Today is a holiday in Russia, literally The Day of the Protection of Children. It's also the first day of summer according to the Russian calendar. So there's plenty happening at local parks -- free ice cream, pony rides, clowns and such.
In honor of International Children's Day, please take a moment to meet the Fifth Beatle, a three-year-old from Korea and his rendition of Hey Jude.
Oh, and then apparently the little fellow gets discovered and moves from the living room couch to Korean national television.
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Churches of My Childhood: A Walk Down Memory Lane
Perhaps you live in the community in which you were raised. Or, perhaps life has taken you to places elsewhere - another community, another state, another country. But if, per chance, you have have revisited your childhood home and haunts, you may relate to my recent trip to small town Ohio and my trip down memory lane.
Our family lived in Rittman, Ohio during much of my childhood. Lots of cousins, aunts and uncles still live there and recently I spent some time in Rittman and enjoyed a walk down memory lane. Church was an important part of my young life. We were a family who went Sunday morning, Sunday night and mid-week service too. I could hardly stand to sit through the sermons that seemed to drag on forever, but what a spiritual foundation that has been.
Until I was five, we attended church here, the Rittman Church of Christ, now the Rittman Christian Church. Several weeks ago, I attended a Sunday evening service there.
Many changes have been made to the building, although some original windows remain. What had been the entire auditorium is now the foyer. The building seemed so big 50 years ago. Amazing, isn't it, what time does to our perception of size?
I remember walking to the church one Sunday evening, holding my dad's hand and skipping along the sidewalks. I remember sitting in the wooden pew with Dad's arm draped around behind me. His hand was dangling five inches from my nose and I remember the hand of a carpenter, strong and calloused, a fingernail black and blue.
I remember helping myself to an ornament off the church Christmas tree. It was probably red and sparkley. Later that day, Mom discovered my new treasure and she insisted that I return it. What a meanie. ;)
I remember the Japanese lady who visited our children's group and told us that Japanese children were already in bed for the night. She was clad in national costume - a kimono, the special clogs and two-toed socks and she held a fan. Her visit opened up new windows of thought in my young mind. That was 35 years before CNN. Otherwise we probably would have already known all that. Or maybe not.
As time went on, a group, including my parents, left that church and started another. They were mostly young families, all sincere and well meaning but with perhaps more enthusiasm than wisdom at times. We met in this building which my dad built south of town, the 2nd story added years later after a publisher purchased it.
We were at this building thrice weekly from 1957 or so until 1968. There were 35 or so of us kids in that church and what a grand time we had after evening services catching lightning bugs, playing tag and running off our boundless energy.
And we sang. We must have known songs by the hundred. Dear cousin Marilyn - we're double-cousins, actually - and I recently sat down together and sang our way through the Singspiration Songbook. Oh what fun that was.
Here was one that sticks in my mind:
I want to be more than a Sunday-go-to-meetin'-Christian!
I want a religion that fills me ev'ry da-ay-ay-ay.
Sayin' AMEN to the preacher is fine, if all the week I let my light shine.
I wanna be more than a Sunday-go-to-meetin'-Christian!
Those early years were far from perfect and I rather imagine that my dear parents - may they rest in peace - and others would do some things a bit differently, given the chance to rewind and redo. But still there is much for which to be thankful. I'm so grateful to have had parents who pointed me toward God, who tried to lay a spiritual foundation in my young life.
And now, as I serve children in Rostov-on-Don, I enjoy teaching them songs that I learned at the age of five, songs that we now have translated into Russian. Songs such as Climb, Climb Up Sunshine Mountain; Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam; If You're Happy and You Know It. Only in recent years have Russian folk had freedom of religion. Our Christian brothers and sisters can hardly imagine being raised with a Christian heritage and they often remind our children how much they wish their own childhoods had included such an opportunity.
Oh dear Lord, please bless my efforts to provide a spiritual foundation for children in Rostov-on-Don. Please grant wisdom and help me to pass along that which is good and pure and holy to the precious children you bring into our congregation there. Oh dear Lord, I pray that 50 years from now that there will be dozens of Godly men and women there with fond memories of how they first learned about You and Your love for them. With memories of what was good and holy in my life. Help them to overlook the human frailties, help them to see a teacher who depended upon you and held tightly onto your hand, the calloused hands of a carpenter.
Our family lived in Rittman, Ohio during much of my childhood. Lots of cousins, aunts and uncles still live there and recently I spent some time in Rittman and enjoyed a walk down memory lane. Church was an important part of my young life. We were a family who went Sunday morning, Sunday night and mid-week service too. I could hardly stand to sit through the sermons that seemed to drag on forever, but what a spiritual foundation that has been.
Until I was five, we attended church here, the Rittman Church of Christ, now the Rittman Christian Church. Several weeks ago, I attended a Sunday evening service there. 
Many changes have been made to the building, although some original windows remain. What had been the entire auditorium is now the foyer. The building seemed so big 50 years ago. Amazing, isn't it, what time does to our perception of size?
