German House Rules

When we were in The Dutch Shop in Salt Lake City buying a few German treats for the Christmas season, my Annie spotted a porcelain tile, which could not only be hung on a wall but could also be used to place a plan on a counter top.

It stated the following things as "German House Rules."

1. If you turn it on, turn it off.

2. If you open it, close it.

3. If you move it, put it back.

4. If you borrow it, return it.

5. If you break it, repair it.

6. If you make a mess, clean it up.

7. If it is none of your concern,

keep it that way.

Now that is a plan. It should be something that everyone places on the fridge door, a set of rules to govern a prudent life--an existence without guile and without offense.

Now Germans are out-spoken and lack on tact, but I never had to read their minds. My father said that I assimilated well during my years in Germany. I often shocked him at what I told people when the time required it, yet our family was always like that.

My father was one who never allowed his feelings to go unstated, because his position came out of his face. If he didn't like someone, he was not afraid to say it, but for the sake of his own character, he often didn't verbalize it, but the person knew what my father was thinking, and so did others who may have been in the room. And when forced to make a stand, my father was not afraid to grab someone by the seat of their pants and toss them out the door, but he asked them kindly to leave first, adding: "or would you like you to show you the way."

Maybe I didn't learn my "thing" in Germany after all. Personally, I find the German way refreshing, but I loved the way my dad did things too. My mom called him a big teddy bear that could turn into a grizzly when defending friends or family.

He told me something once: "Don't ever take a wooden nickel."

For years I wondered if I was right in thinking what I thought it meant. I heard the counselor at my last school whisper something to a parent: "That's Mr. Ward. He doesn't take crap from students, from teachers, from administrators--not from anybody."

Students liked me, except for an occasional one that didn't see things my way.

One day my students were loud, and I was trying so hard to be patient on a day when I knew I was in a bad mood. Suddenly, they became deathly still, all 35 of them in the late afternoon before a holiday.

"What's wrong," I asked?

"Mr. Ward, you have crazy eyes."

Suddenly I knew I had developed my father's "thing." I didn't fly into a rage, but my feelings were evident on my face. Regardless, they remained quiet for the rest of the day, but they still liked me as a teacher.

It feels good to be a big Teddy Bear for my Annie and my children and grandchildren, but it also gives me satisfaction to turn into a Grizzly when someone gives "me or mine" a "wooden nickel." It's a family thing we do for each other.