I grew up in a small town in rural Ohio, right smack dab in the center of the state. Heck, it was so small that if my high school graduating class had more than a hundred students in it, I’ll be a monkey’s aunt.

My hometown looked very much like the town in the movie, Back To The Future. We had a ten pin bowling alley, a quaint little Main Street centered around a picturesque white-domed brick town hall building (yes, complete with a clock just like in the movie), a pool hall where the rowdies hung out, a movie theater with 25-cent Saturday afternoon matinees, the pizza shop and root beer stand for dates, and the drive-in movie -- but this was off-limits to most of us until we were almost grownups ourselves.

Other than the senior citizen trailer park neighborhood down by the river, there wasn’t really a north or south side of the tracks in my hometown. What we did have was an area just east of town where most of the rowdies lived. Of course, not everyone who lived there was a rowdie, obviously, and Lord knows, there are rowdies in every socioeconomic group everywhere.

Anyway, in my hometown, the rowdies were the tough kids who were always in trouble with the law. How they were used as an example by our parents or anyone in authority was like nowadays when people say, “You’d better be good or the Boogie Man will get you ...” just change it a little and what we heard from our parents was, “You’d better be good or you’ll end up as a rowdie! For most of us, that was enough for us to mend our ways. Those kids were the real town toughies, the bullies in school who beat you up, and the ones we were most eager to stay away from.

Isn’t it shameful that the color of a person’s skin, what their sexual preference is, how rich or poor they are, or what their religious beliefs might be, have all become so much more significant to us than the behavior of the rowdies in our towns and cities? Sometimes I think the whole world has gone nuts. It’s depressing to know that prejudice causes more hurt and resentment than crime on our city streets. I, for one, would love to go back to a simpler, more gentle time when the town's tough rowdies were the ones we didn’t want our children and grandchildren to play with ...

When our children are small, it’s so easy to fix the hurts. Most boo boos are physical and only require a little rinsing with water, some of Mommy’s ‘red paint’ (mercurochrome), and a bandaid to keep all the blood inside where it belongs. Add to that a gentle kiss, and it’s simple to be a hero when our children are small.

As our children get older, their hurts get bigger, too. These hurts are based more on feelings than the occasional fall-down-go-boom hurt. As parents or grandparents, our duty becomes a lot more difficult. Hurt takes more of our time and these hurts require a lot more patience. We have to add other elements that aren’t needed with ordinary boo boos. We have to explain things: Not everyone we meet will like us. Other kids don’t always play fair. The teacher is human, too, and yes, she might just have a favorite student -- and it’s not your child. We also have to teach the child how to help himself make things get better.

It’s harder to explain that kind of hurt to a child. They want to know why. Why don’t some children play fair? Why would someone say or do something to hurt them when they didn’t do anything to deserve it? It becomes even more challenging, when teaching children that two wrongs don’t make a right and it’s wrong to retaliate. As grownups, it’s much more difficult helping these hurts get better, and it’s not so simple being the hero any more, either.

We spend their entire childhoods telling them to be nice; be truthful; don’t hit; do unto others the way you want them to do unto you; if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all; and my personal favorite, and the one my mother used a lot when we were growing up: Say what you mean, mean what you say, but don’t say it mean.

When you think about it, hurt really doesn’t get any easier with age either. It doesn’t matter how old we are, it still hurts to have someone say something mean to us or about us behind our backs, especially when it isn’t true. It also hurts not to get that promotion we’ve been working our tail off for. And it really hurts when the person we love, loves someone else.

As a grownup, I don’t pretend to understand the ‘why‘, which makes it even more difficult trying to explain ’why’ to a child. Maybe we could tell them the people who hurt them are so unhappy with their own lives that they need to make those around them equally as miserable, or maybe that they’re trying to boost their own feelings of insecurity. What it comes down to is a desperate cry for attention. Negative attention, even though destructive and self-defeating, is still attention after all. No one, young or old, wants to be ignored.

In my humble opinion, sometimes the best thing we can say to our children and grandchildren is, “Say nothing at all. Just walk away.”

Whether you are aware of it or not, as grownups we still pretend. After all, isn’t that what a dream, a daydream or a fantasy is, actually? None of those are real, but they’re jam-packed with pretending. Well ... I know at least mine are.

Only in a dream, can I take wing, soaring way above the trees to look down on friends or family. Only in a dream, can I saunter along through town and look down and see five, ten, or twenty-dollar bills lying on the sidewalk in plain sight just waiting for me to pick them up and stuff them into my pockets. Only in a dream, could I be chased by a terrible and ferocious tiger and not be able to run because my feet are like lead and they won’t move. Or worse yet, I’m able to run, but I’m running in slow motion! And only in my dreams would Tom Selleck and I ... oh, never mind ...

