  The Kingdom of Kattegat  was a key port to the Baltic Sea. it actually covers a 12,000 square mile area bound by the Jutlandu Pennisula (west,) the Danish Straits (south,) and 4 provinces of Sweden (east.)

  I was sad to see Astrid amd Halfdan the Black killed. I admire Michael Hirst killing characters off to stay true to historical reference.
  I am excited to watch this series continue!
                                                                                                                            

Finding a Purpose: Ecclesiastes 12: 12-14

    

Sometimes, do you ever read of some one's death and wonder, "Why am I still here?" Yea, a little morbid maybe, yet it strikes the thoughts of many from time to time.
    I happen to be a major league baseball fan and am saddened when I read of a former player passing away, especially if I had watched him play. As as we grow older, it seems obituaries have a more profound impact in our daily reading.
   We have access to daily affirmations, bible verses of the day, instagrams, and one line quotes that encourage us to go on and find happiness. Yet, loneliness, past failures, fatigue, and feelings of emptiness seem to linger, waiting for that opportune moment to minimize our purpose.
   In the book of Ecclesiastes,  a passage offers an interesting outlook on life. Many attribute Solomon as the author and his experiences describe how he does not understand God at times, or is not sure if he even knows Him. Solomon seems lost when attempting to grasp the personality of God including His views and rationale on life.
 Throughout history we have faced various explanations as to some of those hard questions about life like, Why does God allow wars to happen? Why does God allow people to suffer?
 As a result, we continue to search. Throughout the corridors of time, questions still linger...not having found any satisfactory answers. 
   In Ecclesiastes, "the teacher" records how  human beings often think about life. In the early chapters it brings to light how many of us really feel. There really is no purpose to what we do, that life is nothing more than human nature in a constant repetitive state, and the result of all our pursuits is nothing more than an endless mundane cycle that simply plays the same tune over and over, one century to the next. It is like running outside with a net and try to catch the wind.
 Yet, as "the teacher" clearly defines life's struggles and personal observations through various scenarios, there seems to be one common thought emerge out of all the wreckage. It is like trying describing a person to someone else when you never met the very person you are trying to describe. You have not read any of their memoirs or grasped their thoughts. You simply don't know.


                                               A Gleaning from Ecclesiastes 12: 12-14

  I must warn you, there is simply no end of opinions to explanations about life. There is no end to the publishing of books, articles, or people's various views on anyone or anything. 
 Yet, with that being said, here are my final thoughts on this entire subject of "Life" and why things happen:
 " Learn the value of fearing the Lord. Learn how to respect Him. Embrace His thoughts and listen carefully to each one of His Mighty Commands. This will lead you to depths of life and  it's mysteries.
 The whole objective of God being God is that we might get to know Him and understand the very root of His character. It allows us to discover the root of our own purpose and the things we so desperately seek. As we become acquainted with Him, He will make the adjustments to our lives as needed, including all the inharmonious circumstances and conditions we face. This includes those deep, hidden emotions filled with anger and pain.
 God brings every thought and motive that lies within us to Himself and guides us gently to a fresh purpose in our lives. Life can become meaningful again and give us a desire to care. 

[ Note: I define a "Gleaning" as my impressions on a specific passage of Scripture.]
  

Children of Anxiety

  Amy Morin is a psychotherapist and LCSW (Licensed, Clinical, Social Worker,) who publishes articles in Psychology Today. She is the author of "13 Things Mentally, Strong People Don't Do."
  In an article titled "Children of Anxiety," dated 11/03/17, she addresses 10 reasons children today face a seemingly lack of emotional strength and experience dealing with everyday life.
  I became aware of this "epidemic" through association with young couples who have experienced deep frustrations raising children. A number of teacher friends have also expressed similar frustrations. Here are some reflections:

