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One More Story
Jan. 26th, 2007 07:05 amI have a sense that there's one more story that I need to tell. On the other hand, unless things take one of those surprising turns that they sometimes do, I may actually be down to one last part of it. When you say something like that, you sort of assume that the ending is the part that's left to be told. But in this case, it's not. The part that I still need is one of those pivotal pieces that's somewhere in the middle. At least that's the way I see it now.
And since it is my story, I guess I should know. It's also my father's and grandmother's and son's and grandson's story. But I think I'm doing it mostly for my grandson, now that I see where it's going and have an understanding of how it's gotten there. My hope is that it may help him to understand some things that've probably taken me far too long to really get a handle on. Things that I've only come to understand by writing about them.
Part of what's left is to make sure that it's well enough written that he'll get to the same place, in the reading of it, as I have in its writing. But that's always the writer's job. Whereas what I'm trying to do with this also exists outside the story: the parent's and grandparent's job, the job of the son and grandson. Because, in this life and at this time, I'm all those other things too.
Anyway, that middle part, the part that's still left to be written, turns out to be the toughest part. And I think that's because some very powerful imperatives seem to have gathered themselves around it. The need to be truthful and compassionate and fair. To say what's really happened and why. To speak of people and their failures, including my own, in a way that nevertheless makes it clear that we were all still loved. Not always in the way that we should have been, would want to have been, or would want to have done for our own children, but as well as seemed possible in the times and places where we were.
Which may be why I've decided that this is for my grandson, to say enough about where we've come from that he'll have a better notion about the choices for himself and his children and grandchildren. But I need to forget that I said that, until the very end.
Otherwise, that becomes the story and the story becomes dogma and the real lives suffer under the weight of it and are soon nothing more than the dust on the pictures that live in boxes in a quiet corner of someone's attic. Until the strangers come in and move them to the curb and the sign is put up on the front lawn...
LPK
LiveJournal
1.26.2007
And since it is my story, I guess I should know. It's also my father's and grandmother's and son's and grandson's story. But I think I'm doing it mostly for my grandson, now that I see where it's going and have an understanding of how it's gotten there. My hope is that it may help him to understand some things that've probably taken me far too long to really get a handle on. Things that I've only come to understand by writing about them.
Part of what's left is to make sure that it's well enough written that he'll get to the same place, in the reading of it, as I have in its writing. But that's always the writer's job. Whereas what I'm trying to do with this also exists outside the story: the parent's and grandparent's job, the job of the son and grandson. Because, in this life and at this time, I'm all those other things too.
Anyway, that middle part, the part that's still left to be written, turns out to be the toughest part. And I think that's because some very powerful imperatives seem to have gathered themselves around it. The need to be truthful and compassionate and fair. To say what's really happened and why. To speak of people and their failures, including my own, in a way that nevertheless makes it clear that we were all still loved. Not always in the way that we should have been, would want to have been, or would want to have done for our own children, but as well as seemed possible in the times and places where we were.
Which may be why I've decided that this is for my grandson, to say enough about where we've come from that he'll have a better notion about the choices for himself and his children and grandchildren. But I need to forget that I said that, until the very end.
Otherwise, that becomes the story and the story becomes dogma and the real lives suffer under the weight of it and are soon nothing more than the dust on the pictures that live in boxes in a quiet corner of someone's attic. Until the strangers come in and move them to the curb and the sign is put up on the front lawn...
LPK
LiveJournal
1.26.2007
