" It's home. It sucks because it's home. It's horrible and disgusting but it's my cue to move. " -quote from a McKeesport resident after Monday's shooting

 

The corner of Grandview and Versailles avenue. Source: KDKA

 

 Hearts broke this week after two police officers were shot, one fatally, in McKeesport.  Despite the fact this kind of headline is not rare when we tune into the morning news, this one was different. This one took place at home. 

 When I say home, I mean the place where I grew up. The shooting occurred not far from the home my parents still occupy. 

The area (Grandview) is one I travel on a frequent basis and always have. I walked home from high school through Grandview. We ate fish dinners at a restaurant that was on the corner of Grandview Avenue. My family frequently stopped at the UniMart to pick up last minute items to and from visiting my grandmother who lived a short distance down the road. 

 Yes, there is familiarity there and a sense of propriety.  I have lived out of state and I currently live about ten minutes from my parents but McKeesport will always be home. 

 I thought it was hard when I was growing up having to defend myself when I met kids from other schools. Even thirty years ago, they would say in a snarky tone, "You're from McKeesport?" The ewww was silent. 

 In my adult years, I defend my hometown each summer leading up to International Village, the beloved annual ethnic food festival held at Renzie Park. Friends who live in nearby communities ask me, "Is it safe to go there?" I respond, "Yes, of course it is safe to go there."

 Gun violence is certainly on the rise in McKeesport.  In fact, the UniMart I mentioned earlier was the scene of a fatal shooting of a 16-year-old  back in December. 

There are sections of the city I try to avoid. But there are many sections of the city, other than Grandview, that I do frequent; the bike trail by the public safely building downtown, the walking trail in Renzie Park, the Aldi on Walnut Street. I am a frequent flier for sure. 

 But to be honest, McKeesport is not the only local community dealing with this uptick in crime. It is not the only community with so much good happening behind the tragic headlines. It is not the only community where people have lived their entire lives and refuse to leave because it is home. This once vibrant steel town has an amazing history and still could have an amazing future.

 My parents are lifers. My mom says she will never leave the place she brought her babies home to. My dad has to stay because of this reason. But my siblings and I do worry. The events on Monday hit a little too close to home. When details were just coming in, I called my parents to make sure everyone was ok. I told them not to go anywhere until we knew more information.

 I would be a liar if I didn't admit to noticing the decline of my parents' neighborhood. There are a lot of people moving in and out of the area. There is a lot of blight. While there are many residents who take pride in their homes and community, there is a growing number that do not. As much as my childhood home means to our family, nostagia does not trump safety. It is hard to wrap our heads around.

 But it seems we need to look at two important facts which have come to light about this recent shooting and neither of them involve location. The suspect in this shooting was a military veteran who was dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Conversations need to happen about the services that are provided for veterans when they return from serving our country and access to mental health care overall. The need is great not only in our area but nationwide.

 Currently, it can take months to get an appointment with a health care provider. Mental health care should not have that kind of wait time. As the child of a Vietnam veteran, I know first hand that help is needed. There are things my father has never shared with his children and even his wife. We cannot take for granted that when our servicemen and women return home they will magically ease back in to every day life. These are conversations we need to have with our loved ones and friends even if just to pick up the phone and ask, "Are you ok?"

 In honor of fallen officer Sean Sluganski let's do our part, the smallest thing we can possibly do, to care for each other. We can be part of the change - starting in our homes, workplaces and places of worship. Reach out to a veteran. Do it today.

 "Are you ok?" This could be the start of a lifesaving conversation.

 

*My blog is featured as the On My Mind column in The Valley Mirror Newspaper. The weekly publication serves the Woodland Hills and Steel Valley communities.  *

 

So Long Santa Shop

 

It is a unique collection of items I've gathered over the years.

From jewelry, to key chains to pet toys and socks - we have a bit of everything.  They were bought at the holiday Snowflake Shop. If you are unfamiliar with a Snowflake Shop maybe you have heard it referred to by another name, maybe Christmas Shop or Santa Shop. These annual boutiques are set up at schools so kids can have an opportunity, they might not have otherwise, to buy presents for their families.

When I was a kid attending Catholic school, it was called Christmas Shop, and I looked forward to it every year. To be honest with you, I don't remember any of the items I purchased for my family members but I remember one year when something very special happened. One of my classmates, a boy who I had had a crush on, bought me a necklace from the jewelry section. Getting that gift caused a variety of emotions in my pre-teen self. I was embarrassed by the attention, afraid of what my dad would say and thrilled that a boy got me a present for Christmas.

Who knew that necklace from years ago, would be the forerunner for many do-dads and trinkets I would receive while my kids were in elementary school. Christmas 2022 would mark the final holiday I would be receiving something from this unique December marketplace. My youngest will be going to the junior high school next year and will graduate to Walmart or Target shopping.

The Snowflake Shop has had a good run, but these past two years it has become more difficult for our little guy to find things for his older siblings. Many of the gift selections are geared toward smaller kids. A few years ago, it was funny to buy cute cat toys and gift them to his brother and sister but that joke has run its course. There was even the squealing yellow pig that made the worst oinking noise when you squeezed it. I eventually had to hide it to maintain my sanity.

Last year, I received a mug coaster that is pink and says Mom's Mug. I use it at work every day. I still have jewelry from my older kids that I wear from time to time. My oldest son bought me a bright orange earring/ chunky bracelet combo that I love because that is his favorite color. I had a heart key chain, my daughter bought me, that I had on my keys for years which just recently broke. One of my kids bought me a large "diamond" ring which I only wear on super special occasions. My husband has a variety of Steelers merchandise including an ice scraper and a pair of gloves.

Recently, the Parent Teacher Organization, which sponsors the Snowflake Shop, has upped their game with the selection of items available to buy. I never gave my kids money to shop for themselves but obviously things change with the youngest child. A few weeks ago, he purchased a nice Steelers tossle cap that he wears all the time. When he can buy something for himself he can actually use, I'm ok with that.

Along with the tossle cap, he also purchased gifts for my husband and I. At the age of 11, he was still so excited to be the first to put wrapped presents under the tree. He was so sweet about it and leading up to Christmas Eve he kept saying, "I can't believe my presents are the only ones here waiting to be opened."

Once he was done tearing though his gifts Christmas morning, he handed my husband and I our special gifts. He watched as we opened them, beaming with pride for his practical purchases - warm gloves for him, and cozy, dog slipper socks for her. It means so much that he picked these items out himself and it makes me happy they weren't just gifts for the sake of giving a gift. They have a purpose.

I didn't realize it until the next day that those would be our last holiday shop gifts. It makes me a little sad and nostalgic for the Christmases when my kids were little and the magic that goes along with the Santa years. 

But while I won't be getting dog socks or orange jewelry anymore, I did received some pretty thoughtful gifts from my older kids this year. My oldest got me a DVD of a movie based on one of our favorite books I read to him when he was little and my stylish daughter picked out a sweater and blouse to help update my wardrobe. I was touched by their gifts and it made me realize getting gifts from adult kids is kind of nice. Almost extravagant if you will.

In the meantime, I might dust off that diamond ring I got years ago. I think today is a special occasion.

 *This blog was published in The Valley Mirror Newspaper on December 29, 2022 in the On My Mind column. The Valley Mirror covers the Woodland Hills and Steel Valley communities.

The Long and Winding Royal Road

It was a simple text from my husband that alerted me to the news.

‘King Charles,’ it read.

 

I immediately knew what had happened.

 

I was at work and I immediately did a Google search. I saw the CNN headline “Queen Elizabeth Dies at 96”. I told my coworker then sat in shock for a moment. I couldn’t even process what was happening. So many thoughts were running through my head. I never knew a time before Queen Elizabeth and now there was a new king - a man who had been preparing for just this very moment for decades. 

 

As a long-time Anglophile, I have been watching the British royal family since I was a little girl. I liked fairy tales and I liked the idea of kings and queens, princes and princesses, crowns and castles. But the story of the House of Windsor was real as opposed to the make believe, happily ever after, Cinderella stories. But when I was little, I didn’t know all the drama that went on behind the scenes. (And were we ever in for a wild ride as the relationship between Charles and Diana unfolded over the years!)

