I loved having breakfast with my granddad Lynch because I knew I would hear stories and jokes. That man loved his breakfast! One story he loved telling over and over again was about his granddad. His granddad would come downstairs (possibly with a hangover, but he never mentioned that) and my granddad would pour him a cup of coffee. He would set the coffee in the saucer and begin pouring. My Granddad keep pouring until the coffee overflowed the cup and filled the saucer. Then my great great granddad would say, “Dats enough!” My granddad would laugh and laugh and laugh every time. He introduced me to his granddad, Johnny Lynch through this story. My family would go on to tell many, many stories about this sharpshooter from the Civil War and cousin to the president. Some stories I heard only as an adult because Johnny was quite the character.
My father-in-law died before our first child was born. I knew I wanted our children to know him because he had such a rich life. I made a promise to myself that I would tell our children all the stories of his life, but like Johnny I might have to hold a few back until they reached adulthood. My father-in-law had an amazing life. He overcame immense obstacles and created a life for his family in North America. At fourteen, he left home to become a blacksmith. Later he joined the Yugoslavian army. One day my father-in-law found that he could no longer be part of the communist country and tried to defect. He was found out and thrown into prison for three years. When Tata got out, he tried again and this time was successful. The man, who could not go to school because he family was too poor for shoes, read a book on his way to Australia on how to weld. One day a man came to a gathering of workers in Australia asking if anyone of the men had skills. My father-in-law said he could weld. He demonstrated for the man and that was how he became a welder. I loved him so much.
We tell our children family stories so they know members of the family who have come before them. We tell stories because we see ourselves in these stories and maybe our children will as well. We tell stories because we hope maybe we might have just a bit of their strength. It goes deeper than just that, we tell stories to remember our loved one, and keep them close to us. I know people only through the stories that are told about them. For the moment of the story, those we love and are no longer able to be at our tables are alive. These stories bind us together and make us family, connecting us through out time.
My father-in-law died before our first child was born. I knew I wanted our children to know him because he had such a rich life. I made a promise to myself that I would tell our children all the stories of his life, but like Johnny I might have to hold a few back until they reached adulthood. My father-in-law had an amazing life. He overcame immense obstacles and created a life for his family in North America. At fourteen, he left home to become a blacksmith. Later he joined the Yugoslavian army. One day my father-in-law found that he could no longer be part of the communist country and tried to defect. He was found out and thrown into prison for three years. When Tata got out, he tried again and this time was successful. The man, who could not go to school because he family was too poor for shoes, read a book on his way to Australia on how to weld. One day a man came to a gathering of workers in Australia asking if anyone of the men had skills. My father-in-law said he could weld. He demonstrated for the man and that was how he became a welder. I loved him so much.
We tell our children family stories so they know members of the family who have come before them. We tell stories because we see ourselves in these stories and maybe our children will as well. We tell stories because we hope maybe we might have just a bit of their strength. It goes deeper than just that, we tell stories to remember our loved one, and keep them close to us. I know people only through the stories that are told about them. For the moment of the story, those we love and are no longer able to be at our tables are alive. These stories bind us together and make us family, connecting us through out time.
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