'Shoppers rush home with their treasures'

Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet? Of course not, right? Everywhere we look we are reminded there aren't many days left and "soon it will be Christmas Day." 

I love that old song, "Silver Bells." It was first seen on the silver screen in the movie, "The Lemon Drop Kid." I like the William Frawley version from the movie. 

"Chuck it in, chuck it in

"Or Santa will give you a Mickey." 

A Mickey referred to Mickey Finn, a drink that would render the one who imbibed unconscious. 

The song was sung during a scene in downtown New York City, a few days before Christmas.  

Bob Hope and Marilyn Maxwell try to correct Frawley's understanding of giving to others at Christmas. We see a montage of pictures; a cab driver wishes his taxi was a sleigh, a little girl looks through a telescope and thinks she sees St. Nick, a vendor sells roasted chestnuts (I want to try those some day.) 

Then all the shoppers on that busy street sing in chorus, "Soon it will be Christmas Day." 

Dad and I used to watch "The Lemon Drop Kid" every Christmas Eve when I was in high school. Now, that movie is a staple for Linda and I every Christmas season. 

I love that scene from "The Lemon Drop Kid" because it reminds me of Christmas shopping when I was a child. 

In those days, we didn't go to a big box store to do our shopping. Big boxes came from little stores. 

Not long ago, on Facebook I shared an old black and white photo that reminded me of my home town. At first I thought it was Main Street in the 1940s (years before I was born). It pictured lavish street decorations and what looked like dozens, maybe a hundred automobiles crowding downtown shortly before Christmas as shoppers lined the sidewalks, dodging in and out of stores, carrying their packages filled with things they were giving as Christmas gifts. 

Then, someone pointed out it couldn't be my home town because all the cars were headed the same direction and our Main Street was two-way up and down the big hill where our business district set. 

Oh, well. That photo generated a lot of comment on Facebook. It seems many of us are nostalgic for the Christmas shopping we remember or that we have seen in "The Lemon Drop Kid" and other movies. 

Times change and in the words of Jane Wyatt, the mom on "Father Knows Best," "Why fight it?"

I hope my grandchildren have happy memories of shopping with their parents. It might be going to the big box store or looking online for toys they want. I'm afraid they won't share my joy of watching the huge electric train set dodge in and out of tunnels and past miniature villages that I watched every year in the toy department of a large department store, but I am sure they will have other happy memories to share. 

It's OK to just say 'No'

Last time in this column we talked about saying, "I don't know" if we really don't know. 

It's also OK to say "No" when a request doesn't fit in with your priorities. 

What the heck does that mean? 

I think I'm getting a grasp. It's about organization. 

We can try to do everything. That's a common desire of youth. 

I recently heard students who were in the top 10 of their graduating class talk about their student activities. Many were in a number of clubs and on sports teams in high school. 

One said, "I think I have been in other clubs, but that's all I can remember." 

The case can be made that youth is wasted on the wrong people. That's not just a line from "It's a Wonderful Life." 

As most teens come to understand, it's a big, wonderful world out there and we want to experience as much of it as possible. 

Isn't that also behind the bucket list middle age folks talk about? People have a list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket. 

One problem with trying to do it all is that it ends in frustration. You can try to ride everything at the amusement park and go home feeling like you have had a really fun day; but how awful to spend your life that way and at some point realize you've done a lot but accomplished little. 

There is a scene in Peter Benchley's novel "The Deep" when the female lead is upset because her boyfriend has a lot of T-shirts from various places around the world but hasn't really done much of lasting consequence. 

Another problem with trying to do it all is that eventually you realize you don't have enough energy to do it all. You are forced to set priorities.

One of the greatest gifts my mother gave me was $3 and told me to go downtown and buy a calendar appointment book. 

"You have too much going on and I can't keep track of it all," she said.

I was in high school and drove my folks' 1965 Dodge Coronet 440 to Andy's, "the store of a million items." 

That day I bought my first appointment book. I used one every year until I discovered Google calendar. 

I was 16 at the time and it revolutionized my life. 

If we can't be in two places at the same time and we can't do it all, we have to prioritize and that is part of personal organization. 

One man said, "If I won't let other people spend my money, why should I let them spend my time?" 

Good question. Yet, that's what we do. 

Like Ado Annie, too often we "cain't say no." Yet we must. 

How can we find the courage?

