Memory is so fascinating to me. When I was a child, I would occasionally remember an event that happened, only to realize it was a dream. For years I would have sworn that it was my sister Brooke who got bitten by a cousin’s dog, but recently I was reminded that it was Quinn. I think recognizing that my recollections are occasionally flawed keeps me honest. I hold on tightly to the stories I tell myself that have stayed consistent. How did I talk about this event in my life right after it happened? How do I talk about it now? Has my story changed? Did I tell someone who can retroactively validate that experience? Having witnesses to my life has been so helpful in keeping my sanity, and reminding me who I am and how I’ve lived.
Yes! Raised in a family of Irish Catholics (Olympic level secret keepers) I definitely want to be known. Always have. Even the ugly stuff. As someone in recovery, I don’t want to keep those things secret but my brothers and sisters seem to be afraid of what it will mean to my nieces and nephews if they know about it. so I struggle with what to share and when. But these are my stories, no one else’s. I recognize that at the end of the day it’s my choice. But I do want to be respectful and not burden anyone with information that they don’t want.
This is the part of Marsha’s story that has resonated the most, especially because of the way Tourmaline wrote about it.
While I have many thoughts about this and know I’ll be totally misunderstood because I am not sharing my story with anyone, which means I will not be remembered because the stories will be second hand stories someone else is telling.
I honestly can’t hear Marsha’s story enough. My favorite quote is “I may be crazy, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong”
My dad was a gay, Chicago artist who stayed in the closet until I was 21 and my parents divorced. He recorded everything on audio cassettes and donated them to the Kinsey Institute. I have tapes of him describing the cops beating gays on Halsted Street, then called Boystown, outside gay bars in the late 70s and 80s. Dad and I were great friends. I miss his stories.
What a gift that your dad thought to record and donate these memories. I have one recording of my grandfather, who worked in the Oak Ridge National Laboratory on the Manhattan project, because he gave an interview in 1976 to a historian who was working on documenting that history. I wish more people would record themselves and their family members (and that society provided the support to do so) so we could have robust archives of more than just the wealthy and famous.
That's fascinating and so true about recordings of "regular" folks. I've written a memoir about my dad that I'm shopping to publishers. Have you written about your grandfather?
Oh I love that you've written about him! Crossing my fingers and sending you luck on your publication journey! And I've just started writing about my grandfather - I'm finishing a novel and gathering research/taking notes for an essay collection about my family, and there's going to be an essay about my grandfather in it. Will likely be a project that will take a while, but I'm looking forward to the work.
I hope we can be remembered by the art we create, by the people we stood by in crises, by the way we impacted people. Then again, I tell myself my inner spirit & soul can carry on forever even without a physical vessel.
Memory is so fascinating to me. When I was a child, I would occasionally remember an event that happened, only to realize it was a dream. For years I would have sworn that it was my sister Brooke who got bitten by a cousin’s dog, but recently I was reminded that it was Quinn. I think recognizing that my recollections are occasionally flawed keeps me honest. I hold on tightly to the stories I tell myself that have stayed consistent. How did I talk about this event in my life right after it happened? How do I talk about it now? Has my story changed? Did I tell someone who can retroactively validate that experience? Having witnesses to my life has been so helpful in keeping my sanity, and reminding me who I am and how I’ve lived.
Yes! Raised in a family of Irish Catholics (Olympic level secret keepers) I definitely want to be known. Always have. Even the ugly stuff. As someone in recovery, I don’t want to keep those things secret but my brothers and sisters seem to be afraid of what it will mean to my nieces and nephews if they know about it. so I struggle with what to share and when. But these are my stories, no one else’s. I recognize that at the end of the day it’s my choice. But I do want to be respectful and not burden anyone with information that they don’t want.
A story shared with love shouldn't feel like a burden.
This is the part of Marsha’s story that has resonated the most, especially because of the way Tourmaline wrote about it.
While I have many thoughts about this and know I’ll be totally misunderstood because I am not sharing my story with anyone, which means I will not be remembered because the stories will be second hand stories someone else is telling.
I honestly can’t hear Marsha’s story enough. My favorite quote is “I may be crazy, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong”
My dad was a gay, Chicago artist who stayed in the closet until I was 21 and my parents divorced. He recorded everything on audio cassettes and donated them to the Kinsey Institute. I have tapes of him describing the cops beating gays on Halsted Street, then called Boystown, outside gay bars in the late 70s and 80s. Dad and I were great friends. I miss his stories.
What a gift that your dad thought to record and donate these memories. I have one recording of my grandfather, who worked in the Oak Ridge National Laboratory on the Manhattan project, because he gave an interview in 1976 to a historian who was working on documenting that history. I wish more people would record themselves and their family members (and that society provided the support to do so) so we could have robust archives of more than just the wealthy and famous.
That's fascinating and so true about recordings of "regular" folks. I've written a memoir about my dad that I'm shopping to publishers. Have you written about your grandfather?
Oh I love that you've written about him! Crossing my fingers and sending you luck on your publication journey! And I've just started writing about my grandfather - I'm finishing a novel and gathering research/taking notes for an essay collection about my family, and there's going to be an essay about my grandfather in it. Will likely be a project that will take a while, but I'm looking forward to the work.
I hope we can be remembered by the art we create, by the people we stood by in crises, by the way we impacted people. Then again, I tell myself my inner spirit & soul can carry on forever even without a physical vessel.