Richard J. Alley

“Because I Said So” column for The Commercial Appeal

March 28, 2013

Teach kids to enjoy city with family

The week before last, for about half a week, it was springtime in Memphis. Remember that? Temperatures in the 70s, sunshine, the saucer magnolia in my front yard even dared to show its colors. Luckily for my kids, that was during their spring break, and we took full advantage of it.

The Memphis Brooks Museum of Art held a chalk art festival with folks creating their own works of art on the plaza in front of the museum. Kids got into the act as well and turned the concrete into a rainbow of butterflies, puppies, squiggly lines and shapes. It looked as if spring had fallen upon Midtown alone and blossomed in chalk dust.

From there, it’s only a hop and a skip to the Memphis Zoo. A short trip unless it’s 70, sunny and spring break. The line of cars waiting to get in snaked through the park and down Poplar. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to see the snakes. Or, more accurately, they wanted to touch a stingray. We never did make it into that exhibit; the lines there were too overwhelming for impatient children (and adults). We’ll make a special trip for the rays.

The highlight of the week for me was a visit to the Stax Museum of American Soul Music. The museum is a treasure trove of soul, blues, styles and grooves. My kids laughed at Isaac Hayes’ hats and boots; they dug his car with its fuzzy floor and gold detail. They swayed and strutted on the dancefloor in front of a floor-to-ceiling episode of “Soul Train,” and they marveled at the display of black Frisbees. “Those are records,” I explained.

My favorite part is the short film shown at the beginning of every visit. I’ve seen it before, and it never fails to bring a lump to the throat. Stax, in its heyday, rode a wave of hits, fame, funk and, most inspirational, family. Steve Cropper, legendary guitarist for Booker T. & the MG’s, says in the film that when you walked into Stax, you were family. Color did not matter. Until it did. When things turned after that tragic April 4 in 1968, a day we’ll commemorate next week, neither Stax nor the city of Memphis would ever be the same.

In the 10 years since the museum opened, though, that tide has turned again. I saw it two weeks ago in a museum where black and white, young and old, all studied the rise and fall of a great American sound. We laughed at the size of the collars, wiped a tear at the story of a plane crash and danced to the same beat. In a park across town on another day, my kids sidled up to others from throughout the city to revel in color. At our world-class zoo, where there was once a day of the week set aside for black-only visitors, multitudes of all ethnicities wandered.

Last week saw the official first day of spring, though the predicted snow the following day said otherwise. Either way, the long winter hibernation is over. It’s time to get out and visit your city, wherever you live; learn what it holds, its history good and bad, and enjoy time with family that you know, and that you have yet to meet.

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‘Because I Said So’ column for The Commercial Appeal

Jan. 3, 2013

New year, clean slate for at least 3 months

A brand new year unwrapped, all shiny and sparkling. The packaging is still lying there on the floor, underfoot, where it will probably remain for another week or so. For even longer than that we’ll be writing the last year on our checks if we still do that sort of thing. In this day and age, though, the equivalent might be that your debit card’s expiration date is one notch higher on the online drop-down menu.

It’s still early enough in 2013 that we’re looking back to the past year, collecting its stories together and placing that volume on the shelf next to previous years to see how it holds up in size and weight within the timeline of our lives.

My kids keep their volumes spread out on their bedroom floors to be lost and stepped on, the pages dog-eared and the covers hanging by a thread or lost altogether. They’re there among Christmas presents, birthday gifts, school projects, summertime souvenirs and Halloween (perhaps Easter?) candy. The end of the year is a time of cleansing, of purging, and we take full advantage of it to get into our kids’ rooms and make them, once again, habitable.

This isn’t the only cleaning of the year, mind you. There is spring cleaning and fall cleaning, the massive cleanout at the beginning of the school year and, if there is any focus left in their eyes, at the end of that year.

But last weekend we tackled the task using the new year metaphor of a clean slate. And then we explained to them what a slate is. And then, low and behold, we found an actual slate in the substrata of toys and half-filled composition books.

Cleaning out my kids’ rooms becomes a game of logic, of moving this pile over here so I can get to that pile there; make room for these in that corner and it frees up floor space here for whatever that thing is. It also becomes a time of togetherness; we have to tether ourselves to each other like climbers on Everest in case one gets lost. Memories are scattershot, swept up from under the bed, and past holidays and sleepovers come rushing back to the forefront of our minds.

