Throwing
away pretty cards and lovely letters from friends and family seems such a waste
to me. Being the self-appointed family historian, however, has compelled me to
save far too much of this type of history. Today I feel as if I’m drowning in
it.
Right now I
find myself conflicted about how much of this “stuff” I need to keep for
sentimental and “historic” reasons. Part of me wants to pitch the manila
envelopes and file folders packed full of the past that reside in my overcrowded
filing cabinet.
During this
time in our lives (meaning those of us in the over 70 set), isn’t this a time
for discarding all but the essentials so our “kids” don’t inherit the task of wading
through the detritus of our lives following our demise? Will these fragments of
my life stuffed in folders and 3-ring binders give my children and
grandchildren insight into the kind of life I’ve lived in comparison to the
kind of lives they’re living? Will they have any time at all to spend reading
through these epistles and well wishes of mine? I truly doubt it.
How well
will my children and my children’s children ever know the “real” me? They have
their own memories and may not care to consider the ones I hold dear. I want
them to know what it’s like to drive to Sharpsville on Christmas Day and mix it
up with aunts, uncles, and cousins in Grandma and Grandpa Thomas’s little
cottage there.
I’d like
them to know about the bustle of the women all working together in Grandma’s
kitchen to get Christmas dinner set out on the big table in the dining room. Oh,
and the aroma of Aunt Devona’s chicken casserole and the delight at seeing
Grandma’s banana cake all iced with penuche icing and waiting to be cut for
dessert. There’s Aunt Imogene’s delicious apple pie and Aunt Olive’s smooth and
creamy chocolate one with meringue on top.  |
How will
they know how it feels to hear Uncle Charles (Reverend Charles Taylor of the
denomination of Methodists) intone the prayer thanking God for the food and
blessing all of us gathered there? My brother and I have already opened
presents at home, but after dinner at Grandma’s there will be more flurry of
pretty paper ripping and bows being sorted to save. The younger kids get to
pass out the presents while the adults sit back and guess who got their name in
the Christmas drawing.
It seemed
there were always new babies showing up every Christmas. My cousin Bob and his
wife Betty had Rusty, Rickey, Donnie, Deena, and Debra. These cousins of mine
still live in Indiana up around Rochester where Indiana lakes make summer
getaways for weary Kokomo dwellers.
I’ve recorded
the members of our family tree on Ancestry.com, but somehow it doesn’t seem
quite the best way to convey how much I miss that rowdy bunch. For me it was a rich
experience growing up among them.
Maybe it’s impossible
to share the memories and the essence of who we are and who we were then in a
meaningful way. These letters, cards and family histories mean the most to me,
not to those who come after me. They have their own Christmas mornings to
remember, don’t they? How important is it for them to know how my life unfolded
when they’re so wrapped up in watching their own unfold?
How am I to
organize all these old letters? Letters are something of a novelty these days,
aren’t they? So much history evaporates with email and instant messages. Also, consider
how it’s no longer a worry how much a long-distance phone call will cost or who
is listening in on the party line like the one at Grandma’s house. I remember
cranking that old wooden-boxed phone on the wall in Sharpsville and asking the
operator to place a call to Kokomo for me. Gosh, cell phones just don’t have
the same charm!
Spock where
are you when I need to mind meld with my progeny? Maybe everyone wants a bit of
the history of their lives to live on in the minds of their kids and grand-kids.
I have always wished for that. I guess I’ll just keep on writing my memories
and chuck all these letters as soon as I’ve mined them as I write an
autobiography that someone someday might want to read. It’s important to learn
from the past, isn’t it? I sure hope so.
I guess what I really want is for my
kids and grand-kids to treasure the lives of the people I knew as a child as
much as I still do. It’s a tall order, and I’m not sure it’s attainable.Recently I
read a memoir called Hillbilly Elegy. Through that book, the essence of
the author’s life began to dawn on me. If I could achieve just that kind of
enlightenment with a book about my life, maybe I’d feel I’d achieved the kind
of mind meld I’ve always hoped would be possible.
