My niece loves sitting around her grandmother’s kitchen table, listening to her mother and I reminisce.
“Uncle, tell another funny story about you and mom when you were kids.” she will invariably ask.
Whenever my family gathers together, we devote at least one evening to reliving old times. We’ve heard the same tales before, even my niece at this point. But, this storytelling, acknowledging our shared history, is a bonding experience.
Researching one’s ancestry has become easier with more historical records available online. But, knowing the names, important dates, and geographical locations associated with an ancestor is no substitute for knowing a person’s life story.
When someone passes on, we naturally strive to keep their memory alive. We accomplish this by talking about our loved ones. Sharing funny anecdotes or remembering how they coped with more challenging times is cathartic. Sadly, there comes a time for all of us when no one remains alive to tell our story.
The rich and famous often take on the task of writing their memoir. Writing an autobiography is no easy feat for most. Celebrities have the luxury of hiring a professional ghostwriter to put their thoughts on paper.
My love of history, coupled with a desire to help others, has led me to ghostwrite. I strive to assist average, everyday individuals in their efforts to leave behind a written account of important memories.
Check out a sample of my work called “Flo’s Fright” I wrote for a woman wishing to bring a memory of her mother to life.
The amiable, carefree, grandeur of July consistently catches me of guard. August has yet to cover everything with its smothering, hazy oppressiveness. Gone is rainy June weather, typical of Cape Cod. Nights, still relatively cool, host clear skies affording amazing opportunities to stargaze along the shore. Constellations, Scorpio and Sagittarius, hang high in the south, while the Summer Triangle glimmers straight above. Arrival of the perennial onslaught of tourists, coupled with inexperienced summer help, had created utter havoc with local businesses a month earlier. Now, with kinks worked out, stores are moving and grooving, serving four times what they might at other times of the year. It’s the height of the season. A sense of hope permeates, promising plenty of time remains to squeeze all the fun in.
As a means to exploring the passage of a year, artists have richly painted scenes full of imagery detailing the stages of a human lifespan. I keenly resonate with this creative device employed to personify the seasons. Youth portrays the essence of spring. The prime of adulthood represents summer. Autumn is characterized by the newly retired, enjoying the fruits of years of labor. Old age depicts winter. Accordingly, July is the zenith of growth and vitality. Oxymoronic in nature, it is the crossroads where young and old meet. The festivities, annually occurring this month, echo this middling of the tides of time. Fourth of July is a riotous event displaying national pride, hope in the future and honoring the history of this great political experiment. Also in July on Cape Cod, the Wampanoag Powwow celebrates the continuation of the tribe, while paying reverence to an ancestral way of life. Lastly, July signals the arrival of Cape Cod’s annual county fair. It has changed considerably from the agriculture event it was in days long past. Yet, enough exhibits of livestock and garden produce remain inducing a sense of nostalgia.
A memory from visiting this county fair distinctly reminds me of an experience where I felt “old”. This wasn’t the first time I had reckoned with the reality of my age. I “died” a little when I realized my hair was thinning, reluctantly gave up my goatee because it was mostly gray and nearly fainted upon discovering my co-worker was younger than my kids. A younger me laughed listening to “Older” by “They Might Be Giants” Haven’t heard it? Check it out on Spotify or Youtube. See… I’m still hip. Maybe? The lyrics go something like:
“You’re older than you’ve ever been…and now you’re even older…and now you’re even older … and now you’re even older….”
Terrifying, yet true! Relax. Listen and take heart. The memory I’m about to share with you is an effective antidote against the downside of getting older. All the fuss about aging is due to our insistence on splitting every aspect of life into good or bad. Think of a time you struggled fitting a facet of life into one of two polar opposites. Usually, things are not that easily rendered down in such fashion. I enjoy pondering the adage, “There’s a thin line between love and hate.” Anyone who draws breath, walks this planet and shares their life with another will leap up and shout, “Amen!” My point? Most things lie on a spectrum. This includes getting older. I propose, if you look carefully, you will identify a key moment when you realized aging isn’t all loss and pain. There is joy in remembering the way things used to be. One becomes the steward of the stories, the perspective, the wisdom and the history.
Please click on the link to my historical writing portfolio page to read an amusing story about the time my twelve-year old son didn’t know how to use a telephone. Spoiler: the phone was avocado green, plugged into the wall, and used a rotary-style dial. Can you hear the disco playing?
