My Beloved Daughter,
You may be wondering why I’m writing this blog. With everything else going on, with me pulling overtime so much through my day job at the travel agency, along with working on my next book and the publishing duties that I’ve accepted . . . not to mention sometimes having to force myself to post other blog entries . . . you might wonder why I’m adding something else to my writing schedule.
As a child, I remember hearing my parents’ stories about their childhood. I remember Grandma Pat telling me how she’d saved up to buy a certain 45 LP and listened to it over and over until her brother, Uncle Roger, broke it out of frustration. Her threats to tell Grandma Deline (you called her GG) prompted him to save up his money to replace it.
I remember Grandpa Chuck telling me how he had received a paddling in school for shoving another boy’s head in the toilet. The teacher told your grandpa that he wasn’t getting punished for that part, as even the teacher seemed to think that the other boy deserved it. He was being punished for not flushing it first.
I remember stories about how my great grandfather, Geoffrey Isaac, was an enigma that puzzled our entire family until my Grandpa Winfred’s funeral, when brothers that he hadn’t even known existed showed up to pay their respects.
I remember hearing about how Grandma Deline had pulled Grandma Pat out of the creek when she had nearly drowned when her floating tube had capsized. Or about how my Grandpa Wes had bugged my Grandma Pauline (those were Grandpa Chuck’s parents) at a Pentecostal church until she’d agreed to go on a date with him.
But, they had so many more stories. There were so many more things that I have heard that have slipped through the cracks in my memory and are lost to us. When I was younger, each work day seemed to drag on, making me long for the afternoon. Now, at forty-one years of age, the weeks seem to fly by. As I write this, you are twelve and have a boyfriend. I see the lovely young lady that you have grown into and shake my head in wonder and despair, begging the Lord to tell me where the time has gone.
My parents left me a legacy. Grandpa Chuck left me his sense of humor and his tough work ethic. Grandma Pat left me her affection and imagination. I wish that I could remember more about their pasts so that I could pass that to you. I am determined to leave you a legacy. I’m more proud of you than any parent could ever be. You are beautiful and more intelligent than I was at your age. And your writing. Knowing that you are writing fills me with such joy that I feel that I might burst.
And so I give you this blog. I will try to update it every Thursday or Friday. Just remember, this is based on my memories about how things happened. They are colored by the prejudices that I’ve picked up over the years. Memories, unfortunately, fade. But I’ll be as honest as I can be. You deserve that much.
When I am gone, you will have my books. But I want you to have more than that. I want you to know about my past and about the wondrous childhood that led me to where I am today. I will keep this blog for that purpose . . . so that you may have something tangible to read and pass on to my grandchildren.