“Ah, it’s the Christmas tree story again!” the kids whine.
“Daaa-ad, we’ve heard this story a million times!”
Every family has that storyteller who pulls out his or her well-worn favorites every holiday (sometimes even every family get-together!). My own grandfather’s began something like, “I walked uphill both ways every day to school…” before launching into tales of his youth in upper Manhattan. His tellings were part tall-tale, part truthful experience, full-on representations of his larger-than-life personality.
I relished hearing his stories. He died when I was ten, and I can’t remember complete details of a single one.
Maybe I was too young to be expected to recall the nuances and fine points of my grandfather’s stories. Most adults, though, expect they’ll remember their parents’ stories—of course I will, they think. How could I forget?
Well, I am embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember my mom’s stories. She wasn’t the unabashed storyteller my grandfather was, but she quietly conveyed her experiences to me over the years when they were relevant to my own life (or, sometimes, just because a memory randomly popped up during a phone conversation). There are a few important ones I strive to recall—like the one about the mere acquaintance who gave my parents a private mortgage with a barely-there-interest-rate because he wanted to pay an old favor forward. Or the one about the cancer patient who inspired my mom in their chemo waiting room. Or the handful of ones about teeny-tiny her playing guard on her youth basketball team in Inwood.
Those bare bones are about all I can muster, though. How could I forget? I wonder that often.
Our memory banks don’t work like computers.
I am not an expert on how memory works, but as a personal historian who works to help people capture their memories for posterity, I have plenty of anecdotal evidence that our memories are rarely as reliable as we may wish.
I hear regrets from children who don’t remember their parents’ stories—even ones they heard repeatedly over decades. I hear regrets from family elders who have difficulty accessing their memories, even if they are not affected by dementia at all.
“If you are not sure you could answer the fundamental question of what were your elders’ most formative experiences, or if you simply can’t remember some of the details along the way—what happened to their own parents, when did they make that trip overseas, what was the long-ago job through which they met their spouse—it may be time to capture the stories more formally,” suggests my fellow personal historian Nancy West.
Stories written are stories remembered.
I agree wholeheartedly with Nancy—capturing your family stories on paper is one of the best ways to ensure those stories live on. And while the prospect can seem daunting, it needn’t be overwhelming. Here are a few ideas for making that happen:
talk about the past
I suggest grabbing a recorder (the audio recorder app on your smart phone will work), hitting “record,” and having a grand conversation about the past.
Should you be the one to initiate such a conversation? Why not? Perhaps there’s already another unofficial family history steward in your clan—invite them to join you, or encourage them to begin capturing stories from one family member while you focus on another. The point is: The process is a fun one, and it’s important, too.
write about the past
If you have a family elder who’d likely prefer writing about their experiences, gift them with a special journal and tell them how much their stories mean to you. Or ask them to write regularly about their life.
The two of you can come up with a list of story ideas together, and that list can be used to get your loved one going when it’s time to write. You can also gift them with my childhood memories “course,” which is really just a weekly dose of inspiration to jog their memory and offer writing prompts.
enlist a professional to capture stories
A personal historian such as myself or my colleagues listed on this site can usher you and your family through the whole story preservation process (I can also refer you to professionals across the country if you’d prefer someone closer to home). From personal history interviews to ghostwriting, from memoir coaching to full-scale video or book production, we all offer a variety of services with one thing in common: to take the pressure off you while ensuring your family’s legacy lives on.
Dawn Roode, a personal historian based in northern New Jersey, helps families and family-run businesses preserve their legacies in bespoke coffee table books.