Almost every day my daughter asks me to tell her a childhood story. Today we were driving in Rocky Mountain National Park and she says, "Tell me a childhood story of when you were in the mountains." Of course, I've told her that story before because when I was little I only went to the mountains one time. But she doesn't mind.
So, I tell her about driving all night across Kansas to arrive first thing in the morning at the mountains in Colorado Springs. I tell her about losing our car muffler on a cattle guard as we were driving up Pikes Peak, and then spending hours at the muffler repair shop later that day. I tell her about when my brother fell out of the pop-up camper. He then walked around and knocked on the door to come back inside shocking my mom who never knew he was missing. And, of course, when we all threw up from bad water at the campground in South Dakota. We could even hear our camping neighbors up sick all night as well. Oh, the memories. Yes, it was a great vacation when I was 9 years old - the same age that my daughter is right now.
I've always told my kids stories about when I was growing up, and it seems to give them comfort. Comfort knowing that I made mistakes just like they do. Comfort knowing I remember and maybe understand what it's like to be 9 years old. Stories are a chance to teach lessons we've learned so maybe they don't have to learn the same way. Stories can just be fun. Sometimes when my daughter has a hard day or something funny that has happened to her she will say, "Now I have a story to tell my kids." I love that!
I love childhood stories. I guess because at heart I am still the same person I was at 10 years old or 16 years old or 4 years old. And I love to hear other people's stories, especially those that I love.
Do you tell family stories? Do you write them down? Scrapbook? Keep a journal?
Tell Me a Childhood Story
