Capturing Family History

Like many old-timers, my father likes to tell stories about the Good Old Days. I’ve heard most of his stories dozens of times, but they are complex, and woven of detail as intricate as any tapestry in King Arthur’s castle. When I try to capture them from memory even an hour later, most of that detail has vanished like smoke rings in a gentle breeze.

Which bomber was he flying when that student nearly nosedived into the runway? Which uncle rode with Pancho Villa? Which lab did he buy that sodium pump from, and was his job title “Director of External Affairs” or “Director of Public Information”? My head spins as I consider the fact that the number of unanswered questions is increasing at a faster rate than recorded information.

During my recent visit with him, one answer to this dilemma was to keep my laptop near at hand. He doesn’t talk very fast when he’s reminiscing, and I can almost keep up with him. Fortunately it doesn’t seem to bother him to have me quietly clicking away when he’s recalling aunts, uncles, parents, and other people. I need to get those details, because he’s the only person still alive who remembers those family members.

I also made some cryptic notes on paper, and experience has shown that I’d better transcribe them within the next few days or they will become stale and confusing.

Ideally, I could inspire him to sit down at the computer and record it all himself. He has written some terrific stories, but they are about isolated events, and there are precious few of them. Realistically, I know that he’ll never write enough to plug the gaps in our “tribal memory,” and I’ll have to go into story catching mode to scavenge whatever is going to be saved.

Most my time with him was spent interviewing him and listening. Thinking back over the last several weeks, I realize that most of the people I’ve spent time with have been in “talking” mode, and most of my time has been spent listening. Some of these people have been family members — many people in my family are inclined to spend most of their time telling their own stories or venting — but many have been friends who are at difficult junctures in their lives, and their need to talk and be heard is compelling.

When I put these two situations together, two powerful reasons for writing my own stories emerge. First, I am the one with the best grasp of details and story flow. While it may be true that fuzzy legend and the general drift of things form the primary elements of memory and understanding, if I record my detailed account, my family will have it as a resource if they are so inclined.

The other reason is more subtle. My stories may pale in the face of someone's grief, stress, or gabby nature, but my stories are significant. They matter to me, and quite likely they also matter to that other person — just not right now. I honor myself and the value of my stories while also honoring other people’s current need by writing my stories for posterity, and staying present for friends and family when they need to talk.

There are so many more reasons to write, but these is enough to keep me firmly focused on ‘puter or paper: To honor my own stories and voice by preserving them.

Write now: about a time when you set your own story aside to listen to a family member or friend who was in a rough situation. Do you routinely do this? How do you share your stories? How often do you listen intently and encourage others to tell their stories? Are some people easier to listen to than others? Are some people easier to tell stories to than others?

Introducing Gretchen, My Inner Censor and Critic

It’s been nearly two years since my Muse, Sarabelle, introduced herself to me. Those of you who have read my occasional reports of Sarabelle’s influence know that she tends to be a bit feisty at times.

This morning as I sat musing about some seldom visited memories from long ago, Sarabelle tapped me on the shoulder and delivered some surprising news: She is only one of the entities on my Inner Writing Team. In short order she introduced me to Gretchen, my Inner Censor/Critic, and Betty, my Inner Editor. Then, as suddenly as she appeared, Sarabelle vanished, leaving me to my own devices to get acquainted with her colleagues.

With a bit of trepidation sparked by her forbidding appearance, I choose to begin with Gretchen. I’m immediately transported to the hallway of a prison, in front of iron bars across gray cells. The cells are surprisingly bright, lit by a small barred window, high on the wall. Despite the light, there is no color in this scene.

Gretchen stands before me, a study in black and white herself. Her austere black leather outfit and knee-high boots match her stick-straight, raven tresses, in sharp contrast to her pale complexion. Her eccentric outfit bares her right shoulder for ease of motion as she keeps unwanted memories and stories at bay. Measuring no more than five feet in height, and wiry in build, she’s surprisingly small for someone who appears so menacing. She stands facing me, silent and staring, with arms tightly crossed, black whip clenched in one hand, and a huge ring of keys on her other wrist. She is not the sort of person I generally care to deal with, but I must get acquainted. The significance of her sudden appearance is immediately apparent.

“Gretchen, I’m pleased that we are finally meeting. I appreciate all the fine work you’ve done over the years guarding my darker memories. Now I need your assistance in visiting them.”

