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Family Stories Tip #1: Just Start

12/23/2014

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PictureRockin' the latkes!
Last week I spoke to Chabad Santa Fe's women's group on the subject of collecting family stories.

Since it was their annual Hanukah party, the evening started with latkes (potato pancakes) and sufganiyot (jelly donuts), and other yummies to commemorate the “miracle of the oil” that marks the holiday. Children lit the menorah and sang traditional songs, so the celebration was anchored — as holidays are in all cultures — by food, music and ritual.

The rabbi’s wife had prepared a talk on the meaning of Hanukah, but so many women wanted to share childhood memories of Hanukah that she yielded her time to their impromptu stories.

One woman recalled wanting a Christmas tree so badly that she managed to get herself invited to all her friends’ houses so she could decorate their trees. A retired teacher told of introducing multiculturalism in her Texas school’s celebrations. A woman wore her mother’s “Hanukah vest,” embroidered with menorahs and dreidels, to honor the woman died at this time of year and remembering the lessons she gave her.

All this of course primed the pump for my talk. Since I know how daunting it can be to capture a family member’s life on paper, I always try to keep my suggestions upbeat. I emphasize that any stories we gather are more than we would have otherwise, to focus on the possibilities.

But at the end of the evening, a woman put her hand on my arm as her eyes welled with tears. “I wish I’d asked my father more about growing up in Vienna before the Holocaust,” she said. “I never got a chance, and now those stories are gone.” I could tell from the weight of her word “gone” that there were no other living family members who could tell her more about her father before she was born.

This is a blunt truth about family stories: They won’t be here forever. Family names and birth dates may exist in genealogical databases, but the stories only live while the people do, unless we get them down.

My mom’s mother was the family Wikipedia. She could name everyone in the family photo albums, tell us how they were related, and share anecdotes about them, until shortly before her body gave out at 99. Then access to the Grandma database was closed.

Which leads me to the first of the four suggestions I outlined in my last post:

Start anywhere you want, but start.

* People don’t live forever, and memories don’t last forever. Don’t wait for the perfect time or place to ask your family members to tell you their stories. Pick a good-enough time and place, and jump in.  

* Choose a spot where your relative will be comfortable. For some, this will be alone with you in the living room. Others will be more talkative around the dinner table at a family meal.  

* Decide what period of your relative’s life you most want to know about. Childhood? First impressions of America? Starting a family? Surviving a particular familial or political event? Start there.

* Prepare a preliminary list of questions, but allow it to change. One memory will lead to another, most certainly not in chronological order. Let them flow. You can decide later how to put them in order.

* Objects can trigger memories: photo albums, family heirlooms, clothing, recipes, kitchen utensils.

* Everyone has memories of food! What types of foods did they eat as a child? What foods did they want but couldn't have? What foods did they miss when they left home?

* Ask about milestones: Coming to America. The birth of their children. When they met their spouse. Death of a parent. World events.

* Ask about traditions: How did they commemorate holidays, deaths, births, weddings, coming-of-age?

* Ask what they know about their parents and ancestors, how long they lived in the old country, or origins of the family name.

To start, you don't even need to set up a formal interview. If Grandma launches a great story in the kitchen as she’s making meatballs, pull out your smart phone and hit the start button on the recorder, or scribble notes on a napkin. Seize the moment.

Your loved one’s stories will take you on a journey you can’t map out before you start. Hang on and enjoy the ride.


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Playback

4/7/2014

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PicturePortrait of the journalist as a young woman
I love John McPhee’s periodic series “The Writing Life,” in the New Yorker. His most recent, “Elicitation” (April 7, 2014) is about all about the art of interviewing: tips, confessions, anecdotes and ethics. Jewels of the trade, like: To tape-record or not? (“Yes, but maybe not as a first choice—more like a relief pitcher.”) How much to prepare in advance? (“At a minimum, enough to be polite.”) How to get the most succinct reply from your interviewee? (Keep asking your question. “Who is going to care if you seem dumber than a cardboard box?")

I wish I’d had an article like this when I started out as a shy young reporter for the Montgomery County Sentinel, where I worked for a few years between high school and college. I could write decently but had little experience, so I was assigned lightweight human-interest stories: the father and daughter who were members of the volunteer fire department; the man celebrating his hundredth birthday who credited his long life to “wine, women and oysters.”

One of my first assignments was to interview a young priest who volunteered at a big public high school as an ad hoc counselor, informally making himself available to anyone who wanted to talk. He was personable and kind, barely older than the students—or me. He was also a dream interviewee. He practically dictated the article, slowly down when he knew he was delivering a good quote. This interviewing business is cake, I thought.

If only.

More often than not I’d stare nervously at my telephone, which in our crowded newsroom was only a few feet from the telephone of a reporter with decades more experience than I, before making a call.

Not being an investigative journalist (which The Sentinel still proudly employed) I didn’t often find myself in hostile situations, though tension sometimes arose unexpectedly. I remember an octogenarian woman who had lived on the same street in Rockville her whole life. My editor wanted a charming account of the changes this woman had seen in her hometown. I found a cranky, bigoted woman who didn’t want to talk and had nothing positive to say about the development in her neighborhood, where now “You have to go 'round Robin Hood’s barn to get anywhere.” But then, I’d never heard that expression before, which made the interview worth it.

Interviewing a close family member, as I did for “Farewell, Aleppo,” poses whole other challenges. English is my father’s fourth or fifth language, and until hearing him on a tape recorder I’d never noticed the slight irregularities of his syntax, which I tried to smooth out without losing a sense of him and his background. His tendency was to downplay his experiences, which in his mind were just about doing what needed to be done, while I had to determine how to play them up without making Dad feel he appeared boastful.

Years of conducting interviews have given me lessons in efficiency and confidence, yet each interview is unique. An interviewee is not just raw material that we have the liberty to shape to our needs but a unique collection of stories, memories, lessons learned, regrets, wishes and second chances. Our challenge is to evoke them as faithfully, as respectfully, as possible, whether we love them or endure them, whether we have known them our whole life or just for the length of a phone call.

“[T]he writer has the responsibility to be fair to the subject, who trustingly and perhaps unwittingly delivers words and story into the writer’s control,” McPhee says. “Some people are so balanced, self-possessed, and confident that they couldn’t care less what some ragmaker says about them, but they are in a minority among people who put their lives in your hands.”


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    Author

    Claudette E. Sutton is the author of “Farewell, Aleppo: My Father, My People, and Their Long Journey Home,” published in 2014 by Terra Nova Books. She is also the editor and publisher of Tumbleweeds, an award-winning quarterly newspaper for families in Santa Fe, New Mexico, that she created in 1995. She lives in Santa Fe with her husband, son and cat.

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