1. Electronics. Social media and gaming can develop into an unhealthy escape when perimeters are not set. The reason is a child simply avoids any discomfort or development of mental strength, and slips away into a fantasy world.
2. Happiness is the Rage. "Fixing" another person's unhappiness is an age old problem. In today's culture, emphasis is put on parents and teachers to create an environment that is always a "happy one." As a result, children are taught if they do not feel happy 24/7, something is wrong. They are not given opportunities to deal with feelings of sadness, guilt, and disappointments, feelings that are also part of our emotional makeup.
3. Parents give Unrealistic Praise. Chanting phrases like "You're the best!," or "We are all winners!," doesn't guarantee a higher self-esteem. Ironically, it can put pressure on children to live up to that label(s) which can lead to a crippling fear of failure, rejection, and depression.
4. Parents become "Personal Assistants" to their young Teenager."  Parents will go to the extreme for their child to attain success and not hear the deeper cries for help. These cries may include fear of failure, not understanding any purpose for discomfort, or a fear of rejection. Teachers often face pressures which demand a child graduate, regardless how low the "bar must be set." Some teachers have expressed the use of "dumbing it down" if necessary.
5. Undeveloped Emotional Skills/Experience when They Leave Home. A national survey given to 1502 first year college students resulted in 60% of students lack of confidence in their emotional skills. Lack of these experienced skills include the fear of failure (parents not there to bail them out,) not understanding discomfort, and a lack of problem solving skills. Also, the lack of having ability to manage time only added to their stress levels.
6.  Parents see themselves as Protectors rather than Guides.  Parents think their role in child rearing is to help them grow up with as few emotional scars as possible. This thought has bled over to school systems as well. Children are "protected" and not given opportunity to deal with problems on their own before seeking advice.
7. Extreme Drive by Parents. Parents get so involved pushing so hard it causes children to be terrified of making any decisions on their own. Others don't push their children at all which results in opting out of anything that sounds "anxiety-provoking."
8. Parents are Motivated out of their own Guilt and Fear. This can result in children rejecting any "uncomfortable" options...rationalized as intolerable.
9. Unstructured Play. Children are not given opportunities to manage disagreements without always having a "referee."  Solitary time gives children time to gather their own thoughts and find a comfort within their own strengths/weaknesses of their emotional makeup.
10. Family Hierarchies out of Whack. Children desire parents and teachers to be leaders, even when there might be flaws in parental or teaching system. If a parent or teacher is aprenhensive in leading, anxiety in children skyrockets.

The Vikings on the History Channel...season six

 OMG, it is about to happen! The second half of season five is about to unfold on November 28th at nine p.m.
  Questions lurk in my mind. Will Queen Lagertha meet her death at the hands of Ivar the Boneless? After all, Kathryn Winnick (Queen Lagertha) signed a contract with Netflix. Besides, she murdered the mother of Ivar.
  And who is this Oleg of Novgorad, the one called Oled the Prophet?
  Creator Michael Hurst announced season six will "deliver a huge and unexpected revelation to our audience."
  And Rollo returns!
  I can hardly wait!

Christmas Eve and a Cigarette Load

 .                     Christmas Eve and a Cigarette Load

   It was Christmas 1966. Lyndon B. Johnson was our President. Although it had been a little over three years, the loss of JFK still lingered in our hearts.
   I was fascinated with science fiction as a new television series had been introduced called Star Trek.
 Mom was an avid book reader and was engaged in a new, non-fiction novel titled In Cold Blood, written Truman Capote. It sounded rather creepy, the plot centered on a family being murdered in Kansas. The author's name reminded me of a gangster.
                                                   
