God don’t make junk

On the doorway of the Midwest Power office is a tattered sign. The sign simply shows a young boy saying, “I know I’m somebody ‘cause God don’t make junk.” This poster has been there quite a long time but I still read it every time I enter the building. At this time of year, especially since we just went through one of the worst political elections we have ever witnessed, we all can reflect on this phrase.

Recently Jean and I agreed to be at the fall preschool party with grandson Nate. We had attended last year so we knew a little about what the hour held in store. We arrived at the Presbyterian Church right on time. Right on time for us is 10 minutes early. We were given a warm reception by the woman in charge. Nate gave us a typical child hug — the hug that reaches around your neck and seems so genuine. The teacher said pull up a chair. Those kid chairs looked smaller than last year. It seemed like you moved 20 feet downward until you finally hit the tiny seat.

We were introduced by our children or in our case, grandchild. Most of the people attending were radiant young mothers, some grinning young fathers and a few happy grandparents. We then traced our hand on a piece of paper. Colored it and cut the hand out. I found myself looking out of the side of my eye to see how my project looked compared to others near me. Those three hands of Nate, Jean and mine, traced and colored on cut-out paper, now adorn our refrigerator.

Next we all got into a circle for singing and dancing or jumping around. There was a young mother holding a husky baby boy next to me. The baby, about five months old, kept grabbing my arm. I did not get up and down from the baby chairs very easily. I cunningly told the young mother I would hold her baby and then she could participate in the program. The baby, who looked like he would make varsity football by the time he was in sixth grade, seemed to enjoy having me hold him. The young mother was grateful to participate with her two daughters. I was grateful to hold the baby and not be standing up and then trying to sit down on a tiny chair that seemed to get further away each time.

Then it was food time. They served cider, pumpkin bread, popcorn, pumpkin seeds and Cheerios with peanuts. It was delicious and I got by without any coffee at all. This in itself is remarkable.

Then the hour was up and it was time to leave. The hour had flown by. As I looked around the room at all the beaming elders, in this case even the radiant young mother seemed like an elder, as you looked at shining young faces. As I looked around the room at all the preschoolers I could not help but think any one of them could have been on the poster that reads, “I know I’m somebody ‘cause God don’t make junk.”

For nearly 25 years, until his death in 2015, retired grocer Don Behm wrote a column for The Storm Lake Times, “Cracker Barrel.” Don’s everyman view of everyday life was a favorite of Times readers. This was first published on Dec. 7, 1994.