Banned Books by Roy Richard

August 2022

I would like to begin with a quote by the award winning Sherman Alexie, a Native American novelist, short story writer, poet, screenwriter, and filmmaker:

 “I believe in any kid’s ability to read any book and form their own judgments. It’s the job of a parent to guide his/her child through the reading of every book imaginable. Censorship of any form punishes curiosity.”

When we first send our children off to school to begin that natural journey of learning, most of us feel a tug in our hearts that is a desire to protect them from all dangers. We worry about the chain of events that will bring them from the kindergarten class to the stage at graduation. Each year as they advance through the education system many of the fears are no longer thought of. They mature, grow, blossom if you will, into their identities. Learn lessons about not only higher learning but abut life. After all the goal, is it not, to see that nervous child boarding the bus, turn into an adult, ready to face the world?

What we learn through these experiences is that we cannot control every aspect of their lives. They are going to fall and skin their knees. Have their hearts broken by first loves. Feel left out by the group. Stay up too late. In other words they are going to live their life. And living that life means facing each day and coping with any issues that arise.

If we take away their ability to form their own judgments about what they encounter in life we leave them unprepared for survival in the world.

I am blessed in that I have three amazing and extraordinary granddaughters. The oldest, a partial product of Davison Schools recently left for college. When she was around eleven years old, she began to take part in adult conversations at the dinner table. She freely expressed her views and opinions on many of the topics that came up. Politics? She had a view! Various forms of government? She had an opinion! Music from my generation? She seemed to know it! Equality? Unions? Genders? She could, as time progressed speak on these all!

At first I thought it was cute and that obviously someone else was putting their beliefs on her. Amazingly though as I begin to take her statements seriously and listen to her voice, I came to realize that she was researching these topics and making her own decisions! You see her Father and Mother did not necessarily censor her curiosity. If a topic interested her, she had free rein to look at the facts, ALL the facts from every available angle. If the data she had gleaned needed clarifying, she had the support of her parents, her grandparents and her teachers to help find that clarity. From all this she would make an informed choice and only would then begin to share her opinions and beliefs.

When I heard of the recent decision of the Davison School Board to ban additional books, I spoke out on Social Media about how wrong it was.  Some of my friends sent me excerpts from the texts to try and persuade me into agreeing with this decisions and I must admit that at first I began to wonder if maybe the correct decision had been made. So I made the next logical decision and that was to obtain the books and read them myself.

To date I have read four of the titles and cannot for the life of me understand why they come under attack. Yes the one is very graphic and from it is the small samples that I was sent. But when you read it in its context it fits and adds to the literature.

Taking away from our children, our young adults an opportunity to find answers to their inquires is nothing but abominable. You are handicapping a generation of young minds; Minds that we hope will run this country one day. When a parent asks a board to do such a thing, they are all but admitting that they cannot parent their children and are looking for someone else to do it. In addition the greater injustice of these circumstances is that your actions are not only depriving one mind of answers but many minds.

In closing I would leave you with the words of the American writer Judy Blume “Having the freedom to read and the freedom to choose is one of the best gifts my parents ever gave me.”

Thank You

Roy Richard

Copyright Roy Richard

UNTITLED (08) by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

The beauty and the grander –

                Of the canyon known as grand –

Surpasses all description –

                For there are no words by man –

                Color, depth and size.

One can only look in wonder –

                And in awe we realize –

That this universe we live in –

                Is far greater than we know –

And I’m thinking the creator,

                Had in mind to make it so.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

HANK JENKINS WAS MY FRIEND by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

(Hank Jenkins – V. Rees.     Bill-Mrs. Holt)

 

Hank Jenkins was a friend of mine,

                        And Hank, he said to me,

Bill, how’d you like to take a trip,

                        Down to sunny Florida?

 

Just think it over Bill, he says,

                        I’ll run the old bus down,

And we’ll spend the winter by the sea,

                        In some sunny town,

 

We’ll get away from snow and ice,

                        Where skies are cold and gray,

And I’ll promise, Bill, I’ll bring you home,

                        Around the first of May.

