G for Germ

Webster’s New World College Dictionary  defines the word “germ” as follows: n. 1. the rudimentary form from which a new organism is developed; seed; bud  2. any microscopic organism, esp. one of the bacteria,that can cause disease  3.that from which something can develop or grow; basis.       Now that is cool!

I absolutely love things that are total opposites, depending on who is referring/defining them.  So GERM can be bad or good.  And therein lies the FUN!

Since most people think a germ is negative, something that causes disease, they will do a number of things to actually KILL germs.  They wash their hands frequently, make sure they eat from relatively germ free dishes and use relatively germ free utensils to eat with.  They launder their clothes, take showers, etc.  We must live as germ free as possible.  But then the medical profession will immunize us with an altered germ to prevent us from getting sick, too.  Weird, huh?  But oh—sooooo interesting!

I remember being taken to the doctor as a child because I had an intense desire to consume dirt.  I ate it dry, as mud pies, and always had dirty hands and fingers which were frequently in my mouth.  My mother was appalled that I didn’t have the plague from eating all that dirt.  The doctor she took me to seemed to feel I had a vitamin deficiency and that was why I ate dirt.  He recommended certain vitamins and iron to supplement my diet.  Well, I have never been big on pills or taking them.  And during my childhood, there was no such thing as gummy chews to get medicine and vitamins down a child’s throat.  My mother believed in pills over dirt, however, and tried to get them into me.  I would choke, gag, sometimes to the point of throwing up, and after over a week of it, she gave up and I went back to my exquisite mudpie/dirt eating.  Yes, I got the measles—from school.  I got chickenpox—from school again.  I got the mumps from a church pot luck.  Then I got the measles again—red measles this time as opposed to German measles—and again from church.  Otherwise, I was healthy as a horse and then about age five, I gave up dirt as a steady diet—when I started school and caught all the prevailing diseases shared so liberally by my classmates and those who faithfully attended church.  

When my children came along, I had two dirt eaters, the other three being more inclined to scraping gum from under benches and tables and popping it in their mouths.  Repulsive, I know.  Filthy, I also know.  However, they were healthy.  And they also used those filthy “binky” pacifiers or sucked their filthy little thumbs.  But I am proud to say, they all survived and were rarely sick.  My kids caught the chickenpox from each other as when the oldest brought the germ home from school, my general practitioner advised having them drink from each other’s glasses, eat off each others’ ice cream cones, etc. to hurry the process of five bouts of chickenpox along.  Every two weeks we would have another victim and the nice part was I could drag the ones now immune to the grocery store, scabs and all, and get a break occasionally.  I was only housebound for a couple of months and it was over.  Measles they had all been immunized against, as well as mumps.  I also found it interesting that my dirt eaters rarely got colds or stomach flu, but god only knows how many viruses my gum scrapers brought to our household.  Germs!  The bane of families with more than one child!

So, yes, as per the definition, germs can bring on disease.  And they are here to stay.  They were here before any of us were alive and will be here long after we are all dead and gone and creating more germs by virtue of our rotting selves.  

And then comes my joyful truth about germs.  Having taught many years,  I have looked at education as the germs of critical thinking that take root, grow, and produce fantastic people!  I had the privilege of implanting a germ of knowledge into a mind that would grow and blossom into a person with a whole new and unique way of thinking, acting, and living.

On a personal note, I think of the “germ” of love my dear Aunt Tommie implanted in my mind and heart.  Christmas had been scant as my dad was working a regular job all day and trying to make a rose farm produce as well.  Money—what was that?  Santa?  Seriously?  (This from a cynical five year old.)  But at the time, there was only myself and one younger sibling.  So we got presents from extended family and from the church that knew our situation better than I did.  We had been in Texas almost a year and had our first Christmas there.  Aunt Tommie gave me a tablet, pencil, and two books for Christmas.  One about dogs and one about baseball.  My sister got a coloring book and crayons and a stuffed animal.  I know we received a toy each, but I don’t remember what mine was.  I can tell you the names of my books, though.  One was entitled, Ugly Joe-A Dog Who Loved Being Loved, and Circus Catch-The Story of a Great Outfielder.  At seven, I was already an avid reader and writer.  I kept the books safe until we were flooded out in a flash flood.  I cried more over the loss of those books than anything else.  But that is not what I meant to tell you.  After Christmas was over, but before New Year’s came, Aunt Tommie came by and said we were going to go through my toy box.  I agreed readily because cleaning out old stuff had never ever been something I enjoyed.  And I could always find an excuse to hang onto what I considered prized possessions. 

As we sat on the floor by the toy box, I saw Aunt Tommie separating the really busted up toys from those not quite so bad and the ones that were actually decent.  I would hand them to her, and she would place them in the category she deemed they belonged in.  I watched, curious.  I had thought they were all going out to the burn barrel so this intrigued me.  Finally, when there was nothing but one of my socks left in the bottom of the toy box, I announced it was empty and that I would get a bag to take the stuff out to be burned.  As I started to get up, I felt Aunt Tommie’s hand on my arm.  I looked at her, wondering what she wanted.  She said, “Sit down, honey.”  I gladly did and she put her arm around me and pulled me close to her side.  “What, Aunt Tommie?  I don’t get it.  What?” I queried.

She looked into my eyes and softly said, “Do you know there are children on my Watkins route that didn’t get anything for Christmas?”  I shook my head, not quite believing her.  “But everybody gets something.  Don’t they?”  I saw her eyes get glassy and then one small tear escaped.  She shook her head and then looked at the toys we had taken out of the toy box.  “They don’t get nothin’ honey.  Not one thing,” she said so softly I had to lean in to hear her.  My voice matched hers as I almost whispered, “How come, Aunt Tommie?  It was Christmas!  Didn’t nobody love them?”

Her two hands gently moved to hold my face and she said, “Honey, they have plenty people that love them, but they only have love.  They can’t buy presents or even the stuff to make presents.  Most times, they will put their money towards a meal that will feed all of them and their families.  And that meal, where everybody gets plumb full and stuffed, is the best Christmas present ever.  You get it, now?”  I thought about our Christmas dinner with turkey, ham, and all the trimmings and how everybody ate at Aunt Tommie’s house and there were burps and grunts and “Gawd I’m stuffed” echoing in the living room and dining room after they could not eat any more.  But a lot of people in my family ate that way, Christmas or not.  I remembered the people on Aunt Tommie’s route.  Little kids running around with only a t-shirt and chewing on a biscuit.  Women with a watery soup on the stove and it looked like only water in the pot.  No, they didn’t often eat until they were stuffed.  I gazed back into Aunt Tommie’s eyes and whispered, “I get it.”

“Well,” she said a little louder, “what I’d like to do is have you get a bag and some of the leftover wrapping paper and bring them here.  Then you and me are going to play Santa Claus on my route.  Whaddya think?”  My response was to smile and ask, “Really?  We get to play Santa Claus?”  And I got a huge smile and a hug in return.  The GERM of kindness and compassion was growing inside me.  Aunt Tommie never preached, lectured, talked on and on like so many other adults in my life seemed wont to do.  She was the example, the role model, that planted the seeds of action that were kind and loving in my heart, soul, and mind.  The germs/seeds grew and grew and were the basis of my development, my essence, my very being.

And one more example of good germs as the basis for growth—Writers of Kern.  Seeds/germs of knowledge are offered repeatedly as guest speakers come and share their knowledge and expertise.  Through WOK I decided to try to take on poetry.  And I love it!  Always a fan of Keats, Yeats, Wordsworth, even Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein and other wonderful poets, listening to our own poet laureate speak was inspiring and the germ took hold of my system in a desire to try it as a medium.

I look at the people who planted the germs of hope, compassion, love and those who planted the germs of knowledge and the desire for more knowledge.  The germs of knowing, teaching, opening the world of writing even wider are precious.

Germs can be good or bad.  Constructive or destructive.  And I do so love a paradox!  And that, dear reader is my truth—as an organism that grew from the germs of love and knowledge.