Realize that if we take on too much, we will invariably not do our best and let someone down, usually someone we care about and respect. 

Realize that we are as important as other people. I don't think I have ever offended anyone by saying no to their request. They might have been disappointed but not as disappointed as if I had made a commitment and then let them down. 

I have started to practice this, by the way. 

Not long ago I resigned from a very worthwhile organization, one which I joined 30 years ago. I paid my dues each year but I have not attended any meetings or supported the organization in any other way for probably a decade. 

So, instead of sending in my dues this year, I wrote a nice note giving my resignation.

It won't be the last time I say no, I promise you. 

And, it's rather liberating! It's good to know I am doing a better job of drilling down instead of juggling. 

A True Halloween Tale

Here’s a true Halloween tale for you to think about this week.

Halloween means different things to different folks.

A young lady I know found out through some mischievous and possibly illegal means that her boyfriend bought her an engagement ring and that he plans to propose on Halloween.

“Halloween is my favorite holiday,” she said. "I looked at his bank statement and called the jewelry store."

Her ring is to be in Friday.

Some of my happiest memories of childhood involve Halloween. The first Halloween costume I remember wearing was a plastic sheet and a plastic face mask that represented “Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Each Sunday I watched “Matty Mattel’s Funday Funnies” on TV. That was the show that first gave us such memorable cartoon characters as “Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent” and “Casper.”

Cecil and his arch nemesis, Dishonest John, were voiced by an Elkhart TV personality. Yes, TV occupied much of my life growing up. Today, we would criticize parents who let their children watch TV that much but it seemed to develop my imagination while limiting my social skills.

That Casper Halloween costume was not fun to wear. It was hot and it was hard to see out the two little holes in the mask. Eventually, I swore off commercial costumes in favor of Halloween make-up that made me more scary but at least let my skin breathe.

We would all wear our costumes to class at Westside Elementary School and parade  before the younger classes. I’m not sure what purpose that served other than to help the teachers fill the day.

Now the weird story for this Halloween. I say weird because it was more strange than scary.

In high school I decided to attend the Bible-based Lincoln Christian College (now Lincoln Christian University.)

From an economic standpoint that was definitely a mistake for we all know ministers never make as much money in life as other professions -- as my dad’s elderly aunt Jessie, who was a retired school teacher, pointed out to my mother. It was Aunt Jessie who first thought I was a good writer and I'm sure she would have liked me to follow her footsteps and become an English teacher.

But the Bible gave me great comfort in those teenage years when my hormones were running high. The hormones have settled down 40-some years later but the Bible still gives me comfort.

When people learned of my college choice, I received invitations to speak at a few churches. Following a sermon at one small church at Hudson Lake, the minister asked me to spend a week on his staff at Michiana Christian Service Camp in Niles, Mich., just outside my home town.

I was the Recreation Director for the week and the campers were all in the third grade.

The week went well, with nothing really noteworthy except for the subject of this story.

He was a little guy who showed up for camp wearing a little brown suit, complete with shirt, tie and matching fedora hat. He was dressed like he was 60 years old instead of eight.

Usually, adults brought their children to camp and made arrangements to pay the fee.

This little boy just showed up. No one saw him arrive.

He proved to be a little dickens that week. He seemed to be trying the staff constantly.

Then, later in the week, he decided he wanted to be baptized.

We baptized children in the camp’s new swimming pool after calling their parents and their ministers. If the adults agreed, the children were baptized. I should mention that our church did not practice infant baptism and baptism came at a time when a person was added to the church.

We called his minister, a name no one seemed to recognize, and in those days before cell phones, we could reach no one at the church or parsonage. We tried to call his parents. Again, no response. So, we explained our policy to the little boy and much to his disappointment, he was not baptized that week.

Our dean, the minister who had invited me to go to camp that week, decided he would talk to the boy’s parents when they picked him up on Friday night at the end of the camping session.

But when Friday night came, the little guy, wearing his brown suit, matching shirt, tie and fedora on a hot and dusty summer evening, disappeared as mysteriously as he arrived.

I’ve often wondered about him. 
Years later, I asked the minister if he ever learned about the little boy. No, none of the other ministers in the area seemed to know anything about him.

I still wonder about the one worn by a mysterious and mischievous little boy at church camp who came dressed as a little old man so many years ago.

Frank Phillips is a freelance writer. His blog is found at frankphillips.blogspot.com and his e-mail address is frank.phillips@gmail.com.