 

We’ll go on a fifty-fifty base,

                        I can make it in three days,

Think the proposition over, Bill,

                        That’s the very thing Hank says.

 

Well I thought the matter over,

                        And decided it might be,

A pretty good idea,

                        And a needed for rest for me.

 

So I told Hank I’d consider,

                        The trip if he would say,

He’d get me back real early,

                        Round the first of May.

 

Why sure says Hank, I’ll get you home,

                        Why darn your hide, says he,

Seems you sort of lost your confidence,

                        In a good old Pal like me.

 

So we started out one morning,

                        When the hills were all aglow,

Never’d see a sight so handsome,

                        No matter where you’d go.

 

We drove along the smooth highways,

                        Through city, farm and town,

Thought we’d reach our destination,

                        Before the sun went down.

 

But early in the afternoon,

                        Hank says, Oh Bill, by Gee.

A relative of mine lives here,

                        I think I’d like to see.

 

Just wait a minute Bill, says he,

                        I’ll tell him who I am,

I think he’s a second cousin,

                        To my Mother’s Uncle Dan.

 

Then Hank went to have a chat,

                        He clean forgot about me,

I waited in the hot sunshine,

                        As patient as could be.

 

Each day was very much alike,

                        Ni matter where we ran,

Hank had some relations,

                        Like his Mother’s Uncle Dan.

 

He visited in the morning,

                        And he visited through the day,

To tell the truth, Hank visited,

                        Along the whole way.

 

And when his relations ran out,

                        Didn’t bother him a mite,

He started in on strangers,

                        And he visited day and night.

 

The last night on the trip Hank spied,

                        A man who seemed to be,

A havin’ trouble with his car,

                        And Hank he says to me.

 

We’d better tow him in, says he,

                        And then he scrambled down,

And hitched him on our bus,

                        And towed him into town.

 

We got to town long after dark,

                        Believe me I was glad,

‘Twas just about the longest trio,

                        I think I ever had.

 

With visitin’ friends and relatives,

                        And strangers he might seek,

Old Hank was way behind the time,

                        Two days beyond a week.

 

But winter passed and spring came on,

                        The month of May passed too,

And I am wondering what on earth,

                        Old Hank expects to do.

 

Up north my work’s neglected,

                        And my family seems to be,

All out of sorts with everything,

                        Especially with me.

 

I’d take a train back north today.

                        But Gosh Old Hanks so good,

Couldn’t find a friend just like him,

                        And I wouldn’t if I could.

 

So I’m waitin’ for the day to come,

                        When we’ll get started home,

And it’s going to a good long time,

                        Before I crave to roam.

 

To places where the sky is blue,

                        And where the sun is real,

Well, No Siree, it’s not for me,

                        If Hank is at the wheel.

 

I ain’t going to be a quitter,

                        One thing I’m going to try,

To stick to Hank through thick and thin,

                        If it takes to next July.

 

Perhaps my folks will drop me flat,

                        And I’ll feel blue, but Gee,

I’ll stick to Hank till I get home,

                        But no more trips for me.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard

Untitled (06) by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

From Sedona, on the Prescott,

                Then the valley where you roamed –

Nestled down below the mountains,

                Rafters saw your home.

And the welcome you extended,

                All the time we spent with you –

Was so very kind and thoughtful,

                Just like all the things you do!

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

MY FLOWER GARDEN by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

I have a garden fair to see,

                        Where purple flowers bloom for me,

Royal purple pansies meek,

                        Mignonettes, with fragrance sweet,

And there’re stately roses there,

                        Blooming almost everywhere.

There the jonquil – saucy fellow,

                        Flaunts his style in palest yellow,

While beside the garden wall,

                        There’s a river that grows more tall –

Hollyhocks, I love them too,

                        Sparkling bright, with morning dew.

