Listen with your heart.

 

Elder Stories

“When an elder is gone, a library burns to the ground.”

African Proverb

          At “Harry’s Coffee Klatch” Friday, we talked about veterans. We had fathers who fought in World War II, but those vets did not talk much about their experience in the war—perhaps, if they survived and made it home, they did not want to remember what happened. The “glory of the greatest generation” is our version of their story, not theirs. They knew the true hell of war, not the romantic, heroic version. Getting elders to talk about their lives is not always easy—especially the traumatic parts. As an elder now, there are parts of my life I do not want to revisit, even as stories. I wonder whether you feel that way too.

When I asked my mother questions about her life, she told me, “Oh, Jane, that was so long ago. I don’t’ remember.” If I did manage to drag a story out of her, it was mostly about other people, “Uncle Jerry was a better dancer than your daddy,” she told me sheepishly. “I really enjoyed dancing with him more.” Mother was a great dancer—the jitterbug, back in the days of the big bands. She loved to watch me dance, too, though she never said that directly. She would just put some music on the record player, knowing that I could not help dancing to it. American Bandstand was an everyday staple in our house. It was how I learned new dances. She watched it too but did not dance to the music.

So, here’s the thing—even if you can only get your elders to talk about other people, they are telling you something about themselves. Mother was a woman of her time. She only experienced herself in relationship to the people she loved—the roles she played in our family. Unlike women of today, who have their own interests and careers, she did not have a separate life, so “tell me a story about yourself” simply did not compute. Also, she loved to dance, but only as a young person—it was like play, which in her mind was relegated to childhood. Once one took on the responsibility of raising a family, they “put away childish things.” She lived vicariously through her husband and children. And apparently, she always had a little tingle for Daddy’s brother—and who could blame her. He was one handsome devil!

All of our elders are like great libraries. Their lives often cross two centuries. My own grandmothers “courted” in horse and buggy but lived to see the space age. They lived through the great depression, several wars, the civil rights era and the assassinations of the Kennedy’s and Dr. King. I’ll bet your elders are troves of information and wonderful stories, too. I hope you ask as many questions as possible. They may not answer your questions directly, but if you listen closely, they will still tell you their story. Listen with your heart—and, by all means, take notes.

                                        In the Spirit,

                                        Jane