  Christmas Eve! We opened presents on Christmas Eve, usually around nine p.m. and by midnight the conversations, various holiday foods, and the exchange of gifts were complete.
  Relatives came to my Grandpa's home for the evening's festivities. My mom, brother, and me lived with my grandparents. Dad and mom had been separated for a few years but not divorced. My aunt told me my dad came from a bad family, given to too much drink, and was always out to start trouble.There was bad blood between my dad's family and mom's, going way back to the days of the Depression. In fact, I didn't understand how mom and dad ever got together, yet here we were. I was excited because he was welcome to come this year and had accepted.
  Dad drove in from Columbus and was very glad to see my little brother and me. He seemed to miss mom too.  I can still remember how he smiled and laughed throughout the evening and mom joined him in laughter. I always loved the scent of my Dad. He carried the faint scent of a bar with the various smells of liquor, perfumes, cigarettes, and most of all...the bar food. Bar food was simply the best! Pork tenderloin or meatloaf sandwiches, fries, and coleslaw or macaroni salads, comes to mind.
   That year I had come up with an idea for a Christmas Eve gift, yet, like many ideas I had during childhood, I failed to think ideas through.
  As Dad arrived, he brought a great gift for my brother and I. It was an official Lionel train set! State of the art! The train included a locomotive, a Pennsylvania caboose, boxcars, and even an auto-loader. We had little evergreen trees, benches, and a depot to decorate the landscape surrounding the layout. We cleared a large space on the hardwood floor in the family room to lay out the the tracks and admire all the parts that came with the train set. Dad sat on the floor and began patiently reading the directions out loud as he added one track to another.
  In those days everyone smoked cigarettes. It was encouraged by celebrities, endorsed by sports heroes, and accepted by many. Dad smoked Salem menthol, yet chose Kool menthol if Salem's were not available. I knew this because I had been sent to the local carry-out on my bicycle to pick up cigarettes for my dad and other relatives numerous times in the past. ID's were not required. Besides, the owners of the carry-out knew my family and where I lived.
  I remember once asking Father Gil after mass if smoking was wrong. I thought he would be the right guy to ask because he was a smoker himself. I will never forget his reply, "Well, the way I see it, we might as well smoke down here because I don't think we will be able to smoke up there." Yet, on this Christmas Eve in '66, smoking a cigarette was about to take on a different meaning.
  Late in the fall, around Halloween, I was introduced to a product on the market I had never seen. It was my friend's older brother who introduced this item to me and was a type of gag gift called a "cigarette load." The idea was to plant this small item (approx. one inch in length and one half inch in diameter), into the fresh tobacco of a cigarette. As the cigarette is lit and enjoyed, this cigarette load  within the burning tobacco, would cause the cigarette to explode and the residuals float into the air. Normally a kind of muffled "bang" would accompany the explosion. (Note: cigarette loads were banned from the market the following year.)

  On this Christmas Eve night, dad sat on the hardwood floor and finished putting our new train set together. I had put a load into his cigarette (without him knowing,) and shortly after, about the third puff, his cigarette exploded. It actually produced a much louder sound than I had anticipated and it was in that moment my gift to dad took a twist I didn't think about.
  Small pieces of tobacco leaves that reminded me of snow flakes floated harmlessly in the air gently landing on dad's shirt. The entire family room had become much like the Christmas poem describes, "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."
   The Lionel train set dad had just finished setting up, was in numerous pieces and dispersed in various areas of the hardwood floor. Dad lifted himself from the wreckage, and looked around in utter amazement. Only a few minutes before he had been explaining to me some details about the train set. Now, that conversation seemed light years away. Grandpa offered dad a shot of Kessler's whiskey.

  Dad, along with his four brothers, fought in WWII. He spent over eight years in the military including re-enlisting for the Korean conflict. Yet, on this night, as dad explained later, received the biggest scare of his entire life.
  Mom was the first to speak. She looked at dad, making sure he was okay as she helped him stand up. She spoke loudly with a shrill in her voice, "What in the world happened? Was there some type of fuel in those little train cars? They shouldn't have that sort of thing in toy trains!" Dad assured everyone he was fine. He simply said "I didn't see that coming, it scared the shit out of me!" Dad turned to mom, "No hon, there was no fuel in the train cars."