I remember walking to the church one Sunday evening, holding my dad's hand and skipping along the sidewalks. I remember sitting in the wooden pew with Dad's arm draped around behind me. His hand was dangling five inches from my nose and I remember the hand of a carpenter, strong and calloused, a fingernail black and blue. I remember helping myself to an ornament off the church Christmas tree. It was probably red and sparkley. Later that day, Mom discovered my new treasure and she insisted that I return it. What a meanie. ;)
I remember the Japanese lady who visited our children's group and told us that Japanese children were already in bed for the night. She was clad in national costume - a kimono, the special clogs and two-toed socks and she held a fan. Her visit opened up new windows of thought in my young mind. That was 35 years before CNN. Otherwise we probably would have already known all that. Or maybe not.
As time went on, a group, including my parents, left that church and started another. They were mostly young families, all sincere and well meaning but with perhaps more enthusiasm than wisdom at times. We met in this building which my dad built south of town, the 2nd story added years later after a publisher purchased it.We were at this building thrice weekly from 1957 or so until 1968. There were 35 or so of us kids in that church and what a grand time we had after evening services catching lightning bugs, playing tag and running off our boundless energy.
And we sang. We must have known songs by the hundred. Dear cousin Marilyn - we're double-cousins, actually - and I recently sat down together and sang our way through the Singspiration Songbook. Oh what fun that was. Here was one that sticks in my mind:
I want to be more than a Sunday-go-to-meetin'-Christian!
I want a religion that fills me ev'ry da-ay-ay-ay.
Sayin' AMEN to the preacher is fine, if all the week I let my light shine.
I wanna be more than a Sunday-go-to-meetin'-Christian!
Those early years were far from perfect and I rather imagine that my dear parents - may they rest in peace - and others would do some things a bit differently, given the chance to rewind and redo. But still there is much for which to be thankful. I'm so grateful to have had parents who pointed me toward God, who tried to lay a spiritual foundation in my young life.
And now, as I serve children in Rostov-on-Don, I enjoy teaching them songs that I learned at the age of five, songs that we now have translated into Russian. Songs such as Climb, Climb Up Sunshine Mountain; Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam; If You're Happy and You Know It. Only in recent years have Russian folk had freedom of religion. Our Christian brothers and sisters can hardly imagine being raised with a Christian heritage and they often remind our children how much they wish their own childhoods had included such an opportunity.
Oh dear Lord, please bless my efforts to provide a spiritual foundation for children in Rostov-on-Don. Please grant wisdom and help me to pass along that which is good and pure and holy to the precious children you bring into our congregation there. Oh dear Lord, I pray that 50 years from now that there will be dozens of Godly men and women there with fond memories of how they first learned about You and Your love for them. With memories of what was good and holy in my life. Help them to overlook the human frailties, help them to see a teacher who depended upon you and held tightly onto your hand, the calloused hands of a carpenter.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
In a One *Horse* Open Sleigh
Wanted: Your caption for this photo. We could have a contest with this! Please submit your entry -- and I'll pick one! (Photo courtesy of English Russia: Life in Soviet Russia.)
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Kids Sledding along the Street
Kids enjoying a ride up Pyshkinskaya Boulevard on a quiet Sunday afternoon. And how about you? Remember the last time you were on a sled - either for transportation for just for the fun of it?
Sunday, April 22, 2007
To Go Home Again
Think back to the day you left home. You might have left with your parents’ blessing. Or you might have left a strained relationship. Last month, I spent two weeks in Rittman, the Ohio town of my childhood and I was reminded of the day that I first left home.
I was up to here with Mom. We had been going around in circles. She was being unreasonable and I realized that it was time to go. I knew who I could go to for help, however, and that was Grandma. My goal: Get to her farm, five miles south of town. Challenge: I didn’t have access to a vehicle because of being only five years old. Not to worry though. A woman with a mission is not easily deterred.
It started that morning when Mom wanted to perm my hair. Well, okaaay. After what seemed like hours of her jerking my hair and squirting that smelly solution at me and then wiping drips from my eyes, it was time to see the results.
But when I looked in the mirror, I was not happy. That curly, cutesy look would never do, not for a confirmed tom boy who didn’t do prissy, much to Mom’s dismay. No, I needed to get rid those curls and fast. Luckily, she had dropped a clue earlier.
Now be sure not to get your hair wet or else your perm won’t last.
It’s likely that I tried to wash my hair in the bathroom sink and got caught in the act. So then out to the backyard swing set for a moping session which evolved into strategic planning. Grandma would let me wash my hair. I could count on her. But how could I get to her place?
These shoes are made for walking and that’s just what they’ll do. . . I must have been humming that Nancy Sinatra song years before it hit the charts. I set out along Lincoln Drive, turned left onto Sunset and then right onto Main. Walking along sidewalks through familiar neighborhoods was easy enough but navigating through downtown was trickier. I passed the fire station, the library and then somehow got off the sidewalk and began walking on the street, behind the cars angle-parked in front of the department store. Into the next block, I hurried past two steepled churches and down the incline that led past the tavern, the car showroom and finally to the railroad on the edge of town.