 

As the afternoon of September 8th went on, I received texts and emails from my children, who knew I would take the news hard. It was thoughtful how they were looking out for me. I talked to my mom who is also a royal watcher. Her thoughts went straight to Camilla, Charles's wife of 17 years. What would her role be? Would we really have to call her queen?

It was hard for thoughts not to stray to what could have been. What if Charles and Diana could have stuck it out? What if Diana hadn’t died in that tragic car crash? What would it have been like at this moment for the world to have her as Great Britain's queen?

 

I have to take a moment and point out that for many people, including my husband, they couldn’t care less. “This doesn’t even affect us,” he says. My husband has been rolling his eyes for a few weeks now since Queen Elizabeth died. 

 

He couldn’t understand my desire to watch the coverage of King Charles becoming the official monarch and not wanting to miss the funeral of the queen. During the past couple of weeks, I have been surprised to find out just how much my husband doesn’t know about the royal family. (Maybe if he had watched the Netflix series The Crown three times, like I did,  he would be better equipped?)

 

My fascination with the royal family was so deep as a pre-teen, I made a scrap book when the former prince  came to Pittsburgh back in March of 1988. You know I had it bad if I turned one of my sticker books into this keepsake from his two day visit. (I was 12 at the time and Charles was 39 years old and quite the looker in my opinion.) I removed each scratch and sniff, hologram and puffy sticker to make room for pages of newspaper clippings telling the tale of his trip. 

 

He visited Steel Valley High School all those years ago and spent a total of 15 minutes in the school to tour their “Office of the Future” classroom. The school received funds to help revamp their business education curriculum and better prepare students for entering the job market. According to The Daily News clippings that line my scrapbook, the Steel Valley Marching Band played for the future king as he exited a Rolls Royce in front of the school. (I was so jealous of those kids!)

Charles visited the Mon Valley as part of his Remaking Cities Conference. This area, recovering from the decline of the steel industry, was a place rife with new possibilities. My favorite quote from one of the speeches he gave, during his visit, included the line, “ Let’s show the skeptics what can be achieved.” I think if King Charles ever makes his way back to Pittsburgh, he will be proud of what has become of the Steel City and encourage us to keep going. We now have amazing green space and the city has become known for its medical and technological industries. 

Now here we are, 34 years after that visit, and Charles is a king. As has been the case during the course of his lifetime he continues to be overshadowed by others - first his mother, then Diana, and now his son, William. Many people would prefer William as king with his lovely young family in tow. But Charles deserves his time in the spotlight for however long he is allowed. He has had years to fantasize about what kind of king he would be and now we get to sit back and watch.

 

So King Charles, the words you used many years ago seem aptly fitting now. 

Show the skeptics what you can achieve. 

 

 

Great Expectations

 

We don't know how good we had it.

I say that to my husband whenever we see a baby.

Those little ones are so unaware of all of the love and effort that are going into taking care of them. They sit in their stroller/car seat without a care in the world and won't remember much of the best time of their lives.

I say the best time because there are no worries. No awareness of the pain and suffering that is going on around them. Babies M.O. is basically sleep, eat, poop. That's it. There is no - pay bills, go to work, clean the house. Sleep, eat, poop. All the good stuff.

Don't get me wrong. There are good parts of other stages of life. But babies, they have it pretty darn good.

Since we don't remember when we were babies, we definitely don't remember the time before we were born - when our arrival was anxiously awaited.

I was the first grandchild on my father's side. I was the first of what would end up being seven grandchildren. But the first, well, we're kind of special. I always knew this because I had a nickname. My grandmother called me Sweetie. She never called me Kristen. Her daughter, my Aunt Sandy, never calls me Kristen. Always Sweetie.

Another thing...my second sibling. Well, he got a nickname too only because of his relationship to me. My grandma called him Brother. He was in fact my brother but grandma was the only one who called him that.