 Then, all eyes turned toward me.

 Tears were already running down my cheeks and I just wanted to get up and run to my room. Dad saw I was the one scared now and wrapped his right arm around me. He said to me " Are you wanting me to have a heart attack? This is one hell of a Christmas present." I really started to sob and explained to Dad it was suppose to be a funny surprise. The whole room lightened up as I described the entire story. Grandpa said "Well thank God no one is hurt. It was an innocent thing that happened." Laughter began to fill the room. Dad still had his arm around me.

  

Guidance for the New Year...a sacred text from Proverbs 29:18

  There is an interesting verse of scripture I often hear quoted as the New Year approaches. It is from Proverbs 29:18 and is used to encourage one to gain a new outlook on life. The common way I hear it quoted is "Where there is no vision...the people perish."
  Like many that are looking for direction in life, I thought it might be a good thing to study to this verse. It wasn't long before I realized vision, goals, and direction in life come when I begin to implement His Commands into my everyday lifestyle. It is at this point I discover a vision or purpose to my life.
  There are numerous Bible scholars that break this verse down in great detail and offer various ideas to this verse. I like one quote I read recently: "Every one's life ends up somewhere, a few end up somewhere on purpose."
   Vision in the practical sense enables us to push through our problems we face. Vision keeps us continuing to change things in our lives that will bring us more in line with meaning to our everyday lives. Vision must be strong enough to endure hurts, setbacks, errors and success.
  Vision cannot be based on feelings alone. I remember  9/11 and the many that lost their very lives. People were moved in their hearts and committed to having a new vision on being an American and not taking for granted all that we are blessed with. Statistics showed that 50% of all Americans were deeply affected by this tragic event and their faith in God. Church attendance rose dramatically the first 6 weeks after 9/11, with some churches showing as high as a 50% increase. Yet by mid-November, church levels had returned to their previous normal levels. So, what does a vision in our lives demand from us?
 Vision involves finding a purpose. Allowing God's Word to take root in our lives is a process, not an overnight success.

Gleanings from Proverbs 29:18:

 "When a person goes without guidance,
    By neglecting, ignoring, and in the end rejecting God's Word,
    The problems still remain, people can be fickle.
    At first one might stumble, then you trip, then you fall.
    Things get in disarray, confusion gets louder, and you feel alone and lost.

   But, if you listen to the words of His Faithful Commands,
   And obey what His Word says,
   You will discover His Hand of blessing on your life, and joy will be yours
   In any situation you may face , and you will find what God has for each of us...
   A Vision...for the future!"

 

I am from...

                                                                I am from...

  Intro: This story was influenced by George Ella Lyon, the Kentucky poet-laureate for 2015-16. She views life's experiences like a spider's web, expanding in various directions yet everything is connected. Referring to writers as "word-weavers," one segment of her spider web is titled "Where I am from."