There I stopped in my tracks. A train was idling in the near distance and I was mulling over whether to cross when an all-too-familiar vehicle pulled up, a blue and white, two-toned Chevy or something. Sure enough, it was Mom. I’d been found out. She reached across the front seat to crank down the window.
Young lady! WHERE do you think YOU’RE going?
She burst into staccato mode, You. . . had better. . . get your self. . . in. . . this. . . car. . . right. . . this. . . minute. . .and I don’t mean MAYBE!
That’s the closest Mom ever came to swearing.
That evening, after a series of dinner table lectures about safety, obedience and the value of home beauty treatments, I went ahead with my bedtime routine. It would end with Mom sitting on the edge of my bed and chatting in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. That evening, however, our conversation had a twist.
So Eileen, have you learned a lesson today? Don’t you think you should apologize for all the commotion you caused around here?
And so I did apologize with words my mother would remind me of for years to follow.
Mom, I’m so sorry if I hurt your feelings.
* * * * *
How typical of a child’s logic to make a decision without considering the consequences. I hadn’t thought about getting hungry, it getting dark or the perils of walking near big trucks, and cars speeding outside the city limits.
Fortunately, a friend of the family spotted me that afternoon. I had crossed the street in front of him and we smiled and waved. The situation struck him as being odd and later he telephoned my mother. Thank goodness for his alertness and concern.
In the years following my little adventure, Grandma moved closer to town and married her childhood sweetheart, both 70. There have been other changes too. I eventually got wheels of my own, I’ve voluntarily had my hair permed at least 85 times and I left home dozens of times with Mom’s blessing if not her encouragement. But what would I give now for time with my dear mother – a car ride, a telephone call, a quiet chat before bedtime. It would be so nice, even for a few moments, to be able to go home again.
I was up to here with Mom. We had been going around in circles. She was being unreasonable and I realized that it was time to go. I knew who I could go to for help, however, and that was Grandma. My goal: Get to her farm, five miles south of town. Challenge: I didn’t have access to a vehicle because of being only five years old. Not to worry though. A woman with a mission is not easily deterred.
It started that morning when Mom wanted to perm my hair. Well, okaaay. After what seemed like hours of her jerking my hair and squirting that smelly solution at me and then wiping drips from my eyes, it was time to see the results.
But when I looked in the mirror, I was not happy. That curly, cutesy look would never do, not for a confirmed tom boy who didn’t do prissy, much to Mom’s dismay. No, I needed to get rid those curls and fast. Luckily, she had dropped a clue earlier.
Now be sure not to get your hair wet or else your perm won’t last.
It’s likely that I tried to wash my hair in the bathroom sink and got caught in the act. So then out to the backyard swing set for a moping session which evolved into strategic planning. Grandma would let me wash my hair. I could count on her. But how could I get to her place?
These shoes are made for walking and that’s just what they’ll do. . . I must have been humming that Nancy Sinatra song years before it hit the charts. I set out along Lincoln Drive, turned left onto Sunset and then right onto Main. Walking along sidewalks through familiar neighborhoods was easy enough but navigating through downtown was trickier. I passed the fire station, the library and then somehow got off the sidewalk and began walking on the street, behind the cars angle-parked in front of the department store. Into the next block, I hurried past two steepled churches and down the incline that led past the tavern, the car showroom and finally to the railroad on the edge of town.
There I stopped in my tracks. A train was idling in the near distance and I was mulling over whether to cross when an all-too-familiar vehicle pulled up, a blue and white, two-toned Chevy or something. Sure enough, it was Mom. I’d been found out. She reached across the front seat to crank down the window.
Young lady! WHERE do you think YOU’RE going?
She burst into staccato mode, You. . . had better. . . get your self. . . in. . . this. . . car. . . right. . . this. . . minute. . .and I don’t mean MAYBE!
That’s the closest Mom ever came to swearing.
That evening, after a series of dinner table lectures about safety, obedience and the value of home beauty treatments, I went ahead with my bedtime routine. It would end with Mom sitting on the edge of my bed and chatting in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. That evening, however, our conversation had a twist.
So Eileen, have you learned a lesson today? Don’t you think you should apologize for all the commotion you caused around here?
And so I did apologize with words my mother would remind me of for years to follow.
Mom, I’m so sorry if I hurt your feelings.
* * * * *
How typical of a child’s logic to make a decision without considering the consequences. I hadn’t thought about getting hungry, it getting dark or the perils of walking near big trucks, and cars speeding outside the city limits.
Fortunately, a friend of the family spotted me that afternoon. I had crossed the street in front of him and we smiled and waved. The situation struck him as being odd and later he telephoned my mother. Thank goodness for his alertness and concern.
In the years following my little adventure, Grandma moved closer to town and married her childhood sweetheart, both 70. There have been other changes too. I eventually got wheels of my own, I’ve voluntarily had my hair permed at least 85 times and I left home dozens of times with Mom’s blessing if not her encouragement. But what would I give now for time with my dear mother – a car ride, a telephone call, a quiet chat before bedtime. It would be so nice, even for a few moments, to be able to go home again.
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