My specialness was never lost on me but was recently reaffirmed.  My mom has been going through boxes/drawers of things at her house. Over the past year, I have been given letters I wrote while I was in college, awards I received in high school and even my kindergarten class photo. These things are all nice to add to my personal collection but only finalize the fact that my parents will not be erecting a Kristen Keleschenyi Museum any time soon.

Recently, I was given something I am amazed still exists. It was a card sent to my mother, from her mother-in-law, congratulating her on her pregnancy. My mom and dad were practically newlyweds, married in March of 1973 and expecting their first child by August of 1974. They were living in an apartment, had just started out on their new life as husband and wife, not even a year into it, and were now preparing to start a family.

I personally would have been very nervous about becoming a mom so soon after starting a new marriage but it appears everybody was excited about this little baby that was about to enter the scene.

"We certainly will be proud of our grandchild," my grandmother wrote 49 years ago. Heck, I hadn't even done anything yet and they knew they were going to be proud.

It was pretty amazing to read the cover "To A Lovely Mother To Be". I wondered what it must have been like for my parents finding out they were expecting and not knowing what the future would hold. I guess it was similar to what my husband and I experienced when we were expecting the first time around. We were so happy and anxious to meet our little one. We couldn't wait to be parents. It was a role both my husband and I knew we were destined for. I know it is a role my parents treasure and their grandchildren have been their greatest joy in their retirement years.

I was 12 when my Grandpap Bishop passed away and I was 22 when my Grandma Bishop passed away. I had not a doubt they were proud of me and their other grandchildren. (My grandmother had the newspaper clippings to prove it!) I wish she could have met my husband and her great-grandchildren, especially my daughter who was born eight years to the day my grandmother passed away.

When you are almost 50 and thinking about what you have left to accomplish, it is humbling to think of a time when you hadn't accomplished anything and were already loved no matter what. It is nice to think of the nurturing environment I was born into and I am truly grateful to know my parents are still providing that environment years later, and not just for me, but for my kids and my sister's kids.

 

The next time I see a baby, I'm not going to look at him or her through my eyes. I am going to look at that little one from the perspective of those who awaited that little one's arrival with hope and anticipation and remember my grandparents who couldn't wait to meet me. I hope all of these years later, I am continuing to make them proud and maybe even allowing them, in a special way, to catch a glimpse of themselves and the legacy they left behind. 

*My blog is featured each week in the On My Mind column in The Valley Mirror Newspaper. The paper covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities.*

You Say It's Your What???

 

Things like this normally hit me hard.

Milestone birthdays for my kids usually get the waterworks flowing. Double digits, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen but this particular one is unchartered territory.

The big 2-0!

First, I don't know how this is even possible. Where did the time go? How did our first born go from being the most easy-going baby you could ask for to a young man who will soon emancipate himself from our home and start his very own journey. In the blink of an eye, I tell you, it all happened.

My feelings are mostly of shock and disbelief. Do I look old enough to have a 20-year-old? Who am I kidding? I sure do! I've got the recently dyed grays and whites to prove it. I can barely get the words about his milestone birthday, when the subject comes up, but the reality sets in quick and it is like a punch in the gut.

Ugh....

Sometimes it is hard to remember the little boy he was. The things I remember most are his voracious appetite for reading, his great taste in music and his curiosity about the world around him. Not much has changed, although the reading part has decreased thanks to the iPhone, but you can add that as he has matured, he has cultivated an amazing sense of humor which is the envy of his father and I.

I am not sure what my expectations were for my first child once he arrived on the scene. The little baby who entered this world a week early. (His lack of promptness now makes his entrance twenty years ago quite surprising.) I could never have imagined the journey this shy little boy would take us on which began with reading before age 4, an extended potty training, and a painful adjustment to kindergarten.

He eventually ditched the pull-ups, made friends in school and then took an interest in joining an eastern European song and dance group. He started taking cello lessons and had orchestra concerts.

He was co-salutatorian of his senior class during the pandemic and then he was accepted into the longest running live stage production group in the country, The Tamburitzans (formerly associated with Duquesne University), and has spent the last year traveling across the U.S.performing with them.