  I am from a cold and blustery winter's morn, sitting in our living room before dawn. I quickly pushed the insulated winter curtains open so we could see out the big, picture window. My brother and I sat on a floral sofa, under a cream-colored, fleece blanket in Lone Ranger pajamas, looking out under the streetlight, watching fresh snow come down heavily. We listened intently to the radio as school closings were about to be announced.
  I am from a Christmas Eve, sitting in the dining room gazing out a bay window, anxiously waiting for my father to arrive. Mom stood behind me with her hand on my shoulder, sharing my joy of his soon arrival. I wish mom hadn't always listened to my aunt. Just because she didn't like his family and never wanted mom to marry him, didn't mean everyone was supposed to feel the same way. We really missed him.
  I am from the taste of my first Christmas wine at the age of twelve, sitting snugly between grandpa and dad. Grandma wasn't too keen on me having Christmas wine at such an early age, so she poured my wine into a shot glass. I received my first official "shot of wine!" The taste was remarkable. "A rose wine," my grandpa whispered in my left ear after a toast had been made.
  I am from a time when a "Lionel" train set, jockey shorts, "G.I. Joe soldiers," and "Slinkies," were discovered under the Christmas tree. My brother and I would pass out presents to everyone before opening ours. Sometimes we "accidentally" tore Christmas wrap from presents with our name on them as we passed presents to everyone.
  I am from a time my grandpa and I would take the leftover Christmas wrap and empty boxes to the "burning barrel" on Christmas morning. We would sit by the four foot brick enclosure with a fifty-five gallon drum inside and sing Jingle Bells while watching the fire engulf the cardboard and wrap in flames. One time grandpa got a few of his presents mixed in with the empty boxes. He sang Jingle Bells rather gloomily that morning as we watched two flannel shirts and a pair of thermal socks go up in smoke and flames.
  I am from a time my dad arrived on Christmas Eve and brought a five gallon bucket of boiled shrimp. Before the presents were to be passed out, my brother and I sat on the floor next to the bucket of shrimp and devoured nearly all of its content. My dad just stared at us, his mind having a difficult time processing what his eyes saw. He simply could not believe we ate that much shrimp.
  I am from a time mom's voice was heard clearly in the stillness of a winter's night. It happened during the week between Christmas and New Year's. A huge rat had made it's way from the basement through a hole where the water pipes came up into her bathroom. Moses, our beloved basset hound, howled repeatedly, mom ran to her bed jumping up and down on her mattress screaming in terror, while grandpa grabbed a broomstick and beat the rat to death. My brother and I ran out of our bedrooms and stood at the doorway of mom's bedroom, totally in shock. We could not believe all the action going on at three o'clock in the morning. As she made breakfast for us that morning, my brother's only question was, "Why can mom jump on her mattress but we are not allowed to jump on ours?"
  I am from a time my aunt knit numerous items for us including mittens, scarves, and winter socks to keep our feet warm. I appreciated them so much! My aunt had a love for dachshunds including three of her own. One Christmas she made me a sweater of a knitted dachshund wrapped around the entire sweater. I remember the laughter from people ...when she demanded I wear the sweater. Less than week later, mom asked me if I would mind if she gave the sweater to a boy in the hospital (she worked there.) Mom said it would be our little secret. A few days later my aunt came by and wanted me to wear the sweater to another one of her events. We couldn't find it. Mom looked at me and winked. My aunt became very upset and accused me of getting rid of it. Mom told her I would never do such a thing. I realized mom hated the sweater as much as I did because of the embarrassment and laughter.
  I am from a time mom boiled eggs for my dad to enjoy when he arrived for the Christmas eve celebration. Dad loved boiled eggs! He could break the shell of the egg in the palm of his hands. The egg shell would practically fall of the egg. He tried to show my brother and me how to do it, but we never got the knack. I thought it might me funny to see how dad would do if I put a raw egg in the small bowl of boiled ones. As dad broke open the raw egg and the yellow yolk came oozing between his fingers, his eyes looked directly at me. After a minute or so, he couldn't contain his smile any longer and shared the laughter. "Good one! You do know payback is coming, right?" I hadn't thought of that.
  I am from a time I went to my aunt's church on Christmas eve (she had no children and I became the "lucky kid,") only to attend Christmas mass at midnight. Honestly, I enjoyed Christmas mass. It was a time when things in life came together and made sense for me. Everyone seemed to really care for others and appeared so quiet and humble as they honored His birth. The candle lights in the sanctuary, Christmas hymns, and decorations throughout made me feel...I guess secure is the best way to describe it. It was like everything was gonna' be alright. Still, I remember riding with dad on the way home. He barely got in the door and received a phone call. His brother had been shot in a battle somewhere in 'Nam.
  I am from a time grandma and grandpa sang together while washing, drying, and returning the dishes, glasses, and silverware to their rightful place. The plates went into a cabinet with glass doors. During Christmas break, my brother and I broke the glass on the right cabinet door. We picked, cleaned, and swept the shattered glass and hoped no one would notice the missing glass. Our plan was to act surprised as everyone else if  or when discovered. While drying the dishes, grandpa opened the cabinet doors and placed the clean dishes inside. At one point he started putting the dishes into the right side of the cabinet...without opening the door! Suddenly, he stopped. He moved his right arm in and out of the door without glass, and turned his head to the left looking directly at my brother and me. We sat at the kitchen table, stone-faced and quiet. He quickly rejoined grandma and continued singing. He never mentioned to anyone about the broken glass and replaced it the very next day. He did ask us later that evening what had happened, and told us not to "lolligag" in the house. If we want to play, we needed to go outside, play in the barn, or in the garage. His silence taught me about character that day.
  I am from a time I watched my dad leave late on Christmas eve, looking out the bay window in the dining room once again. I somberly watched the red tail lights fade into the night. Mom stood behind me once more, her hand on my shoulder. It was the quietness I remember most.
  I am from a dysfunctional family in the midst of real, emotional scenarios. As I look back, I do think we gave it what we had and did our best to make room for Christmas in the heart.
  I am from a time when people were really no different from today.

