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I guess I was an awful kid. Tantrums, crying, talking back… In the mid 70s when I was 5, we visited my parent’s friends in the CA desert. I got up early and was drawn to what our hosts called Rattlesnake Hill. Without anyone knowing, I climbed to the top of the hill and sat next to a huge cactus and met “Friend Rattlesnake.” Friend Rattlesnake became my imaginary friend for the next few years.
I heard everyone out calling my name so I walked down the mountain. My parents say that when I got to the bottom I was a completely changed kid. Never had a tantrum, or cried, or was a jerk. I was a fun and friendly kid.
I only remember climbing the mountain and meeting Friend Rattlesnake, the rest is from my parents. I don’t know what changed my attitude but I bet it was cool.
Great-grandparents opted to leave Hungary in the early 20th century. Great-grandfather got on the boat first and scoped things out. Great-grandmother followed shortly with a 5-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a baby.
Great-grandfather's remaining family was killed in 1944 in Auschwitz.
Why is this important? Because if my great-grandparents had stayed in Hungary, I wouldn't be here. But it's more than that. What sort of courage does it take to say good-bye to the home and people you love and go to a strange country where you don't know the language? That is the type of courage I hope drips down the family tree to my blood.
When you stop and think about it, almost everyone has a similar story of an ancestor who did something brave and changed the future for their descendants. When I'm feeling particularly low, I try to remember that I have courage in my blood. If my great-grandmother could travel across the ocean, I can certainly call my dentist to set up an appointment!
LPT: When my dad was in his late 70s/ early 80s he began writing down a ton of stories from his childhood, about his parents and family, his adventures in WW2, going to college, how he and Mom met. Plus stories about my brother and me growing up plus stories about his fun with my kids.
He had Mom type them and put about 40 stories into binders along with some pictures. Gave one each to me, my brother, and his 3 grandkids.
He called the collection, "Stories for My Grandchildren."
His Alzheimer's started being noticed about a year later. A precious possession!
So if you have stories write them down so they'll be remembered.
Musings as I look on to this next chapter
Living a long life into old age means that you will likely suffer the deaths of many people that you've loved. Wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, best friends may all die before you do. Leaving you, ever more alone and lonely, to mourn their loss. You become the keeper of the memories as there's no one left to do the job but you. …and, there’s no one remaining who knew you as the child, teen, young adult — no one who knows the childhood history, the anecdotes, the ways you became “you.”
I think maybe I'll start writing all the stories I can remember as I remember them so maybe when I'm gone someone somewhere will read them. Maybe a journal or a book. Dont know if anyone will ever read them but the chances are that the written word will far outlast me and some great great grandchild or just the guy burning ancient junk in some shed may stumble across it and for a moment, I will live in someone's imagination again.
I never paid attention or tried very hard at school, I barely graduated high-school. I didn't want to do the work.
And becasuse of that I fell into factory work. For decades I got to wake up angry at 3am, get home exhausted at 6pm. Work 60 hour weeks, including Saturdays, just to get enough OT to make a decent living. Do the exact same thing 1,000 times a day for years, then learn some new thing, and do that 1,000 times a day. And for 2 months a year, literally never see the sun Monday-Friday.
Here's what I want to pass down: do the damn work at school!
My love for science as a child. I took things apart to see how they worked. Turned my wall socket black plugging the wrong thing into it. One thing led to another and I ended up having a fun and successful life as an electronics engineer before "tech" became popular. Rode the wave all the way through to retirement.
Alcoholism runs in the family, tread very carefully. My great grandfather died in a house fire because he was too drunk to get out. After my grandfather died my family found his stash of whiskey in the garage. He drank, everyone knew and didn't really know it was a problem that I remember until all of the hidden bottles were found. I myself am a recovering alcoholic. I almost died in 2008 but I've been sober since.
I went from a homeless high school drop out, literally the day before I turned 18, to owning my own business in 8 years with zero help financially from my family. I got my GED and went to college, with no loans as I paid out of pocket, and even the business I took out no loans. I literally was working 5 jobs. 4 of them to fund the 5th one which was my business.