I know this is just the beginning. It is exciting, sad and scary all at the same time. Just like the way I felt unprepared to become a parent in the first place, that is how I feel with this next chapter about to start. No one prepares you for the letting go or for the worry you experience each time there is something new and unexpected thrown at you.

My son goes away for weeks at a time now. His college communicates solely with him. He makes big decisions on his own. He is fighting each day for his independence and I know his wings are ready to fly. But am I ready to let go?

I don't have immediate memories of my 20th birthday but I can guess how I must have been feeling: optimistic, happy yet anxious about what path I should choose for my career. My son is feeling these now as well. All we can do is encourage him every step of the way to not let fear dictate what he should set his sights on.

I am thankful for the people who have come into his life and have helped guide him along the way. Yes, I am his mother but I cannot take sole credit for the person he is today. He has had great teachers, great friends and a loving family that have been there for him for the first two decades of his life. I know there will be others to help guide him during the next leg of his journey and I am hopeful they will be as awesome as the first cast.

It is hard to put into words all of the things you wish for your children. Obviously, you want them to be safe and healthy but I also want my son to find his passion. Find his happiness. Life is too short to have an ordinary life. In his first two decades he has been anything but ordinary and he is soon going to have complete control of the reins.

Am I nervous? Yes, I am. But is he ready? Yes, he is.

Happy 20th birthday to my first born. May he continue to bless the world with talents and may his journey be everything he wishes for and more.

 

The Unpredictable Teacher Effect

It is strange the way life comes full circle sometimes. 

When moments like this strike you've got to wonder if this was the way it was meant to be all along. 

 It was 1980 when this woman first came into my life. She was my first-grade teacher and to be honest, I couldn't have asked for a better one. She was everything a six-year-old could want in a teacher. Sr. Carol was kind, gentle, pretty, fun and of course very smart. She made me look forward to going to school, made me excited to learn and influenced my thoughts on what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Yep. I wanted to be a nun and I wanted to be a teacher.

I loved to go home each day and play school. But, what little girl didn't? I would imitate Sr. Carol's teaching style and recreate the lessons taught each day. 

Although I loved school, first grade was a tough time for me. I started full-day school just a few months after my sister was born. My mom was at home giving her attention to the new baby and I was jealous. I didn't quite know how to express my feelings so I guess I was looking for validation at school. 

Sr. Carol noticed I was in need of some extra encouragement and support and even took the time to point this out to my mom. My mom was doing the best she could, raising three kids, but the talk with Sr. Carol was a little wake up call. I needed some extra mommy time too. 

When I first started attending St. Nicholas School in McKeesport, the Sisters of the Order of St. Basil the Great, from Uniontown, Pennsylvania, made up the teaching staff for 1st through 8th grade. By the time I graduated from 8th grade, the students were taught mostly by lay teachers with two nuns from another order based in Warren, Ohio. 

The number of vocations to the sisterhood had started to decline and the Basilian sisters could no longer commit to the number of nuns necessary to staff my school. 

But even though the Sisters of St. Basil were no longer teaching at St. Nicholas, I still managed to see Sr. Carol each year during their annual Pilgrimage in Uniontown. 

Each Labor Day weekend, the sisters welcome the public to enjoy a prayerful experience on the grounds of their monastery, which by the way is the largest annual gathering of Byzantine Catholics in the United States. Sr. Carol is always very busy during this particular weekend but my mom and I would seek her out just for a few minutes to spend time with my beloved first-grade teacher. 

Fast forward to 2012, my church was assigned a new priest. As he started to acclimate to our parish, a familiar face started showing up to events. It was none other than Sr. Carol. She and my parish priest were very good friends with a history that predated my meeting her in 1980. What a small world indeed. 

During her priest friend's time serving my parish, it was nice for her to get reacquainted with my parents and to also meet my children. Seeing her more than once a year was especially nice since it didn't involve an hour ride to Uniontown and it allowed for more time to talk and catch up.