 

Waxen lilies in a row,

                        Marigolds and golden glow,

Starry asters, flashing white,

                        Zinnias’ of color bright,

                        Nod and bend to touch my gown,

And beyond a hedge of red,

                        Scarlet sage lifts up her head,

While still further on you see,

                        Tall, the stately lilac tree.

But there’s one I have not told,

                        Daises white with hearts of gold.

 

Mother loved them long ago,

                        That is why I prize them so,

And in my garden there’s a place,

                        That thee modest daises grace,

Always old, yet never new,

                        Like a friend that’s tried and true.

They are beautiful you see,

                        All these flowers that bloom for me.

But to me the flowers most bright,

                        Is a field of daisies white,

Makes me think of days of old,

                        Half their beauty can’t be told.

 

A paradise my garden seems,

                        With colors bright and restful greens,

Purple pansies, asters white,

                        Mignonettes and zinnias’ bright,

Waxen lilies in a row,

                        Marigold and golden glow,

Stately roses, fair to see,

                        Scarlet sage and lilac tree,

Hollyhocks beside the wall,

                        Yellow jonquils not so tall,

But the modest daisies bring,

                        Thought of sweetest, dearest thing.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard

Untitled (04) by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Vast open spaces,

Mountains,

Crowded cities,

Homeless people (by choice or by chance),

Wildlife,

Palatial Homes.

Watching storm clouds gather,

Miles away in Mtn. Large,

Finally building to explode,

In a fury of jagged, long reaching bolts of lightning.

Tall pines,

Deep canyons.

And Joe and Rach.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

COMING HOME by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

We’re coming home to see the family,

                        Think they’ll have a welcome true,

Quite a spell we’ve journeyed from them,

                        Done the best that we could do.

 

How we’ve missed the happy circle,

                        Missed each loved one day by day,

Oft our hearts were filled with sadness,

                        While we journeyed far away.

 

Now we’ve turned our faces homeward,

                        Hope you’ll be glad as we,

If you are we’ll have some welcome,

                        ‘Cause it’s glad as one can be.

 

Our “OLD FLINT will be right with us,

                        Heavens he is growing gray,

We will all be mighty happy,

                        If he brings us all the way.

 

Our “OLD FLINT’s” a faithful servant,

                        Though his spark plugs miss sometimes,

His differential’s out of whack,

                        And his fan wheel softly whines.

 

His carbonators we’ll adjust,

                        But his taillights pretty dim,

After all he’s pretty slick,

                        For the kind of shape he’s in.

 

Once we thought we’d trade him over,

                        For a modest little coup,

But the salesman wouldn’t take him,

                        Lest we give him lots to boot.

 

So we’ve greased his innards amply,

                        Bought him brand new shoes,

Juddie thinks he’ll make the journey,

                        If we feed him as we go.

 

Our “OLD FLINT” is some big eater,

                        Has an appetite immense,

Takes a lot of costly fodder,

                        When we drive him, here and hence.

 

We’ll start at four A.M. I think,

                        But maybe not till five,

But is he has his usual pep,

                        He’ll get us there alive.

 

Hang the latch key where it’s handy,

                        For you see we really might,

Have a blowout on the journey,

                        And be driving in at night.

 

Call the family all together,

                        Tell them we are on the way,

Have the babies there to greet us,

                        Make a regular festal day.

 

Everybody put a grin on,

                        Greet us with your broadest smile,

Ask the Jermyn band to meet us,

                        Really, isn’t life worthwhile,

 

Seems my heart is full to bursting,

                        Don’t know how I’m going to wait,

Don’t forget to leave the latch key,

                        Hanging by the entrance gate.

 

Kill the biggest, fattest gobbler,

                        Stuff him till he’ll hold no more,

Fry some sausage nice and crispy,

                        Like you did it once before.

 

Gosh my appetite’s improving,

                        Think I most can eat a whale,

Don’t forget to kill the gobbler,

                        When hear we’ve stuck the trail

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

March 22, 1930

 

Copyright Roy Richard