Is there anyone who hasn’t fantasized about picking the winning Powerball number? Didn’t you almost feel the rush as you secretly planned what you were going to do with your winnings? How about that first warm and sunny day of spring? You look outside your office window and ‘see’ yourself walking in the woods, or fishing in a boat out on the lake. Or maybe in your fantasy, you’re out driving your sports car with the top down and the wind is blowing your hair ... heck, in a daydream, you can see yourself just about anywhere else but there in your stuffy office, looking out a dirty window with three hours left till quitting time. Almost everyone has daydreamed about getting a raise ... or fantasized about telling the boss where to go because you didn’t get the raise. I believe it’s safe to say, whether in dreams, daydreams or fantasies, even as grownups, we do still pretend.

Hey I have to go now … my daughter just arrived with my grandsons. To the world, I’m Grammy and I’m babysitting for a few hours. But Shhhh ... today we’re really pirates. We’ve made plans to make a treasure map and they said I get to be Captain Hook this time, and that’s good ... I was gettin' tired of bein' Tinker Bell ...

To a child, things seem to be right or wrong, good or bad, funny or not funny, nice or not nice, cool or not cool, and so on.

A bad guy is ... well, a BAD guy. Dad, on the other hand, is a good guy. A bad guy does things that are wrong. Dad does things that are right. (A mom is another example of a good guy.) Thank God, children most often pretend to be the 'good' guy.

Teasing, even lighthearted teasing, isn't very funny to most children -- but simply say the word 'underpants' and they'll roll on the floor with laughter. The same can be said from an opposite angle, too. Something we adults consider to be 'not funny' and punishable -- "Who blew up the marshmallow in the microwave?" -- brings muffled giggles from the kid timed-out in his room.

Consider smells or tastes. Nothing ever just smells or tastes 'okay' to a child. To a child, gasoline and flowers smell good, but feet and swiss cheese smell terrible. Brussel sprouts and black jelly beans taste 'yukky', but chocolate cake? As my nephew used to say, "Wow! I could make a whole meal outta that!"

Take it a step further -- children like to have easy answers to things. If there is no black or white explanation or name for something, they'll make one up for themselves by pretending.

An example: My five-year-old grandson, Will, loves to play doctor with a Bob the Builder doll. He had his toy medical kit and all of the instruments laid out. I asked him what was wrong with Bob. He told me Bob had a bad sickness in his herpodoffick and he was going to take it out with his mixafidgit to make him well.

A tree scratching at the glass in the window of a child's bedroom at night becomes a horrible snaggle-toothed monster. The child can't see the tree branch. The monster is as real to him as the printing on this page, and until mommy explains otherwise, it really exists. As a matter of fact, it will probably still be there until mommy tells the monster to go away.

In retrospect, pretending was one of the funnest things about being a child. I loved pretending. I think I put more miles on my mother's broom than she did as I clip-clopped up and down the sidewalk on my black and white pinto pony.

This brings me to the conclusion that pretending must certainly be an indispensable precursor to the eventual grey area. When does pretending stop and the grey area begin? I don't know.

Sometime during the long road of getting older, life expands beyond the black and white. Our tastes change, little mysteries are solved, and we find a lot of our questions answered in the encyclopedia.

We learn by experience that our parents are not perfect, that the teacher doesn't have all the answers, and our friend will be hurt if we tell him his feet smell. As our whole view of the world expands, we shed our childhood innocence. We pretend less and less and we gently enter into the maturity of the grey area.

I still don't know when pretending stops, or if it ever does. I sure hope not. Heck, I'm still pretending that I'll win the lottery every week.

In my family's case, I can't see where any one person can actually take credit for the harmony we have. Somewhere along the way, it just happened.

Jointly, we went through the tumultuous teens with three daughters: the heartaches, the excitements, the meetings with teachers, soccer and softball games, then their high school and college graduations. We have planned three weddings together, enjoyed the births of six grandchildren (with two more on the way), their christenings, birthday parties and school events.

What's especially nice is the number of grandparents these remarriages have produced. Just ask my five-year-old grandson, Liam -- I did.

"Liam, how many grandmas and grampas do you have?"

Liam smiled out loud. "Ohhhh, Grammy! Sooo many! (little arms outstretched to the max).

"I have my Grammy and Papa, Nanny and Papa Num-Num (because he always brings ice cream or donuts when he visits), Mimi, Nana, Great Papa and Gramma Rosemary who live in Ohio -- that's far, FAR away, Grammy -- I have so many grampas and grandmas that I can hardly even count all of them!"

Then I asked him, "Liam, how many people do you suppose love you?"

He replied, "Grammy, EVERYbody loves me." (giving me a big hug, along with his answer).

Just try and tell our little Liam that Nanny's, Papa's, or Gramma Rosemary's blood isn't coursing through his veins. I'll guarantee you, even if he understood what you were talking about, it wouldn't matter a whit to him. The only thing that does matter to Liam is the wonderful love those grandparents do show him.

After all is said and done, after all of us are a part of his past, it's the wonderful memories we've created together which are most important, and what will live on forever in his heart.

