I am writing a memoir.
Often times writing means staring at a jumble of words on the screen and feeling like I have nothing to contribute to the genre.
Since I enjoyed a happy childhood, I often feel I have nothing unique to say.
I said so, in so many words, to a friend and my coach.
“Didn’t everyone’s father spend hours a day in the garage figuring out how to smooth down the edges of the glass ware collection made from discarded wine bottles so they could be used on the patio for summer dining?”
“Didn’t everyone have mothers who sat with us, the children, for hours a day to create Playdough ashtrays, magazine collage pictures, potato stamp wrapping paper and needlepoint pictures suitable for framing?”
“No,” she said. “They did not.”
To give it away; my parents did not spend all of their day making money. As teachers, they only spent part of their day making money, the rest of the day, Christmas, summer, was spent traveling, exploring and finding a way to make a dining room table from wine barrel staves.
Apparently, that is a different experience.
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Parents – the key to childhood January 19, 2010
Tags: 70s, commentary, garages, memoir, personal stories
I am writing a memoir.
Often times writing means staring at a jumble of words on the screen and feeling like I have nothing to contribute to the genre.
Since I enjoyed a happy childhood, I often feel I have nothing unique to say.
I said so, in so many words, to a friend and my coach.
“Didn’t everyone’s father spend hours a day in the garage figuring out how to smooth down the edges of the glass ware collection made from discarded wine bottles so they could be used on the patio for summer dining?”
“Didn’t everyone have mothers who sat with us, the children, for hours a day to create Playdough ashtrays, magazine collage pictures, potato stamp wrapping paper and needlepoint pictures suitable for framing?”
“No,” she said. “They did not.”
To give it away; my parents did not spend all of their day making money. As teachers, they only spent part of their day making money, the rest of the day, Christmas, summer, was spent traveling, exploring and finding a way to make a dining room table from wine barrel staves.
Apparently, that is a different experience.
Like this: