Crafting a Life Story for a Selected Audience

I started crafting my life story for a select audience early in life.

A parallel story line followed me through my growing up years, but I never told the stories until years later.

Once I graduated from college and left Los Angeles, I never lived closer than 350 miles to my parents.

My father used to gaze through his telescope at Long Beach Naval Shipyard and wonder why his son-in-law couldn’t get a job there.

The Long Beach shipyard did not work on submarines and my father knew that, but still, it was galling to watch the Navy ships sail in and out and know his daughter and grandchildren had to live far, far away.

Phone calls helped

We didn’t have a lot of extra money and in those days telephone calls were expensive.

My mother eventually figured out the reason I seldom called had to do with finances, not disinterest, and so she called me.

Every Sunday afternoon or evening depending on our particular coast at the time. One of us was either making the traditional Sunday spaghetti dinner or cleaning up.

I loved the freedom of talking to my mother because she wanted to know everything–particularly every detail about her grandchildren.

Bragging to her of the children’s brilliance only encouraged her enthusiasm.

I could ask for child rearing advice because I knew she had their best interests at heart. I could tell of my disappointments or discouragements because I knew she would not hold it against me or those grandchildren.

We talked over the phone in ways we seldom did face-to-face. My mother became my friend when I finally grew up enough to recognize I didn’t know it all.

Those phone calls were lifelines in the early years when my husband routinely spent months at sea and I lived with two small children on a granite slab without any neighbors.

I could tell my mother about my fears, how I wanted to raise my children, and the ways I cut pennies to the bone to stay home with them.

She understood our life very well and often would send “care packages” of fun for the boys and me. We all were thrilled when the UPS man arrived with a surprise package.

I miss those boxes full of silly fun.

Preparing all week for the conversation

Knowing I’d have an engaged audience on Sunday afternoons, changed the way I saw my day-to-day life. Each event became a series of scenes in the greater play of existence.

“Boy,” I’d think when something noticeable occured, “Mom’s going to love this story when I tell her.”

If the unusual occured early enough in the week, say on Monday or Tuesday, I’d rehearse the tale all week long.

I learned a lot about timing and pacing by figuring out how to present my little melodramas in the most interesting ways.

I needed to keep my select audience amused.

My mom’s sense of humor was not as advanced or honed as my husband’s, so if my mother laughed, I knew my husband would guffaw.

I’d write letters to him on Sunday nights.

I had to craft my personal stories, however, because there were corners of my life my parents didn’t want to know about.

They didn’t really approve of my church-going enthusiasm and did not want to hear about spiritual experiences.

Careful crafting

My days were wrapped up in small children and most of my friends were from church or Bible study, censorship intervened. I had to plot out what I would say and how. I sought to keep her interest.  But I also wanted her to hear what was  most important to me after my children and sea-going husband.

Curious how the need to watch 60 Minutes would interrupt those particular tales of derring do. “Look at the time,” she’d say, and I knew I’d stretched my chance too far.

One day my mother died unexpectedly and much too soon.

Sunday afternoons rang empty.

No more surprise boxes came.

I’d lost my audience.

That first year after her death I often caught myself on Sunday afternoons puzzled Mom hadn’t called.

I always had my stories ready.

How it helped my writing

The cadence and rhythm that forms the crafting of tales is imbedded into my daily life by so many years in the telling.

I still see the events of my daily life within the context of plots and minor subplots, characters and dialogue.

Timing and pacing are important, and so is tailoring the telling to fit the ears of the listener.

Unfortunately, I’ve had to find a different audience.

For whom do you craft the story of your life? When you mentally replay your daily events, whose face or voice are you presenting them to?

Does it make a difference?