Monday, March 24, 2014

Memory Mondays

My youngest child also happens to be my thoughtful, imaginative, creative child.  He loves to read, loves science, wants to be an engineer.  He’s always looking for inspiration for new games, new adventures.  Lately, he’s taken to asking me to tell him stories at night – not made up stories, stories about my childhood.  Especially ones that give him “ideas.”  Ideas for what I’m not exactly sure.  What I do know is that he loves when I share my memories with him.

I’m not good at off the cuff.  I am good at on paper.  So I decided, since his baby book is bare and this blog was created as an alternative way to chronicle my children’s lives and stories, to share them here.  Maybe if I write them down, I’ll remember them when it’s bedtime.  And maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll look back on these stories and remember them too.

The other day, I remembered a story that I shared with him after a day of skiing together, just the two of us.  He told me it was the best story ever.  It was just a memory, but I realized that the reason he connected so much with it is because, in so many ways, he’s like me.  When I told him that I used to make up stories in my head about people as I fell asleep, he exclaimed “me too!”

So Tate (and Meems and Will), starting next week, I am going to make myself accountable for Memory Mondays, where I share my stories with you, because you love them so much.  Whatever memories I have, they’re yours for the taking.  Whatever adventures I had as a child, I give them to you.  You won’t ever ride your bike through the streets of town, helmet-less, with a bucket on the handlebars so you can catch crawfish in the creek at the public park, but you can live it anyway.  You won’t ever play Swiss Family Robinson under the Weeping Willow in the back yard, but you can pretend you did.  You won’t ever bury cigarette butts in the dirt, making little graveyards for them while your grandparents enjoy an after dinner smoke and your parents talk, and that’s probably a good thing.  I hope you will see the kind of kid I was, and see that we were a lot alike.  I hope you will come to understand the cast of characters who shaped my life, and that you’ll have a few of your own one day.  Your blood runs thick with Southern color.  Count your blessings for that, and treasure your heritage.  There are lots of great stories there.  Read them all, digest them all.  May they feed your soul.

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