fascinating. So many stories like that get lost. When people that was part of your history die, a part of yourself die too. There are so many beautiful family stories that just vanish together with their family member. I always thought that in the end we would use social networks like Facebook for something like that: A timeline of our lives, with pictures, photos, thoughts, that our next generations could actually learn about their grandparents in an almost interactive way. I would love to know that my grandkids could just search for my name and get to know me as I was.
My dad has kept an entry in calendars or date books of short recaps of every day since he was in college. I have done the same using something called a 5 year journal. Not journal entries though, just quick hits of the day. It is really fun to be able to look back at every day and read what happened. One day I need to digitize my dads entries, and maybe store them all so they can be filtered by date. Like read every entry for June 20th.
If you have children or nephews and nieces I’m sure they will benefit from the effort you are putting in, as well as the benefit you receive.
I remember being very impressed when reading a biography somewhere online of Alexander Grothendeick, that it was a family tradition to keep biographies on ancestors, so he had this knowledge as well. I know very little of my great grandparents, and nothing beyond them, which I am sure is common in the United States.
I like how they get distorted and mixed up. Putting them down in words, or pictures, or videos, turns a memory full of potential into the dull reality.
There is beauty in ephemerality. There is beauty in chaos and embellishments.
even if it is true, somehow many parts of your history don't make it through..
Based on my own experience: My mom died in January. Lot of our own family stories, just died with her. Her brothers died before her, so as she died, a whole part of our family history died. Stuff that we remembered while in the Christmas table, like when she was kid with her brothers, and the big city was like a village, and they could climb all the trees where today are just skyscrapers. or the little things that me and my sister used to do while children.. Sure I can pass it partially forward, but it's not the same.
Maybe the question that I still don't have answer for, and it is totally related with that is: How can I keep a website running (almost) forever?
Submissions by dang are relatively rare so that was the thing that piqued my interest as I was skimming the front page. I loved the article, it’s a true character sketch done in 3D, so to speak, and not reduced to how the person has passed was good, a la the classic eulogy format. The “warts and all” approach of portraying a steadfast person reminded me of Saul Bellow’s story “A Silver Dish”.
I feel for the son’s frustration in the end about the inability to communicate with his father, to be understood and, perhaps, be appreciated by him; the gulf between their world views seems too large for that. My own father was a gambler and charmer, I’m as far removed from him as this Indian religion sage is to his Methodist schoolteacher father.
Yet I still remember him because he helped make me, even if being an example of what not to be.
I was interested in how the author describes his father’s philosophy of wanting to let his children make up their own mind, then later seems to take no interest in the interest/life work of his child outside of how it related to the bubble of England. If I understand him, he is sad but understands and “gives up” his father at the end.
He obviously still very much cares about his father and his legacy, as he admits being underwhelmed with the minister’s eulogy and eight years later writes this tribute. It feels like a half-finished thought writing this out. I’m not sure there is a bigger lesson to be easily drawn other than people are complicated and the ways we are influenced and try to influence are hard to understand.
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[ 1.8 ms ] story [ 44.6 ms ] threadI remember being very impressed when reading a biography somewhere online of Alexander Grothendeick, that it was a family tradition to keep biographies on ancestors, so he had this knowledge as well. I know very little of my great grandparents, and nothing beyond them, which I am sure is common in the United States.
I like how they get distorted and mixed up. Putting them down in words, or pictures, or videos, turns a memory full of potential into the dull reality.
There is beauty in ephemerality. There is beauty in chaos and embellishments.
Based on my own experience: My mom died in January. Lot of our own family stories, just died with her. Her brothers died before her, so as she died, a whole part of our family history died. Stuff that we remembered while in the Christmas table, like when she was kid with her brothers, and the big city was like a village, and they could climb all the trees where today are just skyscrapers. or the little things that me and my sister used to do while children.. Sure I can pass it partially forward, but it's not the same.
Maybe the question that I still don't have answer for, and it is totally related with that is: How can I keep a website running (almost) forever?
I feel for the son’s frustration in the end about the inability to communicate with his father, to be understood and, perhaps, be appreciated by him; the gulf between their world views seems too large for that. My own father was a gambler and charmer, I’m as far removed from him as this Indian religion sage is to his Methodist schoolteacher father.
Yet I still remember him because he helped make me, even if being an example of what not to be.
I was interested in how the author describes his father’s philosophy of wanting to let his children make up their own mind, then later seems to take no interest in the interest/life work of his child outside of how it related to the bubble of England. If I understand him, he is sad but understands and “gives up” his father at the end.
He obviously still very much cares about his father and his legacy, as he admits being underwhelmed with the minister’s eulogy and eight years later writes this tribute. It feels like a half-finished thought writing this out. I’m not sure there is a bigger lesson to be easily drawn other than people are complicated and the ways we are influenced and try to influence are hard to understand.