Notice to all

Hi everyone! I am revamping this blog and have made the decision to focus on history and literature. A number of my posts will reflect the various experiences I have encountered in life. And, yes, I will include my biblical views. Of course, my love for The Viking series on the History Channel will forever be a passion. Thanks for stopping by!

Mom, Mr. Mason, and Thanksgiving

                                         Mom, Mr. Mason, and Thanksgiving

  In mid November of 1963, Mom asked us to come and listen as she read the story of the first Thanksgiving. Two younger cousins stayed the night to watch The Mickey Mouse Club. I had been a member for five years and had a crush on Annette Funicello.
  Mom read stories to my brother and me before we could even walk, or so it seemed. I started to read and write in first grade and cherished my first grade reader titled, The Adventures of Dick and Jane. My favorite line in the book was about Spot, the dog. I could read and recite "See Spot run!" with great emotion.
  However, the first word I ever printed were the letters C-A-T. They were in caps and more importantly, each letter stood straight and tall between the lines. I ran home from school that day in total excitement, the paper clutched tightly in my left hand. I yelled for mom before I even made it through the front door entry. "Mom, I not only know how to read [limited of course,] I can also write words! Can you read this?" She looked at the crumpled paper and replied, "Let me see. C-A-T. It is the word 'cat.' All the letters are capitalized. Very nicely done. My oh my! Was this done by a professional printer of words?"
  "No, Mom, I wrote it, just like Mrs. Mercer told us to." This day took place in the fall of 1959.
  After we watched the The Mickey Mouse Club on the morning of the sleepover in '63, we were hungry. Mom had served us a bowl of "Fred Flintstone" cereal an hour before. Gary, my younger cousin, suddenly yelled "Yabba-Dabba-Do," and we barreled to the kitchen. Mom sat at the dining room table quietly waiting with small glasses of "Ovaltine" and oatmeal cookies. We hurried up and grabbed our seats. She smiled, made sure we were comfortable, and began reading. My little brother quickly annoyed me as he struggled back into his chair after dropping his cookie. Of course, he had to sit right next to me. He was six years old and I was ten. My cousins were nine and seven.
  My reading skills started with Dr. Seuss books. Favorites included The Cat in the Hat and how the Grinch Stole Christmas. Dad brought home Green Eggs and Ham and read the first few pages before falling asleep. Mom finished reading the story commenting dad had worked a long and hard day.
  When I chose my first book to read, I wanted Old Yeller, by Fred Gipson. Mom read parts of it to me, but I continued to improve as she patiently listened each time I read aloud. The movie came out in 1957, but mom and dad thought it best for me to wait a couple of years before seeing it. They felt I would understand the movie better at age six. Old Yeller quickly became the greatest dog in the world to me.
  By 1963, I thought I could read any book. My newest addition was Webster's Little & Ives, an expanded dictionary which my aunt gave me for Christmas. The book was over six inches thick and had 2,561 pages. It weighed eleven pounds. I knew the weight because my brother and I put it on mom's bathroom scale. When I first opened the book, I saw the word "thesaurus." I turned the next few pages furiously looking for pictures of dinosaurs. I didn't see any. My early conclusion on reading Little & Ives was similar to reading the Bible...kind of boring.
  My personal library began in 1960, with "Britannica and Goldenrod Encyclopedias." I loved pictures of the Civil War and couldn't wait for the encyclopedia salesman to knock on our front door and offer new volumes to add to my collection. I begged mom to get them and must admit I got a little out of control at times. Once I was sent to my room while mom decided which encyclopedias to purchase.
