In two previous posts, I’ve answered this question by stating in the first post my love of words and using them to construct sentences and paragraphs and the impact my father’s occupation had on my life. In the second post on writing, I stated that I write because I have to write. Blunt statement, and I confessed that. I also pointed out that, for me, a day without writing is a day without joy. Those statements are both true, and now I want to expand on the necessity of my writing.
As I said last time, I have a story to tell and that’s the bottom line for me. It is my story. It is mine to tell. Will it be the truth for everyone who knows me or is related to me? Likely not. I’ll try to determine the facts as best as I can from those who may know them, but it doesn’t mean that we’ll each one agree. Because it’s still my story.
Because it is my story, the onus is on me to tell it if I want it to be told. No one else is going to write my story, unless I hire a ghost writer, and currently I’m not inclined to go that direction. So, it’s up to me to write it down. Whether it is ever published or not, or shared with family, or perhaps friends, is not important to me right now. Getting it down as a record is — I want my children and grandchildren to have the benefit of my story as the threads of our family weave together to create our family story at some point in the future.
So, in this post, I have given you the true reason behind my attempts at chronicling the facts of my life. I have so many questions about my father’s life. An orphan at age 4, he had few and vague memories of his life. As we his children grew older, questions weren’t easily answered by him of his later years. Talking wasn’t something he enjoyed. His pursuits were more cerebral in nature, and so I didn’t press. Now I wish I had.