Writing down the family stories before they are forgotten



With age comes the realization you aren’t going to be here forever and every family has stories they want to pass down from one generation to the next.

My family is no exception.

My sister Chris and I were talking about the good ol’ days when we were kids and some of the funny stuff we used to do and say. She and I agreed someday we need to sit down and record these stories for our kids and grandkids (for the record she has grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I do not) so they are not forgotten.

As we recalled the golden years of our youth (mine was more recent than hers) we came up with several stories that are on the top of the list. So I’m going to get a head start here and use these as part of my column — hopefully to get the ball rolling on our planned writing endeavor.

We both remembered a time when I was just a toddler and I went outside one winter’s day to enjoy the snow. Dressed from head-to-toe in my snowsuit, hat, gloves and mittens (the ones with the long string connecting them so they wouldn’t get lost) I trudged out into the snow and went to check on our dogs.

The dogs, big Boxers we raised in kennels behind the house, were eager to play and apparently I stuck my hand through the fence only to have one grab a hold of the mitten with his mouth.

As he pulled the mitten it jerked the string, causing the other arm to swing back, the mittened hand striking me repeatedly in the face. When my then teenaged sister came out to see why I was crying loudly, she stopped and burst out laughing at me instead of helping. The commotion soon brought my mother who berated my sister for leaving me at the mercy of the dog while she enjoyed a laugh out of my predicament. Mom cut the string and rescued me — but I would soon have revenge on my sister.

Here’s how I took my vengeance: Still a toddler I was taking a bath as she got ready in the bathroom for a date. I looked up at her with my hand extended and said: “Here Chrissy, it’s for you.” She accepted my gift only to discover it was an “accident” I’d had in the bathtub. Oops! Dad got into the payback too, telling my sister’s dates when they’d come to pick her up that I was HER child, not mom and dads.

Speaking of my dad, we have fond memories of him to. Like the time he was working in his flower garden and looked up at my mother on the porch and, while acting goofy for a laugh or two, said in a silly voice: “Look ma, I’m planting flowers!” The voice was an instant trigger for one of our Boxers who charged across the yard and jumped on him playfully pushing his face into the dirt.

Rising back up from the flower bed with a face full of dirt, glasses crooked on his face, his mood immediately changed and he angrily went after the offending dog who still assumed it was all a big game.

After dad finally chased the dog long enough, he finally gave up and stomped back to the house cursing, “Fine, I’ll kill you tomorrow!”

I hope someday we get around to writing down these stories and many more.


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