  Mom sent me to the local library when I was nine years old, to attend a class on how to study history. I will always be appreciative of that. As I look back however, problems arose later from that class. It seemed the more I learned how to research history, the more trouble I found myself in. I began to ask questions daily.
  In seventh grade, for example, I had become a "historical menace," according to my history teacher. She sent me to the principal's office one time to see a guidance counselor or get spanked by the assistant principal, whichever came first. While sitting in a wooden chair in the principal's office, Mrs. Moulton bolted in the office saying, "He's incorrigible! He challenges every history lesson I introduce and claims to have references to prove it."
  I was sure she didn't think I was familiar with the word "incorrigible." She was mistaken. Why? Because she didn't know baseball. You see, I read biographies of baseball players, newspaper articles, or any other writings about them. There was always a part of my day given to baseball, reading about their childhoods, personal lives, or performances on the field.
  Babe Ruth grew up with reckless behavior. His parents sent him to Saint Mary's Industrial School for Boys at the age of seven because the public school system had declared "Babe" incorrigible and as a result was permanently expelled. I looked up the definition of "incorrigible" and found it implies "a hopelessness to be taught." I was so proud that day Mrs. Moulton described me as incorrigible. To be described with the same word as "The Babe," it just didn't get any better than that!
  My techniques to study originate with a gentleman named Mr. Mason. He offered free instructions on proper study habits with an emphasis on history. His classes were broken down by grade levels and my age group met each Saturday at 10 a.m. for six weeks ( the fall of 1962.) Classes took place at the local library and mom was happy to have me enrolled.
  Retired and elderly ( in his mid-70's,) Mr. Mason shared a similar passion for history that I felt. I could immediately tell he liked me too. I will always remember his one main emphasis which he repeatedly stressed to the class, "Use primary sources, first hand accounts of people who were actually there. You might have to search for days on these shelves," pointing his finger in various directions, "but they are there, somewhere. Look for journals or newspaper accounts of your specific subject of interest. Watch for articles in an interview format." I will forever be grateful to Mr. Mason.
  As my mom began reading the story of the first Thanksgiving on that gray, November morn in 1963, I raised my hand shortly after she read only a few pages.
  "Yes," with a small but non-trusting smile on her face.
  "Mom, the pilgrims didn't have buckles on their hats or shoes. That didn't become popular for another fifty years."
  "Thanks, hon."
  As she proceeded, I soon raised my hand again.
  "Mom, the pilgrims didn't really wear black and white clothing, except on church days. And when pilgrims died, they would pass their clothing to other relatives and friends. Mr. Brewster, who lived during that time, described red and gray overcoats, maroon and brown vests, green and blue pants, and white, red, and blue stockings. He wrote about this in his diary."
  "Thanks, hon."
  Mom continued, "So, one day the pilgrims decided to invite their new friends to a Thanksgiving meal to give thanks to God for what He had provided. They were of the Wampanoag tribe."
  I raised my hand again.
  "Yes?"
  "In Mr. Bradford's notes, who was also there at the first Thanksgiving, the whole feast happened by mistake. The pilgrims decided to have a harvest day festival in honor to the Lord. They really did not intend for the Wampanoags to come. The pilgrims arranged games in the early morning hours including a best marksman's contest. As they fired their muskets, the Wampanoags thought the pilgrims were about to wage a war against them. That's why they entered the area where the pilgrims were celebrating, dressed for war."
