Guardian of the Tome A Story and a Request for Your Help...

My father has been gone for over 15 years, but I learned a new lesson from him today; or maybe I was just finally able to understand the lesson. Dad was a child of the depression and although the stories of his childhood always sounded like great adventures when I heard them as a child, I have now finally grasped the truth about his challenging childhood. If it can be called a childhood. His mother and father married and had his older brother Wally in the early 1920’s and then divorced which was pretty unheard of in that era. However, they did reconcile and even remarry for a short time which is how my father came to be. Sadly, Grandpa was killed in a train accident shortly before my father was born, leaving Grandma alone with two small boys. She tried to make a go of it for a short time but there were few options for a single mother in 1925. She ended up dropping her sons off with her mother and leaving town. That was their last real contact with her during their childhood.

Their grandmother was a strong soul who was raising 10 children of her own but made room for her two grandsons. She was full of fire and brimstone most of the time but they knew that they were loved and that she would never abandon them. That was more than they ever had in the past. Everyone was having a tough time in the 20’s trying to make ends meet. Poverty was all around them and no one was living a better life so they didn’t understand that anything was lacking in their lives. The older children got jobs to contribute money to the family coffers and the boys hunted to put meat on the table at night. So the hierarchy was simple, the more you contributed the earlier you got to eat. As the two youngest members of the family, my father and uncle were more often than not left with just the scraps from the older children’s dinner. But it was a meal and they were thankful for it.

I heard stories of Dad’s life as a teenager going to a nearby asylum to steal a bottle of milk or going hunting for meat for dinner. His grandma would pass out two shotgun shells to each boy and upon return you had to either give her two squirrels or rabbits or give her the two shells back. There was no margin for error and no excuses were accepted. Summer in the Midwest brought about a welcome opportunity to fish but returning home at night without a full stringer carried with it a great deal of shame for the day wasted. Being free to come and go, hunt, fish and acquire a bottle of milk on the sly all sounded like fun to my youthful and adventurous self of my childhood. But the adult, the parent in me today, is aghast at the thought of turning children out to fend for themselves for the day. But my father never complained. And on the rare but treasured occasions when he and all of his aunts and uncles who were really his siblings were reunited, they spoke of those days gone by as fond and cherished memories. They didn’t have much but they had each other. Somehow, even in that difficult time, Grandma found a way to impress upon them that what really mattered was family and the love and comfort that it brought to one’s heart and soul.

Obviously, with money barely covering necessities such as food and shelter, there was little left for the possessions that most children take for granted. My father had two sets of clothes; that was all that he needed. He would wear one and Grandma would wash the other. And they really never had many toys or gifts even on birthdays or at Christmas. But one year, the older children managed to scrape up enough money to buy my father and my Uncle Wally each a book for Christmas. It was something of their very own and it was a treasure and a luxury. As a child, I found it odd to hear this story because my father never struck me as a book person. He never read me stories as a child, like my mother did. Instead, he made up the most wonderful and amazing tales that kept me fully engrossed for as long as he would keep spinning the plot. But that book clearly made a huge impression on my father. And I know this for certain because he still had that very book some 60 years later. In fact, he had it on the bookshelf in his home until the day that he passed away at the age of 76. It was one of the very few things that he ever owned as a child and he was a respectful steward of it for the rest of his life. The book now resides proudly on the bookshelf in my sister’s home.

This story tells me a lot about my father and a lot about what a gift as simple as a book can mean to a child, especially a child who has very little. That book was more than ink on pages and even more than the story or information contained on those pages. It was something that belonged to him and him alone. It also represented the love that his siblings felt for him and the effort that they made to provide him with a gift. It represented the bond that the family shared and showed that he mattered to them. And that final part, knowing that he mattered, that was the greatest gift that they gave to my father.

Dad built a wonderful life for his family. My siblings and I never went without anything that we needed or seldom even anything that we wanted. My father would marvel at all that he had the good fortune to have attained in his life. He owned his own home, the family had two cars and we had more possessions than he ever dreamed of as a child. He enjoyed his evenings in front of a color television in the comfort of his easy chair but that book was always nearby to remind him just how blessed he really was. Thanks to my father and to a book that is now nearing a century in age, I have an understanding of a value that represents more than money or status. Every child and every person deserves to know and experience that inner warmth that you feel within your heart as it warms your entire body and soul. Everyone matters, has value and has the potential to do amazing things in this world. All they need is a little love and support to get them headed in the right direction.

Please join me in passing along this important message to group of children who are facing an equally difficult childhood by donating books to Helen’s Hope Chest (HHC). HHC is a special boutique for foster and kinship children, where they can experience the joy of making their own selections. The children are able to shop for free up to four times per year. On the child’s first visit, they receive a cuddly stuffed animal and a handmade quilt donated by the clients of Oakwood Creative Care and other quilting organizations. During each shopping visit the children choose up to five new and gently used outfits, new undergarments, shoes, hygiene products, and two books. Backpacks filled with school supplies are given as needed throughout the year. The children are invited into the gift room to choose a new toy for their birthday and other special days. “Back to School” events are held every July to provide backpacks filled with school supplies. Every December, HHC holds a special Christmas event, Jakelle’s Christmas Box, where foster and kinship caregivers and case workers are able to choose gifts, books, stuffed animals, and stocking stuffers that best meet the individuality of their children

Being removed from their home and placed in foster care is not a result of their own actions or even something that they have any control over. Understanding the reasons for their move can be difficult even for adults but to these children it is a disruption of anything and everything that they know and understand. But a gift as simple as a book can give them comfort and hope. It can be their beginning in the right direction as they choose to grow into happy, healthy and successful adults.

PLEASE SEND YOUR TAX DEDUCTIBLE GIFT OF NEW OR GENTLY USED BOOKS TODAY:

HELEN’S HOPE CHEST BOOK DRIVE

126 E UNIVERSITY DRIVE

MESA, AZ 85201

FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ABOUT HELEN’S HOPE CHEST OR THE BOOK DRIVE PLEASE CONTACT ME AT [email protected]

Thank you for your support and generosity!

Kathy C. Koewler

www.helenshopechest.org