Showing posts with label November. Show all posts
Showing posts with label November. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

November is Family Stories Month

 November is Family Stories Month. There is a great line in Hamilton (2015) which relates to family stories and histories. Aaron Burr sings “And when you're gone, who remembers your name? /Who keeps your flame? /Who tells your story?” With the rise of DNA testing and ancestry searches, people are searching for their roots. Where did we come from? And the need for family stories is growing. Many people learn amazing stories from their ancestors. These discoveries often pull us closer to history than ever before. Why are family stories important to us? What are ways we can celebrate Family Stories Month? Any time family gathers together is a great chance to take an opportunity to share those stories. I will write about one of my favorite family stories.

Family stories are important, and it is sad that many families no longer share those stories. Family stories can bring history alive. Talking with and sharing the stories of family members who served in the military. I have always loved learning about the events of World War II because both my grandfathers served during the war. My paternal grandfather served in Europe and my maternal grandfather served in the Pacific on an aircraft carrier. Learning about the different battles came alive as I imagined my grandfathers as young men, engaged in these battles. Family stories also can help boost our identity. These stories connect our families to history as they experienced it. They highlight family characteristics such as a sense of adventures, courage, and creativity as we learn who are ancestors were and what they did in their life in the historical events in which they lived. Family stories also strengthens connections between generations. The more we know about our family history, the stronger our sense of control over our lives and the higher their self-esteem. When I learned what my grandparents survived and thrived, it gives me confidence that my chances of surviving and thriving are good too because I descend from them.

There are countless ways to celebrate Family Stories Month. There is no wrong way to tell these stories. Here are a few ideas to get started. First, go through old photos and ask questions about the people in the pictures. Any anecdotes of adventures, travel, and romance. Are there any humorous stories? Stories about an epic historical event? Can you incorporate music, TV shows or movies in your stories? Second, stories about childhood are always great topics. My husband likes to tell the stories of him and his best friend playing video games at a local liquor store. They would pump gas for people to get money for those arcade games. Third, discover if there is a special story behind a family recipe or dinner tradition. Lastly, talk about fun facts about each other especially if you have kids. For example, the wild storm that was going on when he or she was born. Or a funny thing they used to do or say. For example, my oldest daughter used to say “tortilla” when she was hungry. It didn’t matter what we were eating, she was would say “tortilla” when asked if she was hungry.

One of my family stories is how my maternal grandparents met and fell in love. My grandfather grew up in Boston, Massachusetts. His best friend was a young man named John. After the Attack on Pearl Harbor, both answered the call to serve their country. My grandfather went into the Navy while John went into the Marines. My grandmother grew in Oklahoma and during the depths of the Great Depression, her parents packed up their family and moved to Los Angeles, California. John eventually met my grandmother in LA. I’m not sure how they met and when, but they began to date. On February 23, 1945, John was killed on Iwo Jima. My grandfather’s ship docked in San Pedro, CA when he heard the news of his friend’s death. After leaving the service, he sought out my grandmother to tell her the news, which she had already knew. My grandfather headed back home to Boston, only to return to LA and propose to my grandmother. They were married on May 11, 1946. When my grandfather died in 1996, they were married for 50 years, they had 12 children and 29 grandchildren. At the time I write this, there are currently 32 great-grandchildren.

In conclusion, no story is insignificant. Even if there is no great warrior story or participation in an historical event, members of our family lived through these events and we need to hear their memories, their thoughts, their feelings about the time and situations. As I’ve learned about my family history and the people who came before me, I developed a closeness to them. They become more than just names on a family tree. They become as a real as the historical figures we learn about in school. I strongly urge everyone to tell their family stories, to write them down and preserve them for future generations so that our voices, our stories can be taught to our descendants so that we become more than just a name on a family tree to them too.



Thursday, June 19, 2014

Part 1: The cemetery at dusk

It was a cold, bitter day in November as the sunset on the cemetery, much colder than Southern California is used to. Various graves were decorated for Thanksgiving as family members came to remember their loved ones during the season of thanks. The brisk cold turned into a bitter wind as the sun set turning day into night. People didn’t stay around too long as the quickly changing weather made them hurry to find warmer surroundings.
But one lone woman stayed. She knelt on the ground in front of a newly placed headstone. Her eyes downcast closed almost as in prayer. He lips moving ever so slightly, the breeze carrying her words away. She was slender and young, too young to be in a cemetery. Her beautiful blonde hair fell forward in a cascade of gold, protecting her face from the bitter cold. She wore no jacket but she acted as if she couldn’t feel the falling temperatures. She kept her head bowed and leaned closer to the ground. You could have thought she was trying to lay down.
The funeral director was closing the office for the night. He locked the office door and as he turned to walk to his car, he saw her. With sympathetic eyes, he sighed. The young woman had come here every day for the past couple weeks. He changed course and walked over to her. Despite his nice suit, he knelt beside her in the grass and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You know they wouldn’t want you here moping.”
The young woman looked up, her eyes glistening with tears and sighed, “I know. I don’t know what to do next.” She turned back to the headstone.
The director put a gentle arm around her, helped her to her feet and guided her to her nearby car. With gentle words, he reassured her that the answers were inside her. He knew all the comforting words. He had been in this business for many years and he saw all sorts of grief. But this young woman’s pain cut deep into his heart. He felt that his words were hallow and knew, at the moment, his words failed him.
“I wish I had more to help you, miss. But unfortunately, only time will give you the answers you seek,” he said as he opened her car door.
She nodded and closed the door. She watched the man walk to his car. She knew he was only trying to help. The words which were meant as comfort were hallow. Hallow as her heart. She knew that she would never be whole again. She already lost so much. How can she go on when what mattered most was gone.
She left the main gate and turned toward home. “Good night, sweet ones. Sleep tight. I’ll be back soon.” She whispered as she passed the cemetery. She let her brain go into autopilot as her memory drifted to that fateful day one month ago.