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Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

My great-grandfather bellowed, “Buckle up.”

At least he might have said it had he been the kind of guy who bellowed, “Buckle up.”

He might have said it or not right before bringing his family from Sweden to this country to escape the tyranny of potato pancakes.

Grandma left her Swedish village when she was 14 years old. She traveled with her family and a phrase book that contained three columns: the phrase in Swedish, the English translation and the phonetic pronunciation, all packed into a big ship, where they spent most of their time deep in its hull as human ballast. They floated to England and then to the USA, a grueling journey that took either an eternity or around a month, give or take an eon or two. Did she and her siblings complain to their parents? They didn’t whine. They were too busy throwing up. Did they ask repeatedly, “Are we there yet?” They didn’t because they weren’t sure where or what “there” was.

It turned out that “there” was Iowa. Grandma became a teacher who taught cursive, an ancient style of writing that featured a flowing structure with the strokes of successive characters joined and angles rounded. It can still be seen as hieroglyphics on cave walls. Grandma went beyond mere cursive; she taught a penmanship program called the Palmer Method, which promoted muscle motion in which the muscles of the arm were used for movement rather than allowing the fingers to move in writing. The Palmer Method taught students to write with their arms, not their fingers, because this allowed them to write for hours without fatigue. According to my mother, Grandma taught the method just to torment her daughters.

One day, I found myself in England, which wasn’t difficult because I’d gone there with me, myself and I. I spoke to a Brit who told me about her family’s coat of arms. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, a coat of arms, the principal part of a system of inherited symbols from early medieval Europe, served primarily to identify people in battle. Coats of arms evolved to denote family descent, adoption, alliance, property ownership and profession.

Coats of arms are powerful family symbols passed down through generations as meaningful reminders for families past, present and future. A coat of arms is a detailed design that often includes a shield, crest, helmet and motto. It’s a way to proclaim that the world could use more people like you and yours, despite the oddness found in every family.

You could do a bit of research and discover that your family has a coat of arms, or, at the very least, find some outfit that will be happy to create one for you for a mere pittance.
I’ve never researched the Batt family coat of arms, but I know we had a motto. “Make yourself useful.”

My family would be hustling around trying to finish chores, mend a busted water pipe and paint the living room an odd green color to match the fridge, when I’d be instructed, “Make yourself useful.”

No verbal confirmation was required on my part. What was needed was action. I was expected to pitch in or lend a hand. That’s why we’re given crayons to color a restaurant’s placemat. If you’re an apparent adult, you might have to request them. The crayons make us feel useful until the grub arrives, but I must warn you: Don’t eat them no matter how long it takes your food to arrive. The colors lack an appealing fruity taste.

When I heard, “Make yourself useful,” I instantly became a ball of fire. No, wait, that wasn’t me.

When I’d failed to become inspired by that directive and had obviously fallen victim to sloth, I claimed to be meditating. I declared I had a genius for meditation.

Making yourself useful is a way of doing good.

Mark Twain said, “To do good is noble. To tell others to do good is even nobler and much less trouble.”

So, make yourself useful and get your coat of arms out of the closet or pluck it from where it hangs morosely on your treadmill.

I hope your coat of arms is a parka.

Winter is coming.

Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday.