My dad was a storyteller. My mom used to say that interesting things just happened to him, but I don't think that was the case. He paid attention to things that happened and thought about them and saw the humor where it might be and turned his life experience into a story. He shared his stories with the people around him.
When my dad was alive, I used to tell him stories back. I know this because after he died I experienced a keen sense of lose when something happened and I wanted so much to tell my dad the story and I couldn't. Well, I could, but I couldn't hear his chuckle and his comment and the story it reminded him of from his own life.
I have come to realize that my interest in blogs, both reading and writing them, had to do with telling stories. I am happier and more together when I can see my life in stories and reflect upon it. Otherwise I find myself wandering through the days wondering what I did and what I should have been paying attention to. For me, my life has more meaning when I see the stories evolving within it.
The Author of Life wrote my story and I am here to tell it. It is a lesson that I learned from my father.
2 beautiful thought{s}:
What a sweet legacy he has left.
Mary,
I found your blog by following the link from the Community of Catholic Bloggers. I have been enjoying your stories very much. I am like you: I see stories in my own life. As I write them, I reflect. They all have meaning.
Did your father ever write down his stories? Or perhaps you can do it?
God bless!
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