  "Thank-you, Shane Joseph."
  I smiled quietly. Mom's facial features signaled she was quite irritated.
  She continued, "So, they fixed turkey and ham--"
  My brother spoke up, "Bologna?"
  "Well, I don't know if they had bologna," offering him a warm and gentle smile.
  I spoke up once more, " Mom, they might have had turkey, I don't know. They lived near the ocean and according to Mr. Bradford and Mr. Brewster, they had fish, eel, mussels, deer, duck, and pheasants for sure. I don't know if wild turkey lived in the area at the time."
  "Okay," mom quickly responded.
  My cousin Timmy asked, "What's a mussel?"
  I replied, "I don't know for sure but I do know they are slimy. I think you suck 'em down your throat like an oyster."
  Both my cousins and my little brother cried out, "Ewwwh."
  My mom continued reading out loud, "Well, the natives and the pilgrims all gathered together and feasted the entire day. That's how they became good friends!"
  I raised my hand again.
  "What?" This time her voice was firm and angered.
  "Mom, this feast didn't last only one day. It was more like seven to ten days. That's how the Wampanoags celebrated. They even went and killed a bunch of deer so the meat remained plentiful. There were only fifty-one pilgrims and probably one hundred and fifty Wampanoags."
  "Okay, Shane Joseph, answer me why I am even reading this story? Why is your story so different from what this book describes?"
  "Mom, the reason we celebrate Thanksgiving is because President Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday of November as a 'Day of Thanksgiving.' Artists during the time President Lincoln declared a Thanksgiving day sold paintings of the first Thanksgiving without really knowing what happened. They just wanted to sell their paintings. Same with stories written by some...not always factual. And President Washington wrote that Thanksgiving Day should be a day of fasting and prayer. What we celebrate is a 'Harvest Festival Day."
  "Where did you get all this, Shane Joseph?"
  "At the library. Mr. Mason showed us how to research. You know, the area you tell me not to go in."
  Mom replied, "The reference area? It's not that I mind you going in there, it's just you cannot check any of those books out."
  "I know that now. Mr. Mason taught a couple of classes about Thanksgiving history. He showed us how to find stuff. I know how to use the card catalogue file."
  There was a moment of silence. Mom looked around the table and spoke with her eyes staring at me. "I was going to have the younger ones cut out some turkeys, buckles, and feathers with construction paper. I thought they might color their cutouts with crayons. But, now I am not sure--"
  "Sure, Mom, I can help. I still like Thanksgiving the way we celebrate. I think the pilgrims had oyster dressing...like yours." Mom couldn't hold back a smile. "Besides, the first Thanksgiving took place sometime in September, not November. And, they only had one."
  Mom stood up, shook her head a little, and walked over to me. She exhaled slowly, offered me a warm smile, and gently ran her fingers across the top of my head. Moving a couple steps to her left, she reached for the construction paper and crayons. They were in the top, left drawer of the china cabinet.

  Not long before her death, I visited mom and enjoyed dinner together. She resided in a nursing home. A nurse came up and asked if we would like to go upstairs and see a Thanksgiving play put on by a nearby elementary school. Mom quickly spoke up, " No, not today. But thank you for letting us know."
  I looked at her and replied, "why don't you want to see the play. I bet it will be cute."
  She smiled, "No, No, No. You don't remember the dining room table Thanksgiving story when you were ten? I have been through a 'Thanksgiving Epiphany' once, and am keenly aware of the real Thanksgiving story."
  We sat and reminisced of that day. It was the last time I remember her laughing.