A couple of years ago, I ventured into to the self-exploratory exercise of “Memoirism.” I realize I just made that word up, but that’s kind of what I do. I make stuff up. I’m an ad guy.
Anyway, there were a lot of things happening in my life at the time that led me to look back and try to figure out “where all of this is coming from.” I started to write about my family: Mother, Father, Brothers, Sister and friends, in the only way I new how. I started telling stories.
A funny thing happened, too. It worked. I began to remember things – some big, some small – that allowed “all of this” to make sense. Memories started bouncing in and out of my heart and head that had – to that point – been locked away somewhere deep. I began to realize that my story was writing itself, and it had been all along.
It’s still being written today. And that’s why I’m putting this stuff here.
Several of the aforementioned family and friends have asked that I share more of the story. It seems most of them find a kind of calm, nostalgia and/or humor by reliving with me the ways and means by which I got... here.
I am not a narcissist. I am not even all that proud. I do not in any way think that my stories will change lives or make a difference. But that's not why I write. And that's not why I want to share this stuff with you. This is therapy.
That said, it is important to know going in that a lot of what's going to be written here is written from the perspective of how I see it or saw it... not how it really is. Perspectives change and rearrange and reinvent themselves through the experiences we have with them. It is also important to know going in that I do not distinguish what is real and what is or was real to me...
This is just a simple story about a kid who is growing up by looking back. It’s about a father and a son and a son becoming a father. This is my story. And some of it is actually true. Remember, I'm an ad guy.
In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God. —Aeschylus