Although we have had more time together over the past couple of years, I have never really taken the time to tell Sr. Carol what a great influence she was on me growing up. Despite a few twists and turns, my life came full circle and I ended up working in a school teaching kids. I also have been teaching Sunday school for the past 12 years. I hope that her gentle, kind and fun ways are something I emulated with the students I have worked with. 

Now I know what it means to have a job where you might never see the fruits of your labor.  When you work with kids you don’t always see how you have made a difference in their lives. Most days working in education is a thankless job but hopefully, one day, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing, my efforts helped a little one during their formative years. 

My priest recently retired, so I may end up back to the once-a-year visits with Sr. Carol in Uniontown but I am ever so grateful for this time to have her more present in my life and especially thankful for the wonderful start she gave me so many years ago.

Sr. Carol and I this past April.

*My blog is published each week in a column called 'On My Mind' in The Valley Mirror Newspaper which covers the Woodland Hills and Steel Valley communities. *

Hoop Dreams

Robert Parish, Kevin McHale, Larry Bird.

These names might not mean a lot to you. And maybe only one stands out, but the fact I remember these guys at all is a bit impressive. They were members of the Boston Celtics basketball team in 1984/85.

I didn’t care about basketball, baseball or football growing up but my brother and dad did. Sports were a huge part of my youth and some things I just kind of absorbed like the names Robert Parish, Kevin McHale and Larry Bird. 

My brother played sports in his sleep. He was an all year-round athlete and for every season there was a sport. His favorite baseball player - Roberto Clemente. His favorite football player - local boy Dan Marino. His favorite basketball player - Larry Bird. 

To be honest, basketball is my least favorite sport. It's the one I understand the least and the one that, to me, is the least exciting unless I’m watching the movie Hoosiers for the 19th time. I don’t have many memories of watching my brother play basketball but for the past couple years I’ve been watching my youngest play. 

It has been a difficult journey for my 11-year-old because for one thing he is tiny. He hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet but he plays like he is 7 feet tall. Game after game he takes chance after chance. He defends like the basketball is made of gold. He takes shots that his little body cannot possibly propel into the hoop. 

But he never seems tired of trying. And one day, he will have the height to back up his heart and drive. This year has been his best for basketball. He plays on a team with kids who do not go to his school. Most of the kids are involved in other basketball related activities and most of them are taller. 

When the season started, he was a stranger. It took a while for the team to accept him and it was a bit frustrating at first. No one wanted to pass the ball to the tiny, new kid. But as the weeks went on the boys started to gel. 

The tallest and most skilled kid on the team took a liking to my son. They look like Tom and Jerry on the court and when my kiddo gets a head rub, slap on the arm or the two share a joke it is beyond heartwarming. I know how much my son has longed to be accepted and when you play in a league that is not affiliated with your school, it sometimes takes longer for others to come around. 

This season, thanks to my son’s “big brother” the team has been undefeated. There had been only one game that put the boys to the test until this past Sunday. We knew it would be a different kind of game since our star player would not be playing due to injury. We kind of expected a loss since their go to was gone. But it ended up being the game of the season. 

These boys played their hearts out and really rose to the challenge. They had to depend on each other not just a quick rebound plunked in with ease. This game was exciting, thrilling, exasperating, redemptive and all the adjectives one can conjure. My son could have won the game if he made a final foul shot but it wasn’t meant to be. 

The tie was broken by the visiting team after a three-minute overtime. The loss did not bother me at all. It was the game of a lifetime, in my eyes, and they left everything they had on the court. 

My husband played basketball as a kid and ended his career early when the power of peer pressure and other fun activities got in the way. His love of the sport has been rekindled watching his youngest pick up where he left off. It has been nice to see the two watch videos before the games and talk strategy. 

I didn’t think anything could rival the emotion and tunnel vision which occurs when my husband watches the Steelers play. Well, honey, youth basketball is where it’s at for the player once known as Sweetness. Will the progeny of Sweetness make a name for himself like Robert Parish, Kevin McHale or Larry Bird?

Who knows. Someone has some growing to do first.

*My blog is featured in the weekly column 'On My Mind' in The Valley Mirror Newspaper. The publication covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities. *