Monday, June 7, 2010

Tell Your Stories

Everyone loves a good story.

And children especially love a story.
Especially when it's about them.

Stories are the stuff of memories.
Of course your children don't remember the day they were born.

But you do.
And you can tell them the story of it--and it makes a memory for them.

Kids love to be able to say, "when I was little, I used to..."

Tell them the funny way they used to say certain words or phrases.
Tell them what the weather was like the day they were born.

You know what else kids love?
Stories about you.

It doesn't matter if you are their parent or not---kids love to hear what grown-ups did when they were younger.

It doesn't have to be a huge lesson learned "and so you see, son, that's when I learned to never, never, fill in the blank..."

It can be as simple as "I remember my mom always wore blue eyeshadow."
Either way it gives them a memory.

My kids love to hear about the stupid stuff I did when I was younger.
They really love to hear about the stupid stuff my brothers did when they were younger.
And, truth be told, they love to hear about the stupid stuff my brothers do now.
When they're not younger.

Like I said, it doesn't have to be anything earth-shattering.
Just tell them stuff.
Things like:
my Grandma Marjie used to say "oh honestly" when she was disgusted.
my dad used to call his cows "an ornery cuss" when he was frustrated with them. He never swore.
my mom really did used to wear blue eyeshadow.
we once tied my Grandpa Glen in a recliner with jump ropes. And people took pictures.
my dad wears cowboy boots with shorts to get a laugh out of the children.
I remember the time I touched an electric fence.
I remember the day one of our horses died.
I remember hitting my brother in the face with a baseball while playing catch.
I used to pronounce "island" by using the "s". Is-land. They couldn't convince me otherwise.
my brothers used to smoosh the face of my cabbage patch doll in, just to make me mad.
I had once been told (most likely by my brothers) that if a cat got wet, it would die. Once, when we were having some sort of hose fight on the lawn, my little kitty got sprinkled. It got sick and eventually died and I was certain my brothers had "killed her." Good grief. (Interestingly enough, or maybe not, I now really don't like cats. Go figure.)

Tell them how you got your nickname. My brothers call me "Lis" or "Lissa" to this day because they couldn't say Melissa when we were small. My dad also calls me Lis or Lissa, but I don't think it's for the same reason.
My brother's favorite shirt when he was a little boy had a tiger on it. His nickname was Tiger. I don't think anyone calls him that anymore.
He's a trucker who works with a bunch of men.
If they call him that, I'd have some serious concerns.

When my sister and I would put on a pair of sunglasses, my dad would call us "Miss Hollywood". He would also call us "Mrs. Magillicutty" but I don't remember why.

My dad would always say his favorite color was sky-blue-pink.
Speaking of colors, we had a fridge and stove in the 80's that my dad said were "calf scour gold". Nice.

So those are some of my stories.
My memories.
And now, my kids' memories.

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