Being a captive audience — a willing audience, of course, since the kids aren’t literally held captive to clean their rooms; that would be wrong — we take the opportunity to fill that newly clean slate with fresh threats as well: “You will pick up your room every …”, “If your room gets like this again …”, ” … living like pigs.”

I suspect we’ll find that slate in the spring, the warnings partially erased and all but forgotten.

Each new year is like being given a gift of renewal every 365 days. Unwrap it slowly and linger over what might be inside, share it with your family, and, by all means, put that packaging in the garbage sometime before April.

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“Because I Said So” column for The Commercial Appeal

Dec. 20, 2012

Helping out can allow us to reclaim holiday spirit

Centerpiece feature for The Memphis Daily News

Nov. 27, 2012

Memphian gives back to community every day in November

Sarah Petschonek grew up with the importance of volunteering instilled in her by her parents.

As children, she and her two younger siblings would pull a wagon around the Jacksonville, Fla., neighborhood where she grew up, handing out fliers and picking up canned goods for food drives.

“I think there’s an important lesson there, it’s not just that we did it but that they took the time to tell me why we were doing it,” Petschonek said. “When you’re 8 years old and you go to a private school and everyone around you has everything that they need, it blows your mind when you realize there are 8 year olds that don’t have food every day.”

It’s a revelation that has stuck with her and shaped her. It compelled her to volunteer throughout her years at Houston High School once her family moved to Memphis, and through college at the University of Memphis where she attained undergraduate, graduate and doctoral degrees.

At 30, having left a job in Nashville to move back to Memphis, Petschonek found herself looking at several months without work and was searching for ways in which to fill the time.

Volunteering, reflexively, was part of a plan that would grow into what she calls “Mission Memphis: 30 Days of Volunteering.” The idea was to volunteer with a different organization every day for the month of November … (read more)

“Because I Said So” column for The Commercial Appeal

Nov. 22, 2012

Empty seat at table full of cherished memories

It’s the most nostalgic time of the year. There are memories everywhere today, in each shaker of spice, in the clatter of silverware and carried in on the aromas from the oven. Who doesn’t equate the myriad scents and sounds of Thanksgiving with childhood and the kitchen of a grandparent or great-grandparent?

Today is one of remembrance, a main course of sentimentality simmered over years past when, as children, we looked on from the kids’ table to where the adults ate, wondering if the food there just out of reach wasn’t sweeter and more plentiful, the talk more substantial and promising.

Time’s crawl seemed interminable then, as though it would never get us to the grown-up table. And then one year it did; chairs were shuffled, and a place was made beside a favorite aunt or uncle. We began to look back almost immediately, spending this time each year remembering what it was like to be so carefree and, hopefully, thankful for that time past.

It’s been a tough year for our family. My father died in the spring, and just last month we lost my grandfather. Such happenings make the gatherings we’re having today, surrounded by family but with an obvious empty chair, a bit more melancholy.

We give thanks for those in our lives today as well as those no longer with us for whatever reason, for those we knew and who enriched our lives for having known them. Look to the kids’ table, to that island of innocence, a refuge with its spilled milk, half-eaten turkey leg and discarded cranberry sauce where nothing unforeseen could touch you, where no concerns from the adult world, never more than a few feet away, would ever be seated.

Give thanks for your children who still believe that nothing will ever change, that sickness and sadness are ghouls to be stopped at the doorstep of the family home.

As my grandfather’s illness progressed, it was his seven children who came together to look after him, and my grandmother to care for him and wrap him up in their memories.

My aunts and uncles, my mother, have had to act the adult more than ever in the past year. Yet they’ve also, I believe, spent some time at the kids’ table, whole meals of nostalgia eaten with their mother at one end of the table, and their father at the other.

I gave the eulogy at the funeral and, in it, talked of how my grandfather could fill up a room with his very presence. In the absence of his physical presence this Thanksgiving, he is still here with us, the dining room filled with his family and his memory.

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Because I Said So column for The Commercial Appeal

June 7, 2012

I’ll tell you how much longer we have. We have about 500 more words to go.

That’s right, it’s time for our annual family beach trip. It’s the one-year anniversary of finding out how well this family fits into a minivan loaded with beach toys, snacks, DVDs, CDs and a few clothes. Our destination this year is Grayton Beach with its eclectic shops, laid-back environment, funky cafes and, of course, the white sands of the Florida Panhandle.

I sit and write this now on the front porch of Grayt Coffee House with my daughter, Somerset, and her friend, Meredith. It’s morning of the first day, and the sun is filtered through the leaves of gnarled water oaks, a musician from Atlanta and his family just introduced themselves and their dog, Annabelle, and joggers pass by at a leisurely vacation pace.

