Showing Ten Good Stories

Memoirist Nick Flynn writes: ‘A memoir is not simply stringing together the five or ten good stories you’ve been telling about your wacky childhood for your whole life, … you need to ask yourself why you’ve been telling those particular stories, and not the millions of others you could tell.’ That, writes Flynn, is the real question. Why do I tell this story and not another?

For me, collecting ten stories about my father was a place to begin. The stories were hard won because I’d blocked out so much of my childhood. Slowly I recalled stories about Dad that we kids had laughed over when he was out of the house. Also I began to recall stories that I told only myself. Over these I shed a private tear.

One day I took a mental walk through my parents’ house. All was going well until I got to the backyard where I remembered the weeping willow tree that had been cut down because our neighbour said it was ruining her water pipes. We were left with only the stump. The neighbour’s plumbing problems remained, and we’d lost the beautiful willow that had cast its magic over our garden.

Why would I tell this story, and not another?  It became a metaphor for one’s feelings about loss, and accommodating someone else’s needs without due discernment. For me It led to a disillusionment with the residual barrenness of the 1950s’ suburban block. In addition, it formed my first questioning about the validity of external authority. (I’ll have to think about this one.)

So, the anecdotal stories led to questioning about why these scenes and not others. And the answer for now is that they’re emblematic of why I’ve come to explore the story in the first place.