In
my own experience, I can recall several occurrences that fit this theme, but my
first recollection of leaving something behind brings me to age
nine--June, 1961. My fourth grade school year had been filled with birthday
parties, good grades, delighted parents, a supportive church family and a group
of girlfriends with whom a special bond had formed.
This
final day of the school year at Hudson Elementary School in North Carolina was
particularly significant because my life, as I had known it, was forever
changing. On that sunny day in June, I was armed with my boxy, black Brownie
camera, enthusiastically taking photos of my best friends Debra Craig, Kathy
Kincaid, and my cousin Ann Jackson. I wanted to be able to remember them just
the way they were.
Mom,
my sister Pat and I packed our remaining clothing into suitcases and in two
days would be setting out on a long distance adventure. We were moving to
Arizona from North Carolina, and Dad was already there working and settling our
newly rented home, anxiously awaiting our arrival by train into the Flagstaff
railroad station.
Although
I was nine years old, one of my prized possessions was a curly-haired,
brunette, toddler-sized doll named Connie. Her height equaled about half of my
skinny little frame, so transporting her from one location to another could
present special challenges. In spite of the logistical difficulties, I
stubbornly refused to allow Connie to be packed into the U-Haul trailer that
Dad drove across the country. I simply couldn’t part with her for the two month
period that we would be separated.
With
every intention of taking Connie with me on the long train ride, I struggled to
carry her along with other belongings as we walked through the train station on
our departure day. Mom was envisioning the difficulties that Connie would
present during this trip that would take us all the way to Chicago, where we
would change trains and board the sleek, modern Super Chief to transport us to
Arizona. Where would Connie sit? She was large enough to take up a seat of her
own, and Mom wasn’t about to pay for Connie to occupy a passenger seat.
My
Aunt Judy and younger cousin, Debbie, were there to bid us farewell, and Mom gently
approached me with a suggestion. “Honey,” she began. “Why don’t we give Connie
a new home with Debbie and Aunt Judy? You know they will take very good care of
her.”
I
frowned, firmly pursed my lips, and gave Connie a loving glance. Somehow, even
at the tender age of nine, I knew that Mom was right. After lugging this
toddler doll all over the train station, I was well aware that dragging her
across the country was going to be a daunting task.
“I’ll
give her to Debbie,” I reluctantly conceded. The look on Mom’s face was total
relief.
Perhaps
somewhere deep inside, I realized that I was reaching an age where being
attached to toddler dolls was for younger girls and it was time to pursue
other, more mature interests. That was the day I began to write in my red,
locking, five year diary. It was the day I said goodbye to my former life and
friends, left Connie behind (albeit in good hands) and discovered that it was
actually fun and entertaining to write about life.
As you write your own "Left Behind" memory, take time to consider:
What
is the background story?
What
did you leave behind?
What
were you feeling?
What
was the ultimate impact?
Wishing you the best with your memoir project,
Mary Anne Benedetto
Author of Eyelash, 7 Easy Steps to Memoir
Writing: Build a Priceless Legacy One Story at a Time!, Never Say
Perfect, From Italy with Love & Limoncello and Write Your
Pet's Life Story in 7 Easy Steps!
No comments:
Post a Comment