Introducing my dad in history

Posted on February 14, 2021

When I was a little girl, my sisters Janet and Diane and I had the same bedtime for many years, and our mom would usually tuck us in. Occasionally, however, my dad would take on the task, and it always felt like a special treat. (Side note to pause and recognize how often the person doing the role of primary caretaker is taken for granted. As an adult with hopefully more awareness than I had as a kid, I’m super grateful for all the nights my mom tucked us in without any fanfare.)

Invariably on the nights when our dad tucked us in, Janet and Diane and I would beg him to tell us stories of When He Was a Bad Little Boy, and he would usually comply. I don’t remember much about these stories except they took place in Gloucester, Massachusetts, his actual boyhood home, and they regularly involved him playing tricks and telling fibs and getting into all sorts of mischief in the manner of Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn.

I do remember part of a story my dad told us, however. In this particular story, he was running away after doing something Very Naughty and trying not to get caught, and he ended up falling in the ocean. He was well on his way to drowning when he was rescued by a mermaid who brought him to shore. That mermaid was, of course, my mother. They fell in love and she became human.

Yes, I spent many years of my childhood wondering if my mother had actually been a mermaid at some point.

Fast forward forty-something years and I have once again asked my dad to tell me stories. Not stories of When He Was a Bad Little Boy, though such stories are not necessarily precluded. But instead stories of parts of his life that I may not know about, or may not know much about. Stories I want to hear because I’ve caught glimmers and glimpses and want to hear more.

We are in a pandemic and I last saw my parents during the summer. I miss them. My mom is not able to tell stories about her life very well anymore, and I’m sad about that missed opportunity. She’s given me lots of other gifts, though, just like she did when I was small and she regularly tucked us in at bedtime, so I’m not complaining.

But I am grateful that my dad is still willing to tell stories. The word “history” in the title of this series might seem a bit grandiose, hinting at some greatness in my dad’s story or perhaps some kind of Forrest Gump pattern of brushes with greatness. While my dad is great, I use the word “history” as a way of marking his stories as intertwined with things bigger than him. I also use it to evoke a sense of history as a series of stories, as much about the ordinary and everyday as about the grand. My dad’s life matters, and his stories do, too.

Our process as we get started? I call my dad and he talks to me about part of his past. I record what he says (well, the first time I thought I was recording, but it turned out that hour-long recording wasn’t saved…but, in general, I record what he says). I transcribe it, which takes a long time, and I send the transcription to him for any editing he would like to do.

The next step is for me to publish each story as a blog post, a process that will involve some framing on my part and perhaps some arrangement of things he’s said. My dad’s autobiographical stories are not discrete entities but instead are a series of events and sensibilities and relationships woven together in all kinds of cross-currents and themes and webs to form a kind of multidimensional tapestry.

So far I have just two recordings, but more than two stories are represented there. I will add visuals and commentary to enhance what my dad has said. My dad and I have talked about making sure these stories offered for public consumption do not hurt anyone.

That’s pretty much it. The process may shift depending on how well things work.

For now, I’m looking forward to this journey, hearing from my dad about his experiences, giving voice to his stories on the page, and sharing this journey with family, friends, and others. Thanks to all readers for your time and interest. There’s something about stories that connects us, and connections seem especially important in these times of physical distancing.

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The following video clip is from a (silent) home movie. I think it’s 1973, and I think the baby is my cousin John (aka Pipes). And that was my dad, famous for stories of When He Was a Bad Little Boy. The hairstyle and the paneled walls alone suggest that individual stories and wider histories of people cannot really be separated….