“That is forbidden!” she barks in reply. “They are locked in here for good reason. They will make you unhappy and hurt you. They can hurt other people. It’s for your own good that I do this!” Her earnest fierceness is almost comical in its intensity.

“I understand. I have no intention of opening the gates and letting these monsters run amok, but I need to talk with them to gain some important insights. I’ve been getting appeal requests from several and need to evaluate their cases.”

She responds with a long string of admonitions warning me of dire consequences, questioning my motives, my judgment, even my writing skills, and generally tries to scare me off. My resolve begins to weaken, but then I recall why I’m here. Those memories are part of me, and I’m determined to know them better, liberating the ones that can be absolved. Many have served their sentences and are due for release. Others may have gotten a bum rap to begin with. I realize that reason will not work. I’ll have to pull rank to get past her.

“Thank you Gretchen. No one can fault you for lack of dedication. Here is a list of four memories I wish to visit today. Please bring them to me in my study. I’ll expect them to arrive in five minutes. That will be all.” With that, I return to my study, settling into a comfortable chair with a cup of fresh coffee and a pad of paper, ready to proceed with the interviews.

Right now I have my work cut out for me dealing with those old memories. I’ll find Betty some other time.
Write now: about your muse, Inner Censor, or Inner Editor. Do these entities have names? What do they look like? How do they act? What do they say when you talk to them? If you’ve never had a conversation with any of then, do some writing practice in dialog form and see what emerges. You are bound to be as surprised as I was at what emerges.

My Story Has Been Caught

Story catching seems to be catching on these days, especially across generations. Just before I wrote the last blog post, I received an e-mail from my granddaughter out in Oregon. Her sixth grade class is doing a legacy project to record family histories and she asked to interview me. Of course I was more than happy to oblige.

What an interesting challenge this is turning out to be. She included the following list of interview questions in her e-mail so I could think about answers before we talked.

1. What were your goals and dreams when growing up?
   
2. Why did you choose those goals?
3. What kept you motivated to follow your dreams?
4. Who was your mentor or inspiration?
5. What obstacles occurred when you were trying to reach your goals?
6. How did you overcome these obstacles?
7. Did your goals and dreams change along the way?
8. Did you help change anyone else's life?
9. What were some life lessons that helped you along the way?
10. What events in your history stand above others?
11. What has been precious to you your whole life?
12. Do you have any regrets from your past?
13. If you were young again and could live your life over, would you keep the same goals or change them?
14. What are your dreams now?
15. In one, phrase, or quote, how would you describe your life?

Optional questions:
How did your childhood home affect your life?
What kind of education did you have as a child?
How did war affect your life?

As you can see, these are challenging questions, and well thought-out. I found some especially challenging. As much as I do remember about my childhood, I do not recall having dreams for the future beyond marrying someone tall, handsome, brilliant and rich. My dreams were centered around him and what he could provide: status, security, comfort, and (oh yes!) love! We would have a beautiful home, amazing children, drive new cars, entertain all the time, and travel to exotic places. I would be an important fixture in the community, respected and admired by all.

My answer to that question sounds very strange indeed to young girls two generations later. The idea of building a future based on a man’s ability to provide for them is almost beyond their comprehension. But in my day, that was the norm. I had nothing to base dreams of personal achievement on. The only women of achievement I knew were . . . old maids! With one exception: Elizabeth Graves, a noted physicist who had been on the team that developed the A-bomb,, was the mother of a good friend. She was such an exception that the idea anyone else would follow her example was beyond my imagination.

Yes, my answer sounds strange, but that’s all the more reason I need to articulate it (which has not been easy) and publicize it. How else are young girls going to know things weren’t always as they are today? Just as darkness means nothing to a blind person, freedom and opportunity mean much less to those who have never been constrained. Our stories matter!

Working my way down through the rest of the questions, I realized that fully answering those questions would require a sizeable volume. For her class project, Stephanie got the "Cliff Notes" version. Over time, my challenge is to fill in those blanks. We had a great time gabbing for awhile, and she learned many things I may never have thought to tell her without this project. I'm delighted they are doing it, and I hope the idea spreads. I also hope we can encourage the kids to keep it going beyond the interview they are assigned to do. Collecting the stories themselves creates a great opportunity for learning about the past and about people in a uniquely effective way.

This list makes a great starting point for creating your own legacy, even without the involvement of a grandchild. I invite all of you to take them and run with them. Or rather to write with them.

Write now: a story or essay based on one of the above questions. Or write about your hopes and dreams and how they've changed through the years.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal