This photo, taken by a very good friend, introduced a wonderful post by my daughter about telling Little Linsey stories to her daughters. I loved this because her stories refresh my memories and because in the telling they become a part of our family history. I can add even more stories and I promise, Lins, only to tell your daughters the good stuff!
I am a storyteller, too, with four generations of stories to tell. They are about my mother, my daughters and grandchildren, and I tell a few to my mom every time I visit her. I always hope they will trigger a memory and that she will have something to add.
Of course, I tell her about our family and how lucky she is to have children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
I tell her about the Christmas I got a bicycle and my brother got an electric train and between the two of us tooting our horns, we probably woke up everybody in the neighborhood.
I tell her how excited we were when Daddy came home and asked us how we’d like to move to Florida.
I tell her about the houses we lived in, at least the ones I remember.
I tell her about the trips we took when I was a flight attendant with Delta and had passes that would allow her and Daddy to fly.
I remind her of how much we loved her fried peach pies and chicken and dumplings.
I tell her of the time when she and Daddy lived in North Carolina and the girls came to visit and wore overalls and straw hats and picked blackberries.
As she listens to the stories, sometimes she smiles; other times she has a far away look, and I wonder if she is remembering or if she is somewhere else.
When I have told a story or two or three, I ask her to tell me one. Hers is always about being a child on the farm.
My daddy called me Jo. I guess he wanted a boy, but I was the third girl. He needed help on the farm so he always said, “Come on, Jo, come go with me.” He never asked my sisters to go with him. I liked being with him. He always called me Jo.
“And,” I ask, “tell me about your mother.”
She was a good cook and always kept a clean house.
That’s about it these days except that when I ask about my daddy, she says he was a good guy. When I ask her what made him a good guy, there is not much more to the story. Fortunately, I have my own memories of him and know that what she says is true.
Yes, telling stories is important, and I am glad my granddaughters ask my daughter to tell Little Linsey stories. I wish I had asked my mother to tell more stories while she could still remember.
Do you share your stories?
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