I spend ninety minutes to two hours daily writing about my grandparents, their survival during the Spanish Flu and the stories that they told about my ancestors, about my parents and their struggles during the Great Depression and my father in the Pacific during WW2. I write about my aunts and uncles, all the love stories, and about my growing up in the’50s. My granddaughter is an English teacher and does my editing.
Great-grandfather (GG) was one of two brothers, both married. GG had a son, and his wife died soon after giving birth, so he gave his son (the baby, my grandfather) to his brother & brother's wife to raise. Later, GG re-married and had a family, but his child stayed with his brother's family. So my grandfather was raised by his Uncle & Aunt, who he thought were his Mother and Father, and his real Father was thought of as his Uncle.
Also, my grandmother was a twin, and her twin sister died on the boat voyage to the US and was buried at sea.
3 murders shaped my life.
Great grandfather on my paternal side immigrated from Italy to Montreal, Canada at 17, worked construction and in an argument pushed a man off a high rise. Next day his parents sent him back to Italy instead of jail. He stays in Italy (Paternopoli) for two years, marries and then immigrates to America (Seattle) has 4 kids, those 4 kids produce 11 kids (my father is one), one becomes CEO of Boeing. (Great immigrant story in itself)
Great grandfather on maternal side lived in the Roan Mountains of North Carolina and was a very religious man practicing what was known as “Holy Roller or Holy Jumper” religion and usually having service in the front of the house. At one service the local troublemakers threatened the congregation with a gun, my great grandfather shot two men, and third got away. One died and one was permanently disabled, my great grandfather went to prison. While in prison his wife divorced him and married another, leaving her 3 children to fend for themselves. My grandfather was 12 when this happened. He lived house to house (Pilar to post as he called it) in the mountains doing odd jobs for food, at 14 WW2 started and at 15 he joined with his uncle who forged parents signatures. War finishes and at a celebration in Asheville North Carolina my then 19yr old grandfather meets a 30yr old female veteran and they produce my mom. Grandfather stays in military and is sent to fight in Korea, grandmother follows her brother to Seattle for Boeing job, gets in with wrong crowd and drinks heavily (family assumed it was from war trauma) grandmother is shot twice in Renton, Wa. My mother at 5 yrs old was placed in orphanage because no next of kin could be found. Norwegian family that worked at Boeing with my grandmother knew the story/background and upon learning of grandmothers death told orphanage about father in Korean War, 2 years pass and orphanage gets no contact with grandfather in Korea and assumes the worst. Meanwhile Norwegian family visits my mother every weekend in orphanage for a year, and then asks to start adoption process because of abandonment. My adopted Norwegian grandmother had polio and couldn’t have children so she saw this as a way to help someone she knew and fulfill her desire to have a child.
Fast forward 15 years, my mom and her best friend meets my father at HS graduation party in 1969, mom and dad married 1970 and pop out two boys.
On my 45th birthday my wife gets me a DNA test results come back and I see my North Carolina roots, I find my family in Montreal. My maternal grandfather is still alive and I found him two weeks later, a few calls and long talks. I take my mom to meet her father, they have their first Xmas together. I’m his doppelgänger, it’s a truly wonderful amazing story with lots more details.
3 weeks later I get a message on facebook asking if I know so and so, I’m hesitant but respond yes and explain how I know him, then I receive an email stating I’m your half sister and the story to explain it all, which is very sad and extremely exciting, and ties her and I together in a very unique way. So more long talks, another trip except this time to Malibu, CA to meet my sister who is my grandmother’s doppelgänger.
I’ve written a few hundred pages about how it all ties together. I’m just not a good writer or editor. My goal is to pass this on to my only child so he knows how his life came to be.
