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SUNDAY NIGHT - Proms, smelt and modern war play

We reserve our weekends for entertainment and hope for nice weather; last weekend was no different. Many community events were planned and carried out in spite of the bashing from Mother Nature, once again.

What a night for the Rush City prom. It made for some difficult maneuvering in and out of buildings. Still, while it was sloppy, wet and cold outside, inside the high school auditorium the pale blue decorations, soft lights and dreamy tunes of Garth Brooks set the mood for the gala event that signals the end of another school year.

Excited young women and anxious young men gathered in the choir room to make ready for the Grand March. As I snapped pictures and watched the event unfold it brought back memories when my five daughters attended prom after prom after prom. I wonít even get into that now, but maybe some day when I recover, which I havenít yet.

Anyway, the Grand March is choreographed with a certain amount of poses and turns and a point at which the couple meets to walk through an arch.

A map of the scheduled stops and turns is drawn on the wall board and each young person is supposed to learn the pattern before leaving the room. Mrs. Karlsson does a fine job of coordinating this rite of passage each year.

Bob Schlagel serves as host of the event.
As I watched him introduce each glamorous couple, I thought how he has been making the Grand March special for so many kids for so many years. He really seems to enjoy his job.

There is a look of pride in his eyes as he introduces each young lady and each young man- itís as if each is his own son or daughter. Heís got to be amazed as year after year these kids, who crowd the hallways in baggy pants, sneakers, and new-age hairdos, clean up so well and transform into elegant ladies and gentlemen, at least for this one night.

Iíd like to thank the staff, and especially Bob, for the effort they put into this event each year.
Judging by the hushed gasps from the audience, Iím guessing some of you hadnít realized that your offspring had grown up until you saw them standing in their finery in the glow of the lights on the stage Saturday afternoon.

If you didnít know it before, you know it now. Soon theyíll be leaving the nest. Be prepared, if you thought it was difficult to see them go off to the prom, wait until they stretch their wings and fly away.

Down in North Branch at the fire hall Saturday afternoon, folks were coming in out of the cold and rain to enjoy a tasty meal that included all the battered fried smelt you could eat.

Those firefighters sure know how to put on a good feed. In fact, it was a great day in North Branch all around, in spite of the weather, because there were many things going on in warm, comfortable places.

The Kids Count event at the Middle School was one of those good things. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Iím sure they raised a nice sum for the Childrenís Crisis Nurseries of Chisago and Isanti counties. It is just amazing to see how so many people pull together to put on this annual event.

So, hats off to a whole bunch of people who made getting through last weekend bearable.
Finally, I have to share a little item about modern war play.

A week ago I took a brief vacation. My husband and I and our four-year-old grandson drove to Wichita to visit my daughter and her husband. By their count, itís a 12-hour trip, by ours, itís 14.
Thatís about 20 plus hours (round trip) of ìwhy,î ìhow comeî and ìare we there yet?î

He fell asleep at Kansas City on the way down and woke up at KC on the way back. The rest of the time he was fully conscious.

Iím not complaining, my grandson was really good and for the most part kept himself occupied with toys, books and planning the next question for the old folks.
However, somewhere in Missouri, he started to get a little fidgety, so I thought perhaps a new toy would help him over the boredom. We pulled into a truck stop and he and I jumped out and headed for the store. The selection of items suitable for a four-year-old at this particular stop was limited, to say the least.

There were lots of interesting things that truck drivers might find amusing, lots of snack-type food, and some things I probably shouldnít mention.

By some sort of luck, he bumped into a couple of packages actually meant for children hanging at the end of the chips, dips and munchies aisle. I canít quite remember the contents of the other bag, but the one he chose contained some stickers, candies and little green army men.

Iím not sure what the protocol is for buying children toy soldiers these day; I wasnít even sure he knew what they were. I searched frantically for something else to buy at that stop, but it finally came down to the military unit.

Tucked safely back in his car seat, package of green soldiers in hand, he commenced to play as we took off for the interstate once again.

Now I was, by this time, getting a stiff neck from turning around to answer his questions and see what wonders he had to point out to me all through Minnesota and the entire state of Iowa, so I sat facing forward as he played. He was doing fine, and actually knew what to do with little green men with guns in their hands.

ìBang, bang, bang,î from the soldier in one hand was followed by return fire from the one in the other hand. He learned it somewhere over the course of the last four years.

Anyway, I was feeling guilty for having purchased potentially violent toys for my grandson when I heard him talk about the ìguys on the skateboards.î Soldiers on skateboard? I looked at Grandpa, but restrained from turning around to see how toy soldiers had gone from shooting each other to playing on skateboards.

You will be happy to know that playing war with toy soldiers was not one of his favorite activities and soon the war games gave way to other amusements.

He had returned the soldiers to their plastic bag and it became lost among the pillows and blankets and necessary ìstuffî in the back seat. After that, no more attention was paid to the soldiers throughout the visit or the trip back home.

It was when I was cleaning out the back of the van that I learned the mystery of the skateboards.
If you remember, those of you who might remember, those little green plastic soldiers are attached to a base so they stand up. Well, guess what? That base looks a lot like a skateboard to a 21st century kid.
Perhaps we ought to send a bunch of skateboards over to the middle-east. Maybe the folks there would enjoy this new sport so much theyíd forget about fighting. Itís a thought, coming from the heart of a four-year-old.


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