My father-in-law passed away three years ago. My favorite times with him were our nonstop drives to Florida. On a few occasions, it was just the two of us in the van. Other times, we would keep each other awake while the crew slept away. He would talk about his adventures as a young man, the challenges of farming and his observations on life, faith, and politics.
One early morning near Dothan, Alabama, he was telling me a story about his first car, a 1957 Chevy Bel Air. He was lamenting how he wished he still had that car. I said, “You should write all this down. Your grandkids would love to hear this!”
He replied, “Nah! Nobody would want to read what I’ve written. It’s just everyday, common sense.”
I disagreed with him then. And today, I wish more than ever he would have heeded my advice. What he thought was just average, boring life in twentieth-century Ohio could have been a fascinating read to his great-grandchildren one day.
It makes me wonder what my great-grandparents were like. What was it like in nineteenth-century Indiana? What was it like for one of them to flee North Carolina because he was a Quaker and was threatened because he was against slavery? What was it like for another of my ancestors to survive the Civil War, The Battle of Stones River, and the Andersonville Prison Camp? Did some of my other ancestors have experiences that would have fascinated me?
I think about it when I write in my journal or type away at a blog entry. Maybe my life doesn’t seem exciting to me. Perhaps my observations look mundane to me. But I’ll keep writing. I’ll let the next generation determine that. I’m going to keep writing for myself, and maybe the generations following me.