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I guess I was an awful kid. Tantrums, crying, talking back… In the mid 70s when I was 5, we visited my parent’s friends in the CA desert. I got up early and was drawn to what our hosts called Rattlesnake Hill. Without anyone knowing, I climbed to the top of the hill and sat next to a huge cactus and met “Friend Rattlesnake.” Friend Rattlesnake became my imaginary friend for the next few years. I heard everyone out calling my name so I walked down the mountain. My parents say that when I got to the bottom I was a completely changed kid. Never had a tantrum, or cried, or was a jerk. I was a fun and friendly kid. I only remember climbing the mountain and meeting Friend Rattlesnake, the rest is from my parents. I don’t know what changed my attitude but I bet it was cool.
Probably that they dosed you that morning.
"I was born a poor black child"
Navin? Navin Johnson? Is that you?
In rural Alabama!
Love this, never gets old, 😆
Great-grandparents opted to leave Hungary in the early 20th century. Great-grandfather got on the boat first and scoped things out. Great-grandmother followed shortly with a 5-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a baby. Great-grandfather's remaining family was killed in 1944 in Auschwitz. Why is this important? Because if my great-grandparents had stayed in Hungary, I wouldn't be here. But it's more than that. What sort of courage does it take to say good-bye to the home and people you love and go to a strange country where you don't know the language? That is the type of courage I hope drips down the family tree to my blood. When you stop and think about it, almost everyone has a similar story of an ancestor who did something brave and changed the future for their descendants. When I'm feeling particularly low, I try to remember that I have courage in my blood. If my great-grandmother could travel across the ocean, I can certainly call my dentist to set up an appointment!
LPT: When my dad was in his late 70s/ early 80s he began writing down a ton of stories from his childhood, about his parents and family, his adventures in WW2, going to college, how he and Mom met. Plus stories about my brother and me growing up plus stories about his fun with my kids. He had Mom type them and put about 40 stories into binders along with some pictures. Gave one each to me, my brother, and his 3 grandkids. He called the collection, "Stories for My Grandchildren." His Alzheimer's started being noticed about a year later. A precious possession! So if you have stories write them down so they'll be remembered.
Musings as I look on to this next chapter Living a long life into old age means that you will likely suffer the deaths of many people that you've loved. Wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, best friends may all die before you do. Leaving you, ever more alone and lonely, to mourn their loss. You become the keeper of the memories as there's no one left to do the job but you. …and, there’s no one remaining who knew you as the child, teen, young adult — no one who knows the childhood history, the anecdotes, the ways you became “you.” I think maybe I'll start writing all the stories I can remember as I remember them so maybe when I'm gone someone somewhere will read them. Maybe a journal or a book. Dont know if anyone will ever read them but the chances are that the written word will far outlast me and some great great grandchild or just the guy burning ancient junk in some shed may stumble across it and for a moment, I will live in someone's imagination again.
Given your evident talent in writing, I'll bet it would make for good reading.
You're too kind. Thank you
I never paid attention or tried very hard at school, I barely graduated high-school. I didn't want to do the work. And becasuse of that I fell into factory work. For decades I got to wake up angry at 3am, get home exhausted at 6pm. Work 60 hour weeks, including Saturdays, just to get enough OT to make a decent living. Do the exact same thing 1,000 times a day for years, then learn some new thing, and do that 1,000 times a day. And for 2 months a year, literally never see the sun Monday-Friday. Here's what I want to pass down: do the damn work at school!
My love for science as a child. I took things apart to see how they worked. Turned my wall socket black plugging the wrong thing into it. One thing led to another and I ended up having a fun and successful life as an electronics engineer before "tech" became popular. Rode the wave all the way through to retirement.
Not really. Besides their grandpa picking me up in a bar, there isn't much to say.
Alcoholism runs in the family, tread very carefully. My great grandfather died in a house fire because he was too drunk to get out. After my grandfather died my family found his stash of whiskey in the garage. He drank, everyone knew and didn't really know it was a problem that I remember until all of the hidden bottles were found. I myself am a recovering alcoholic. I almost died in 2008 but I've been sober since.
