Why Stories

Grandma Daisy, My Sister Connie & Me

Well I just remembered what my English teacher tried to teach me back in high school, and that was that stories should have a beginning, middle, and an end.  I know my little snippets don't have those rather critical elements but I'm going to try to remember to at least put some of them into my future writings. Expect, at best, moderate success.

Why Stories:  I must say that I truly believe that one of the things that make a family's history truly rich are the stories that they tell and pass on.  The stories that are passed down from grandparent to parent to child.  The stories that are heard while sitting on your grandfather’s knee or in your grandmother’s lap.  The stories that are told to wide eyed children that swallow them like candy and remember them and then remember the love of their grandparents and parents because of them.  It is these stories that are most important to our sense of who we are. The facts are just cold statistics.  Facts are not filled with the warmth necessary to bond a family together.  

As a child I remember that my grand daddy Myers would from time to time tell me a story.  I must confess that I don't remember all of those stories because I was too small but, you know what I do remember.  I remember that he held me.  I remember that he always smelled of Old Spice, and I remember that his beard was always scratchy. And, I remember that because of that scratchy beard I never wanted to "give him sugar".  For those of you who don't know that means, it means you should give him a kiss.  So you see it wasn't just the story.  It was the being held by grand daddy and knowing him.  It was so that my life was enriched not just by the story but also by knowing I was loved.  I was on his knee.  I was safe.  And I darn sure didn't want to get down because I was going to have to kiss that scratchy cheek.

That's my memory to share for today.  Maybe one of those stories tomorrow.