And I think I may never leave.

Instead of packing up in a week to find out how much sand we can squeeze into the van with all of our other belongings, would it be unreasonable for me to just stay on this porch and wave at the people passing by as though I were the business’ mascot, or a sunburned and sand-flecked cigar store Indian?

Do my kids expect more of me?

They expect me to make enough money during the year for this trip, though they have no concept of what a vacation like this costs. They expect me to drive them 980 miles round-trip, though they have no idea what it costs me mentally to have them whining and pleading for stops behind me, and asking me that same question again and again (only 220 more words to go now). It’s a week in which they expect me to build a sandcastle, throw them in the surf, slather them in sunscreen and grill supper.

Nobody expects me to stay on this porch for the rest of the week. Or the rest of the summer. Or, if it’s not a problem, the rest of 2012.

Do they really expect any more from me?

My concern is that they may all want to join me on this porch where I sit beneath a handmade metal wind chime with the word “serenity” stamped into it. They and their snacks and their toys and their DVDS and sandy beach towels.

As we get older and have more and more kids, the agenda for vacations is filled less with what we want to do and more of what we have to do. But we also find that what we have to do while away is more fun and, in some ways, more meaningful than what fills the responsible days at home.

Planning and building that castle, jumping in the waves with my youngest on my back, pointing out constellations in the pitch black night and spending a morning lounging on the front porch of a sleepy little coffee shop with a few kids is what they expect and, it turns out, just what I expect as well.

This porch is the perfect place to start a vacation. We’re here, kids.

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Because I Said So column for The Commercial Appeal

May 24, 2012

The school year is over, and it was a good year with advances made, focus maintained and lessons learned. The grades are just beginning to roll in, and I could not be more proud. I’ve given myself a solid B-minus in School Year Parenting for 2011-12.

It wasn’t perfect (it never is), and I’m no show-off, but I did manage to prepare just north of 750 sandwiches since last August. I found socks, washed uniforms, located shoes and walked the kids to school. I napped. I read to my daughter’s kindergarten class once. OK, sure, it was only once, but one is more than none, and that’s good math. I also helped my kids with some math homework.

My weakest subject was probably handwriting. Specifically, in putting my handwriting on the many forms that Memphis City Schools requires for our kids to take part in any activities. There was a mountain of paperwork in my inbox, and no way to get to all of it, not with all of those sandwiches to be made. So some papers were late, and some never made it to school. Or they made it there, but were tardy.

There were forms for field trips, for projects due and projects done, graded homework, quizzes to be signed and notices of fundraisers. I put these things off, set them aside and forgot all about them.

The first rule is to always show your work. Well, here it is, beneath this pile on my desk, still.

There were tests, too. Spontaneous questionnaires by people I’d run into at Lowe’s or Kroger — “Papa quizzes,” if you will — and I was expected to know the answers. “Sixth-grade … baritone saxophone, Japanese and Spanish, soccer … 14 years old … TCAP … peanut butter.”

School-year parenting is different than summertime parenting, isn’t it? During school, there are rules and regulations to adhere to, time schedules, adults standing at the front of the room telling you what is and is not acceptable. But in the summer, I can do what I want, when I want. Mostly. As long as the adult at the front of the room says it’s OK.

During these 10 weeks of summer, we will sleep late and eat at all hours of the day. We’ll go outside when the sunshine calls and come in for television and naps when the shade begins to vanish. I will still make sandwiches, and I will still walk with my kids, but I won’t have to sign the forms to say they can go to the zoo, I won’t have to wake them before sunrise, and they can spend whole days with no shoes for all I care.

Summertime Dad will get an A-plus. I can feel it. I’ve been studying for this since late last year, somewhere around sandwich No. 220. I’ve memorized the formula, I’ve solved for X and found that X marks the spot. And that spot is poolside, where I’ll be with a cool drink in my hand and working on a passing grade at passing the time.

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Because I Said So column for The Commercial Appeal

May 10, 2012

Every parent needs to get away from time to time. We need to step out of our role as caretaker and the crushing weight of responsibility that comes with it. We need time for ourselves, time to clear our mind, a change of scenery. We need silence.

However, a weekend on the Florida coast or a Caribbean island might not be available to all of us. A trip to New York or San Francisco might interfere with soccer games, homework projects and sleepovers.

