At first, you'll think, "I can't do that," but keep reading.
My Dad, who went to UGA and met my mom there in the early fifties, is the reason I love the Dawgs. He attended games throughout the fifties, when the team was awful, and up until he was physically unable. Huge, huge fan and supporter. He doesn't have a lot of time left now, is all but blind and nearly deaf, but a couple of years ago I told him I was going to help him publish his memoir. As I said, keep reading. We did, and the cover is shown below, but you don't have to write anything. It's all about spending committed time to sit with your dad and hear his life story, to an extent you've likely never done. I had heard this tale and that, in a disconnected way, but there was so much I hadn't known.
On a given weeknight once per week, I would go over with a $25 digital recorder, place it near him, and ask him questions to get him started. He talked all through his life, from his earliest memories, to childhood stories I'd never heard, to the hilarious story of how he met Mom while locked in a jail cell just over the South Carolina line while running booze (she came with his roommate, whom she was dating, to bail him out), to his work life, how hard he worked to advance and then to start his own business, to family and church involvement.
I did take the tapes with me and get it all in print, and placed a copy in his hands for Father's Day. Has pictures in it and his full story. BUT the point of the exercise was that I knew he needed to walk through his life again, revisit everything one more time (just as I needed and wanted to hear it). As in the old Jimmy Stewart movie, he needed to see "it really was a wonderful life."
Mom passed away in '09. There's really been very little to feel good about since then, though I know he enjoyed the championship. I can say I saw traces of the old Dad again as he told his stories. That he came to life. And I don't think anything could have accomplished that in a deeper way than simply sitting with him, listening, asking, laughing, and affirming the good times he'd had. And someday, when he's gone, we'll have this record of his life. By the way you can upload your book to Amazon and have it published free. You would just need to get a transcript of the interviews.
My Dad, who went to UGA and met my mom there in the early fifties, is the reason I love the Dawgs. He attended games throughout the fifties, when the team was awful, and up until he was physically unable. Huge, huge fan and supporter. He doesn't have a lot of time left now, is all but blind and nearly deaf, but a couple of years ago I told him I was going to help him publish his memoir. As I said, keep reading. We did, and the cover is shown below, but you don't have to write anything. It's all about spending committed time to sit with your dad and hear his life story, to an extent you've likely never done. I had heard this tale and that, in a disconnected way, but there was so much I hadn't known.
On a given weeknight once per week, I would go over with a $25 digital recorder, place it near him, and ask him questions to get him started. He talked all through his life, from his earliest memories, to childhood stories I'd never heard, to the hilarious story of how he met Mom while locked in a jail cell just over the South Carolina line while running booze (she came with his roommate, whom she was dating, to bail him out), to his work life, how hard he worked to advance and then to start his own business, to family and church involvement.
I did take the tapes with me and get it all in print, and placed a copy in his hands for Father's Day. Has pictures in it and his full story. BUT the point of the exercise was that I knew he needed to walk through his life again, revisit everything one more time (just as I needed and wanted to hear it). As in the old Jimmy Stewart movie, he needed to see "it really was a wonderful life."
Mom passed away in '09. There's really been very little to feel good about since then, though I know he enjoyed the championship. I can say I saw traces of the old Dad again as he told his stories. That he came to life. And I don't think anything could have accomplished that in a deeper way than simply sitting with him, listening, asking, laughing, and affirming the good times he'd had. And someday, when he's gone, we'll have this record of his life. By the way you can upload your book to Amazon and have it published free. You would just need to get a transcript of the interviews.
