Yesterday, at my daughter's bridal shower, we sat in a circle and spoke about our parents' weddings: what we had been told and how we felt about the story. It was a lovely moment of right speech, with everyone listening intently to each story, and marveling at the variety and circumstances of each. For some of us my age, our parents married in wartime, and that seems strange to us now. For my daughter's friends, some of them knew a great deal about the wedding, some very little. I wonder if it will spur them on to asking details while their parents are still alive. I wish I'd asked questions of my parents. Did my mother have a coursage? It's not in the photo. Were they married in the midwest by their families or on the border where my father was stationed? Did any family attend? Did they get any honeymoon? I have a couple of aunts and uncles I could ask.
What does it mean to speak of the origin of your family? Why are these stories important? We sense the import, but maybe cannot articulate it. One of my friends has already written about how much it meant to her to speak about her parents and hear others. She's gone on to write about it at some length. I hope she saves it for her two daughters, because they will want to know, either now or as they grow older. It's wonderful to have a record of life's markers. Our stories are what we pass down and they keep us alive in memory.
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