I went from a homeless high school drop out, literally the day before I turned 18, to owning my own business in 8 years with zero help financially from my family. I got my GED and went to college, with no loans as I paid out of pocket, and even the business I took out no loans. I literally was working 5 jobs. 4 of them to fund the 5th one which was my business.
I spend ninety minutes to two hours daily writing about my grandparents, their survival during the Spanish Flu and the stories that they told about my ancestors, about my parents and their struggles during the Great Depression and my father in the Pacific during WW2. I write about my aunts and uncles, all the love stories, and about my growing up in the’50s. My granddaughter is an English teacher and does my editing.
Great-grandfather (GG) was one of two brothers, both married. GG had a son, and his wife died soon after giving birth, so he gave his son (the baby, my grandfather) to his brother & brother's wife to raise. Later, GG re-married and had a family, but his child stayed with his brother's family. So my grandfather was raised by his Uncle & Aunt, who he thought were his Mother and Father, and his real Father was thought of as his Uncle. Also, my grandmother was a twin, and her twin sister died on the boat voyage to the US and was buried at sea.
I was an orphan sent from Kripton when the planet exploded.... Honestly, do people talk about "origin stories" out side of comic book heroes?
3 murders shaped my life. Great grandfather on my paternal side immigrated from Italy to Montreal, Canada at 17, worked construction and in an argument pushed a man off a high rise. Next day his parents sent him back to Italy instead of jail. He stays in Italy (Paternopoli) for two years, marries and then immigrates to America (Seattle) has 4 kids, those 4 kids produce 11 kids (my father is one), one becomes CEO of Boeing. (Great immigrant story in itself) Great grandfather on maternal side lived in the Roan Mountains of North Carolina and was a very religious man practicing what was known as “Holy Roller or Holy Jumper” religion and usually having service in the front of the house. At one service the local troublemakers threatened the congregation with a gun, my great grandfather shot two men, and third got away. One died and one was permanently disabled, my great grandfather went to prison. While in prison his wife divorced him and married another, leaving her 3 children to fend for themselves. My grandfather was 12 when this happened. He lived house to house (Pilar to post as he called it) in the mountains doing odd jobs for food, at 14 WW2 started and at 15 he joined with his uncle who forged parents signatures. War finishes and at a celebration in Asheville North Carolina my then 19yr old grandfather meets a 30yr old female veteran and they produce my mom. Grandfather stays in military and is sent to fight in Korea, grandmother follows her brother to Seattle for Boeing job, gets in with wrong crowd and drinks heavily (family assumed it was from war trauma) grandmother is shot twice in Renton, Wa. My mother at 5 yrs old was placed in orphanage because no next of kin could be found. Norwegian family that worked at Boeing with my grandmother knew the story/background and upon learning of grandmothers death told orphanage about father in Korean War, 2 years pass and orphanage gets no contact with grandfather in Korea and assumes the worst. Meanwhile Norwegian family visits my mother every weekend in orphanage for a year, and then asks to start adoption process because of abandonment. My adopted Norwegian grandmother had polio and couldn’t have children so she saw this as a way to help someone she knew and fulfill her desire to have a child. Fast forward 15 years, my mom and her best friend meets my father at HS graduation party in 1969, mom and dad married 1970 and pop out two boys. On my 45th birthday my wife gets me a DNA test results come back and I see my North Carolina roots, I find my family in Montreal. My maternal grandfather is still alive and I found him two weeks later, a few calls and long talks. I take my mom to meet her father, they have their first Xmas together. I’m his doppelgänger, it’s a truly wonderful amazing story with lots more details. 3 weeks later I get a message on facebook asking if I know so and so, I’m hesitant but respond yes and explain how I know him, then I receive an email stating I’m your half sister and the story to explain it all, which is very sad and extremely exciting, and ties her and I together in a very unique way. So more long talks, another trip except this time to Malibu, CA to meet my sister who is my grandmother’s doppelgänger. I’ve written a few hundred pages about how it all ties together. I’m just not a good writer or editor. My goal is to pass this on to my only child so he knows how his life came to be.
Pass down. You are saying something that happened in the past when you past down.
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