To a child, these noises are pure joy and they try and duplicate the sounds as often as possible. It doesn't seem to matter what age a child is -- I've seen teenagers roll on the floor laughing the same as toddlers. Heck, my two-year-old grandson already thinks some of them are funny.

I remember growing up, my brother used to amaze me with his burps. He's the only person I've ever known who could burp and it sounded just like the word, "burp". Maybe it was something he practiced, I don't know. Can you practice a burp? Would anyone (other than a child) WANT to practice a burp?

Tummy rumbles and yawns are two of the 'lesser' funnies, but still laughable to children. A tummy rumble sounds exactly like the word 'rumble', IF you say it with a deep base voice and draw the word out a little.

Yawns on the other hand, sound like the word somewhat, but more than anything else, they LOOK like what a yawn really is -- a gaping hole.

Another funny noise is the sneeze. Sneeze is a funny word, but I've never heard ANYone who sneezed like that word sounds. Mostly you hear "ah-choo" or "ker-choo", or variations on the same sound. My daughters tell me when I sneeze, it sounds like I'm saying, "Who asked you!" Not as a question, mind you, but as an all-out shout. Again, never, ever have I heard the word 'sneeze' come bellowing out of someone as they're doing it. I wonder who made that word up. Personally, I think they missed the boat.

The word 'hiccup' isn't too bad, actually. When you have them, they DO sound pretty much like the word 'hiccup'. Whoever created that word came pretty doggone close.

My other brother used to try and hold them in -- that maneuver always had an adverse reaction, though. It became pressurized, somehow flipflopped the invisible boundary, and came out as a loud 'hic-burp' (although that name doesn't really do it justice).

By now, you're probably wondering where this is all leading. Well, it brings me to the more socially sensitive of the noisy body functions -- and also the source of the MOST amusement for children. In our house, we just called them:

My cat can be running full-tilt through the living room, yet the minute he first steps into a sunbeam, WHAM!. It's as though someone shot him. He suddenly drops down, stretches, makes himself comfy and falls into a deep and contented sleep within the sunbeam right there on the living room floor.

Now, if you want to keep a small child entertained for more than a few minutes, sit him or her down in front of a full-length mirror. Be sure to have your camera and film on hand and get ready for some real fun. I tried it with my grandson while I was babysitting and it was priceless.

At first glance, it was a little like making a new friend. There was the tentative first look at the 'other child'. Then he gave him a shy smile. When the smile was returned, and I suppose feeling a little bolder, he then went for the basic wave.

Next, he turned his back, looked over his shoulder at the child in the mirror, smiled again, and then stuck out his tongue.

Once this obligatory introduction period was over, he made a whole series of "Can you do this?" moves.

Each new feat was copied, of course, which brought even more complicated face-pulling and body contortions. It didn't take too long before the two were best friends, whereupon it only got sillier with somersaults, jumping up and down, lifting the shirt and comparing belly buttons, and ... well, you'll just have to try it and see for yourself.

For me, the icing on the cake was his wonderful and infectious laughter --and I'm happy to report the experiment was successful and totally captured on film.

I believe my next project to tape in front of a mirror will be my husband shaving ...

Geez oh man, Christmas seems to arrive on or about the day after Halloween these days! Santa Claus is already everywhere and Thanksgiving is still around the corner. The stores in the malls have ordered abundantly to insure that after the holiday sales they can show a hefty bottom line at year’s end. The malls themselves put up their holiday signs and Christmas decorations increasingly early to entice us, knowing full well our propensity for overindulgence.

I find it distressing that Christmas has become, for most people, an “over” time. We overspend, we overeat, we over-party, and we end up trying to fit church and God -- the very reason there is a Christmas -- in between everything else on our overabundant holiday lists. About the only thing we don’t overdo in, is in taking the time to think about those less fortunate by dropping a few extra coins into the buckets when we see Santa’s helpers ringing their bells in front of the stores around town.

Please don’t misunderstand, everyone who knows me, knows that Christmas is my favorite time of the year. I can’t help myself. I get all swept up in the nostalgia and the warm and fuzzy feelings that surround this wondrous holiday.

Every year, I watch all the classic Christmas movies, crying as I watch The Gathering, laughing until I cry at Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and I think Barbara Stanwyck is hilarious in Christmas in Connecticut (the original, not the remake with Dyan Cannon). Then who could ever forget Jimmy Stewart in It‘s a Wonderful Life? And finally, at least for me, Christmas just wouldn’t be complete until I watch Irving Berlin’s White Christmas and help them sing the theme song, “White Christmas”. Corny? Guilty as charged. Heck, I even play Christmas carols and Christmas music while I cook Thanksgiving dinner, much to the amusement of my family and friends.

I vow to try harder this year, though. I’m going to remember and truly celebrate who this wonderful holiday is named for and what it’s about. I’m going to focus my ‘over’ time on the people I care most about, those who care most about me, and those who have never had a visit from Santa Claus -- and what about my bottom line? The only bottom line I’m going to be concerned with is the one I sit on ... and I don’t want that one to get any bigger ...