This past week began with the last Monday of May and consequently people throughout the United States observed Memorial Day. Ask friends, family and neighbors what they did over the weekend. Most will speak of cookouts, trips to the beach, or visiting their favorite summer time haunts for the first time this season. Local municipalities in all likelihood held a parade or other public event to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice for this country. But, this national holiday like many others has essentially devolved into another long-weekend allowing for rest, relaxation and partying. Traditional outdoor fun is expected and a poor weather forecast causes much consternation. The nation has in many ways strayed far from the original intent of the holiday. Some wonder why we memorialize those who died in military service at the end of May. Veteran’s Day is attached to the anniversary of the ending of World War One. I confess being under the illusion that Memorial Day must similarly coincide with the anniversary of the Second World War’s final resolution. Yet, surprisingly, the chosen date was selected for purely botanical reasons.
Memorial Day as a national day of mourning has its roots farther back than the wars of the early Twentieth Century. Growing up I remember my father staying up late watching old black and white John Wayne war movies. The mythos of the greatest struggle the world has ever seen reigned supreme. Most kids had toy army soldiers made of green plastic for the good guys and grey plastic for the bad guys. In college I was shocked to learn World War Two was not responsible for claiming the most American lives. Such dubious honor falls to a conflict entirely of our own making. The American Civil War is estimated to have claimed upwards of three-quarters of a million people. Considering the population of the country at the time was only around 35 million the number of lives claimed was staggering and far-reaching. I pause to consider this may have been the first time in the nation’s history war cemeteries of great magnitude were created. Even before the war ended communities on both sides were decorating the graves with flowers in May. The debate still rages amongst a score or more American towns and cities in regards to who started this practice. But, it is established that on May 5, 1868, General of the Grand Army of the Republic John A. Logan designated May 30 as Decoration Day. As to the earlier mention of botany, it is reported he chose the date because it would be a time of year when most flowers would be in bloom. It seems our general was a practical man who knew a thing or two about gardening. Not until 1938 was Decoration Day designated a national holiday and it was in the 1960’s when the name changed officially to Memorial Day. This made sense given much of the public already called the holiday by that name after 1945. A long weekend break was next guaranteed with the date of observance moved to the last Monday of May. Finally, President Johnson in 1966 waded into the controversy over the exact origins of the holiday by signing a proclamation recognizing Waterloo, NY as the birthday place of Memorial Day.
Now is it a bad thing to hold cookouts to mark the start of summer? I suspect not. Your average astronomer will surely point out, summer doesn’t commence astronomically until June 21. That’s a debate for another time. Memorial Day can be flexible enough to include a whole host of events serving a variety of purposes. We should remember until modern times summer was for humanity celebrated as a period of easy living. It was an age old symbol of health, happiness and abundance. If our ancestors fought to protect this boon for future generations then feasting and celebrating the advent of summer rightly aligns with remembering the debt we owe to those who died safeguarding it. Thankfully most labored throughout World War Two without sacrificing their life. My grandfather served during the war and survived to enjoy a long life passing in his sleep at the age of 80. I am grateful he was spared dying in battle. I like to think he would have risked his life if asked to. Yet, none of us know how we would react in eminent danger. I suspect there are a myriad of ways to show bravery. Placing the needs of others before yourself is probably key.
I have a keen interest in history. I enjoy learning about how I am connected to the past. With the advent of genealogical websites hosting vast databases of information more people are seeking to delve back in time to recover details of their ancestry. I applaud this. But, to truly connect with the names of past relatives one must understand how life was for them. I place my trust in the family stories, the details passed on, the facts that paint a more colorful portrait of the individual. Unfortunately, as in the same way the origins for celebrating Memorial Day have receded into obscurity, all too often the stories of our elders are forgotten. I find myself returning to what I know about my grandfather’s time of service in the U.S. Army and U.S. Army Air Forces. I cherish having the old photos in his scrapbook to peruse through. I can only wonder who exactly are all these people he knew. I am hoping one day to write a story loosely based on his experiences. Perhaps if I cast the net wide enough I will snare a few truths with good old fashion luck. I’ll never know in this lifetime if I hit the mark. To start this project I first endeavor to simply narrator what I know. With a bit of research I think I can reconstruct the circumstances of his life during the war.
Click the link below to read about my grandfathers experience during World War Two.