I think it was Sue William Silverman, an American memoirist and writing instructor who said, "To write a good memoir, write about what you don’t want people to know about you. To write a great memoir, write about what you don’t want to know about yourself."
Hard to click "like" after reading this one. Took a lot of courage to write and honesty to reveal. So hard to imagine the depth of feelings then and now. How very sad.
Thank you, Joan. It's taken 20 years plus to finish this essay. Each time, I found another truth I was avoiding. I'm sure there are still blindspots in my refelction.
Thoughtful as usual, and moving to the reader! This piece reminds me of all the sweet Southern boys who had to hide in those days, who were made impotent in their guilt and shame for being just what they were. You are opening doors for those of us who observed but were unable to help. We never knew how hard it was. We had the refuge of the old saw, "There but for the grace of God go I!" And we kept our distance. Thank you for calling us out.
I always imagined, as a young, voracious reader, that I would be the courageous character, the one who spoke up for those who felt voiceless— the one who would risk humiliation, exile, injury, even death— to do the right thing. I was never really tested in my life as a Midwestern, middle class white person. I’ve played it safe. I can post political memes without facing the people who disagree with me. I hang out in an echo chamber with people who think as I do about politics, climate, culture and social justice.
I don’t mean to excuse you to say, You weren’t safe, but you weren’t safe. It makes me think of my mom’s two brothers who drowned together at the ages of 7 and 9 in 1936 during a heat wave. There was a drop-off in the lake they waded into for some respite. One reached to the other for help, but neither knew how to swim.
You are courageous every day in a way so many of us never have to be. Thank you for your stories.
I think it was Sue William Silverman, an American memoirist and writing instructor who said, "To write a good memoir, write about what you don’t want people to know about you. To write a great memoir, write about what you don’t want to know about yourself."
Well and courageously done, Jon!
That's a great quote, Kevin. There is a door to the the basement we'd rather keep locked.
Such a starkly honest essay, Jon. One that needs to be read—and heeded—as badly as it needed to be written. Thank you.
Thank you, Vikki. that means much coming from you. When can i get a copy of your memoir? Will it be on Amazon soon?
Deep Roots, Broken Branches is on Amazon and advertised as forthcoming Feb 2025. I hope you’ll find it half as interesting as I find yours!
Hard to click "like" after reading this one. Took a lot of courage to write and honesty to reveal. So hard to imagine the depth of feelings then and now. How very sad.
Thank you, Joan. It's taken 20 years plus to finish this essay. Each time, I found another truth I was avoiding. I'm sure there are still blindspots in my refelction.
Thoughtful as usual, and moving to the reader! This piece reminds me of all the sweet Southern boys who had to hide in those days, who were made impotent in their guilt and shame for being just what they were. You are opening doors for those of us who observed but were unable to help. We never knew how hard it was. We had the refuge of the old saw, "There but for the grace of God go I!" And we kept our distance. Thank you for calling us out.
Thank you for saying that, Mary Lois. You bless a tragedy wiht meaing.
I always imagined, as a young, voracious reader, that I would be the courageous character, the one who spoke up for those who felt voiceless— the one who would risk humiliation, exile, injury, even death— to do the right thing. I was never really tested in my life as a Midwestern, middle class white person. I’ve played it safe. I can post political memes without facing the people who disagree with me. I hang out in an echo chamber with people who think as I do about politics, climate, culture and social justice.
I don’t mean to excuse you to say, You weren’t safe, but you weren’t safe. It makes me think of my mom’s two brothers who drowned together at the ages of 7 and 9 in 1936 during a heat wave. There was a drop-off in the lake they waded into for some respite. One reached to the other for help, but neither knew how to swim.
You are courageous every day in a way so many of us never have to be. Thank you for your stories.
oh, wow! Thank you! My guess is you do things, naturally, without a thought, that others see as courageous. Don't sell yourself short.
Thanks, Jon. I hope that’s true!