So what I do is, when I’m sent up to the Kroger on Sanderlin for a necessary dinner item or forgotten lunch staple, I take a little time just for me and stroll around the store. I sight-see and explore for things like fruits I’ve never seen or a new flavor of toothpaste. Perhaps I’ll run into someone I know or just sit and watch the lobsters for a bit.

It is the saddest vacation available in the Frommer’s travel guide.

There are times when a special item is needed and Kroger becomes a layover before traveling on to Whole Foods. This is the closest I come to visiting a foreign land. The foods there are exotic, the people concerned and the ambience organic. I feel, while walking around that store with no children tagging along, as free to range as their chickens.

There are other vacation packages available as well. There is the obvious choice of the hardware store. The aisles of Home Depot and Lowe’s are populated by fathers who have “run up to the store for a minute” for a box of nails or “a bracket for that thing I’m working on.” I see them wandering, clutching a roll of duct tape like it’s luggage and admiring a 12-amp reciprocating saw as though they were browsing the duty-free between flights. A trip like this could take an hour; in the spring, when the garden center is in full bloom, an hour-and-a-half. Bracket For That Thing I’m Working On would be a good name for some sort of VIP lounge if those companies were so inclined.

The trick, of course, is to buy your ticket early. Not too early — don’t look too eager — but claim it just before your spouse has the chance to volunteer picking up that pack of toilet paper or a head of garlic. It’s why I always offer first to travel to Gibson’s Donuts. It’s just something, I tell my wife, that I want to do for my family. I’ll get the dozen donuts and then get one just for me and a cup of coffee. It’s 10 minutes of “me time,” 20 if that train at Poplar, blessedly, delays me.

The trip home from any of these excursions should be a long, circuitous one. I’m the one you’re stuck behind and cussing as I meander just below the speed limit to take in the changing leaves or the progress my neighbors are making on renovations. I know they’re renovating because I see them at Home Depot all the time. The escaped parent finding himself alone in the car does not care about gas prices. He is not concerned (at the moment) with the environment. He is alone and at peace with the windows down and the dulcet tones of NPR to keep him company.

Being able to spend quality time with family is a gift we all should cherish. Being able to spend a few moments away from the kids and the television and the responsibility is like an exotic trinket from a far-away gift shop.

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EPE pulls out stops for 35th anniversary of singer’s death

Centerpiece feature for The Memphis Daily News

Jan. 5, 2012

When describing the upcoming 35th anniversary of the death of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Kevin Kern of Elvis Presley Enterprises said 2012 could bring more fans to town than ever before.

“Obviously this is an Elvis Week times two,” Kern said.

The New Year promises to be bigger and busier for Graceland, one of Tennessee’s largest tourist attractions, averaging 600,000 visitors annually, but which can see those numbers escalate during a major anniversary year. During Elvis Week alone in 2007 – the 30th anniversary of Presley’s death – Graceland saw 75,000 visitors.

With such high expectations, Kern said, the planning for the 2012 festivities began two years ago. “We traditionally have music events at the Orpheum or the Cannon Center, but this year they’ll be at the FedExForum, that’s the size and scope of a major anniversary year for us.” … (read more)

“Because I Said So” column for The Commercial Appeal

Jan. 5, 2012

My great-grandmother, Catherine Zanone, always preached that if you work on the first day of a new year, then you’ll work for the entire year. Sage words of superstition from someone who lived and worked through the Great Depression.

I’ve always heard, as well, that whatever you do on the first day of a new year, you’ll do the entire year. It’s where resolutions come from, I suppose; the get up and go to actually get up and go, whether to the gym or a walk around the block.

I don’t cotton to resolutions myself. Yet, on the first day of 2012, among other things, I sat and watched the first episode of the new season of a wildly popular British television show called “Doctor Who.” It’s a show I’ve never watched, which makes me the minority in my own home. This past summer, my wife and kids spent mornings at the pool and then long afternoons watching past episodes and whole seasons of “Doctor Who” together. It seemed an entertaining bonding experience for all of them.

I thought I would make an effort this day, this first of the new year, to take an interest in their interests. I have to say, I still don’t get it. Just like resolutions, neither do I cotton to the show’s genre of science fiction. But my kids get it. They gasped and commented on subtleties gleaned from past shows; they laughed and cheered at this Time Lord (the Doctor is a Time Lord, for those fellow uninitiated).

Near the end of the episode we watched, the Doctor says that with the aid of his TARDIS (his a time machine, I learned) he has access “to everything that has ever been or ever will be.” … (read more)