Stories

We sat in my grandpa’s garage and talked. It was a horrible event -- my grandpa’s funeral. He’d held family dinners in that garage. There were so many people that they wouldn’t fit in the house, so he set up tables out where he usually parked the cars, where he fixed musical instruments and where he kept his golf clubs. He wanted all the family together all the time. And he held the family together, even toward the end when family was splitting apart (sometimes by distance and sometimes by resistance). In his death, Grandpa brought us all back. And in his garage after the celebration of his life, we had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no smart phones to steal each other’s attention ... We told stories about him, about our pasts, about anything. And we did it for hours. That’s everything to me. What’s everything to you?

Telling stories

You’re with friends out late on a Friday or Saturday night at a 24-hour diner, or you’re with family for the holidays or even a funeral, and you’re all taking turns telling stories. Stories that start with “One time . . .” Stories everyone in the group has experienced together and you’re remembering the incident fondly together, laughing at what you all survived. Or they’re stories that teach you a little something you didn’t know about a family member. Funny stories. Sad stories. Silly stories. You have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. You don’t want it to end. That’s everything to me. What’s everything to you?