It was one of those family-gathering occasions, the kind where the house is filled with laughter and conversations and at least two children running wild. And at some point during the evening, Malcolm—our youngest grand—found “the books”. Many of you have probably been gifted with them over the years . . . the ones that chronicle a year in someone’s life, usually (at least for us) a grandchild. We have four, one for Wilson, one for Anderson, one for Cora, and one for Malcolm, and each one covers their first 365 days on the planet.
To say Malcolm was fascinated would be putting it mildly. After all, he was getting a peek into the infancy of his cousins. From birth to the first celebration of that day and all the milestones in between. And plenty of pictures that looked very little like the people he knows today.
But the book that intrigued him the most was his own, because it was his story. His pictures with his family and all the things he had experienced during his first year (including being covered in green icing from his birthday cake that promptly made a second appearance—point to remember, too much sugar can be a problem).
At the end of the evening, as everyone was preparing to depart for their respective homes, Malcolm asked if he could take his book with him. He wasn’t finished looking at it and reading the stories that accompanied the multitude of little Malcolm pictures. Of course I let him. I’m sure it will come back home someday . . .
Aren’t we all curious about our stories? Where we came from and how we got to where we are and everything that happened in between? I don’t just mean for your life, but all the lives that came before you, that shaped the world as you know it. That’s why so many people are taking DNA tests. They want to know their history. It’s why so many people are interested in genealogy. Where did their ancestors call home? And who were those ancestors? What was their story and how did it impact ours?
The biggest problem with all of that is that often we don’t ask the questions until it’s too late to find the answers. As in the person with the information is no longer able to share with the class. So, at a time of year when family seems even more important than ever, take a minute to share your story. Even if it’s just a handwritten letter recounting events you remember from days gone by. It doesn’t have to be flashy or professional with pictures and documentation. It doesn’t even have to be exciting (although you might be surprised at how amazed your family members might be). Put it down on paper. Record it on your phone. Set up a file on your computer. The how doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you take the time to tell your family your story . . . because your story is the foundation for theirs. And that makes it magical.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
