Listen to the stories all around you
When my grandmother was still alive, she would tell us stories about how she grew up during the Depression. As kids, we didn’t fully understand the nuances of the stories, but it certainly explained why Gram didn’t throw anything away and kept two freezers full of supplies at all times, and why she regularly shared juice and snacks with the mailman and UPS delivery person. At one point, we took a video of her answering questions for us about her life so that we would have it recorded for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Later, my sister made a heritage scrapbook of our family. A gorgeous piece of art, she cut out and glued in various photos and stories about our great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents from interviews she and I had conducted. This family history is precious; it’s one of the things I would save from my house if I had to abandon it to a hurricane or other natural disaster, heaven forbid.
I wish I had written down more of the stories. My grandmother told us of how she and my grandfather eloped when she was 19; they borrowed a veil at another friend’s wedding to take their “official” wedding portrait. "We didn't have two dimes to rub together," she would always say. I learned what she cooked but not always how – when I go back and look at the recipes and they look something like this, it is difficult to replicate:
Good oil
Box of Pomi tomatoes
Top round
Salt and pepper
Mix and simmer until done
When I was younger, I didn’t pay much attention. Not only do you think that you’re immortal at that age, most people have no concept of mortality of their parents and grandparents. I always thought I could ask her anything I wanted, when I wanted. Now that she’s not here, there are a million things more I’d like to know. My friends who have lost mothers at a young age feel this acutely.
Now I’m 40, with a family of my own and with some (a little) wisdom under my belt, I listen. On flights, when I’m not engrossed in a book or using my laptop to catch up on work (sometimes WiFi when you fly is a blessing and sometimes an obligation), I chat with my seatmate if they reach out for more conversation. Once, I met a partner at a restaurant called Maximo’s on my way to New Orleans and I walked over from my hotel to have dinner my first night in town. I ended up having dinner there twice in a row because I enjoyed it so much. Another time, I sat next to an elderly gentleman who was a famous aviator: he taught Chuck Yeager how to fly (I actually Googled him after he gave me his card; this was not the ramblings of dementia).
Cab drivers are often a source of great entertainment as well. This week, the driver from the Westin Nova Scotia told me about his great-aunt, who worked at Joe Kennedy’s suit shop, Kennedy’s, in Boston. He claimed that she made JFK’s inaugural suit, and I had no reason to believe he was making it up. There was more to the story; he told me that his great-aunt often traveled with Joe Kennedy and she had three houses. As a teenager, it occurred to him that a seamstress was not likely to be able to afford three houses on her own, and he went to his mother with his theory. She was, understandably, upset that her teenage boy had come to these conclusions on his own and claimed that her sister was a good saver and investor. As it turned out, Kennedy’s closed when his great-aunt was in her late 50s, and Kennedy’s paid her every week until her death at age 98. When she passed away, she had over $2M in her estate that she willed to her sister and other family members.
There are plenty of stories I still want to know about. People are fascinating; if you pay attention, there will be a nugget of information you will remember and hold in your heart.
Listen closely to the stories those you love have to tell while you can still hear them in real time. They are counting on you to tell those stories to the next generation.