My Real Memoir
Stories are my soulmate. True, humans of the female persuasion staked a claim for my affections early on. But I honestly can’t remember when I wasn’t in love with stories. Maybe it was telling myself far-fetched tales about myself on the musty un-stuffed armchair in our garage, or daydreaming aloud in the branches of a gnarled fig tree in my “Daymom” Frieda’s magical orchard. Or maybe it was snuggling in between Mommandad as they read to me out of a gigantic children’s storybook before tucking me in at night. Mom, Dad, Books – there was no distinction. All three meant love.
Even now, as an “ever so much more than twenty”-year-old whose parents are no longer present, I share a co-soulmates story relationship with my wife, an even bigger bookaholic than me. Trudy and I read aloud together on our very first date forty years ago. And we still do. Every. Single. Day.
From the start, I discovered stories (books and movies) had magical power. As a kid, I spent whole weekends reading straight through books like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, The Call of the Wild and The Three Musketeers. Or “reading movies” (stories I’d first encountered on screen) like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Time Machine. By my teens, stories like The Once and Future King, Dune, I Am Legend, The Lord of the Rings and Flowers for Algernon were taking me places I could never have gone without them. And later still, books like Cry the Beloved Country, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, The Great Gatsby, Native Son and Catcher in the Rye would broaden my understanding of what it means to be human. And finally, books by writers like C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, and Evelyn Underhill would alter the very trajectory of my life.
In anticipation of Othello, our final play of my junior year (photo above), Mr. Baker took us to see a filmed version. I fell madly in love with William Shakespeare, and wanted more than ever to be a bard like him. So I began writing “deep” i.e. indecipherable and inventively-spelled stream-of-consciousness poems, four of which appeared in our school’s literary journal. One, “Green Thoughts,” stirred a good deal of discussion about its “hidden meaning” (note yearbook quote above). Sadly, we’ll never have a definitive answer because even the author no longer has a copy of that lost literary masterpiece.
Several decades later, I wore an enormous dadsmile for a week after my oldest was cast as Kate in their school’s production of The Taming of the Shrew, announced they’d fallen “madly in love” with Shakespeare, and began writing…
Gorgeously indecipherable poems!
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Reading aloud is the best. I read to my kids every night until they told me to stop – each of them at about age 12. It’s wonderful to hear of a couple who each read to the other.
Reading aloud and discussing “our books” is one of the joys of our life together.
Ah, sweet memories of youth . . .
“…you can drown in the steamy vomit of death….” Very poetic, Mitch! I actually love this part of your poem “Attack and Escape.” It’s so full of youthful aspiration that somehow led to Shakespeare. Kudos for passing on your Shakespearean genes to your daughter. 🙂
;>) Thanks, Nancy.
Ahhh…Flowers for Algernon. One of the greatest stories during my youth. What an impression it made upon me. Lord of the Rings, wonderful. The joy of books. Thanks for sharing.
My pleasure, Andi.
I’m not sure why, but as a child and teenager I did not like reading at all. But once into my twenties and the addiction took over. I have read all of Dickens (including his letters from America and Europe), Jane Austen, Wilkie Collins, Some Walter Scott, Tolkein (The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Book of Lost Tales and more), Much of C.S. Lewis, and so much more. Reading can transport you right out of your troubles and the sometimes monotony of daily life into anywhere you want to go. I’m getting close to 80 now, and am still reading, sometimes rereading what I have already read.
There’s much to be said for re-reading! Lewis recommended re-reading an old favorite between each new book.
I recently reread all of Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. My memory is so bad that in almost every case, I was in as much suspense on the reread as I’d been on the initial read.
;>) (Mine too, BoB.)
This is a wonderful read of your love for literature and then your daughter. Yes, reading aloud a story is still important however old we get. I have unfortunately fallen in love with audible, but alternatives to Amazon linked listening books are hard to find.
I don’t listen to audio books currently, but used to a great deal–and relished it–when I was travelling 150 miles a day between my home and the two colleges I taught at.
Yes, audio is great for long journeys.
Loving that you love reading so much, it’s probably why you’re such a great writer. I smiled seeing “MomandDad” as one word, that’s really beautiful xx
Aw, thanks, Janet!
I read voluminously the summer before my freshman year in college. It started a love affair with the written word I have never relinquished. I get it Mitch. Beautiful essay.
I get that. And thank you, Bob.
Books have been a huge part of my life too, Mitch. You are a man of many talents, my friend.
Aw, thank you, Kellye.
I’ve also always loved reading. But your poems were better than mine, whether their meaning was apparent or not!
Thanks, I think, Ann. I cringe a little when I read them now.
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Thanks for sharing your writing/reading journey!
My pleasure, C!
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